Untitled Page 5

380 The Stanford Sequoia

Second Stranger -- Right, brother! Thou wast ever to the
mark.

First Stranger -- More like it is an execution. The women
be always at such things; ghastly scenes be greatly to their
liking. Doubtless the gallows is behind yon blood-red curtain.

Second Stranger -- A most strange people. They take no
heed to us nor our attire. Marry, if one of them had come
into our streets, all the knaves and wenches in London -

First Stranger -- Hold thee, brother! A youth comes from
behind the red arras! What thing should such a gorgeous
curtain signify?

Second Stranger -- Ha! Mark the boy's array; it is over
gay for a funeral page or a hangman's varlet. It is, aye, it is
young Hal himself, the prologue boy of the play house, with
his yellow hair and grey eyes; his very self. The trumpet!
By the gods -

First Stranger -- Hist! It is a play; by the cross, it is a
play. A fair youth truly; the trumpet again!

(The curtain rises and they grip each other.)

Both -- It is the SWAN! By the Lord's body, it is the old
Swan Play House!

First Stranger -- Done to the line and letter.

Second Stranger -- Verily, it warmeth my heart to see the
old place again. See! See! The sign of the play!

Both -- "The London Merchant;" as the Lord lives, it is
our own play. Huzzah! (They toss up their caps.)

Second Stranger -- "Beaumont and Fletcher at the Swan."
Dost mind the old play bill, Francis, how it read? and every
crier in London calling out "Beaumont and Fletcher at the
Swan."

First Stranger -- John, it is the play we writ to down the
commons.

Second Stranger -- Aye Francis, which all the trade folk of
the town were so angered at. Behold! Dost remember the
fat grocer on the Bankside? The one with the prating wife
with the bag of sweets, and their tall 'prentice boy Ralph?
Yonder they come, true to the life, agaping at the stage; the
one that stood for the citizen and wife in our play, dost mark?
How like! Dost mind thee, how they were nigh to kill us
when they saw themselves in the play? I will speak to them.
A good morrow to thee, mistress, and to thy good husband
and master Ralph; I pray thee tell us - They pass in front
of us, the scurvy fellows!

First Stranger -- The boys have forgotten us, John. The
knaves! They should know their betters at the sight. There

[right page]

The Stanford Sequoia 381

come the gallants on the stage; Sir Henry Clifton with Sir
Charles and Master Warren; look on the left of the stage, the
true likeness of Sir Thomas Wyatt; aye, aye, it is his grand-
nephew, Sir Hugh, with my Lord Duke.

Second Stranger -- There is the Lady Markham in yonder
stage room, she in the smart red gown, with mistress Jane in
blue, and Lady Margery in white.

First Stranger -- Methinks the gallants be over gay. Their
apparel might befit his majesty.

Second Stranger -- Look at my Lord and Lady of Rutland
and the maiden with them; it is, yes, it is, the beautiful
Countess Helene.

First Stranger -- One of thine old flames, John. Forbear;
the boy begins. (Resumes later.) Dost see the grocer break-
ing in on the prologue? Why are all the groundings down here,
sitting like lords?

Second Stranger -- If thy grocer shall sit on the stage, why
not the commons sit in the pit? Thou wouldst have the
grocer to hit off the commons. Dost remember thee of thy
contention for't?

First Stranger -- Thou hast lost none of the sharpness of thy
wit. Ralph looks the very 'prentice that mixed the powders
for us. He mouths his hotspur like Will himself.

Second Stranger -- Yon boy might have had the old beldam
to mother, he knows her so well. Dost mind the day we
took our new actor to their shop to hear her gossiping with
the neighbors, when she pelted us with buns? The termagant
had every wench on Bankside at us. Old Ben was nigh to
die of laughter at our plight. Thou hadst like to lose us our
play with thy satire on the commons who rattled their money
bags against the empty stomachs of their betters.

First Stranger -- By my faith, yon boy looks the fat citizen-
grocer as he had 'prenticed with the braggart for a ten year.
He hath the true London shop in him. See, the old dame still
eats apples and buns in her same gown of green and red satin.
These children please me. We had no better at the Swan or
Globe.

Second Stranger -- By Venus and Cupid! See Mistress Luce!
I could swear it is a girl. I were in love with her myself an
I knew her not for a boy. Truly, a sweet youth!

First Stranger -- Thou would'st ever be in love with a
pretty wench an thou didst know she were a boy. The
groundlings like the play. They seem a hearty folk though
they be of ungentle manners. In truth they clap right smartly.
Let's to the stage while the boys dances. Have with thee - up.