ACT. I. SCENE. I.

A Pretty conceit, and worth the finding! I ha' such lucke to spinne out these fine things still, and like a Silke-worme, out of my selfe. Her's Master Bartholomew Cokes, of Harrow o'th hill, i'th County of Middlesex, Esquire, takes forth his Licence, to marry Mistresse Grace Wel-borne of the said place and County: and when do's hee take it foorth? to day! the foure and twentieth of August! Bartholmew day! Bartholmew vpon Bartholmew! there's the de­uice! who would haue mark'd such a leap-frogge chance now? A very lesse then Ames-ace, on two Dice! well, goe thy wayes Iohn Little-wit, Proctor Iohn Little-wit: One o' the pretty wits o' Pauls, the Little wit of London (so thou art call'd) and some thing beside. When a quirk, or a quiblin do's scape thee, and thou dost not watch, and apprehend it, and bring it afore the Constable of conceit: (there now, I speake quib too) let'hem carry thee out o' the Arch­deacons Court, into his Kitchin, and make a Iack of thee, in stead of a Iohn. (There I am againe la!) Win, Good morrow, Win. I marry Win! Now you looke finely indeed, Win! this Cap do's conuince! youl'd not ha [...] worne it, VVin, nor ha' had it veluet, but a rough countrey Beauer, with a copper-band, like the Conney-skinne woman of Budge-row? Sweete VVin, let me kisse it! And. her fine high shooes, like the Spanish Lady! Good VVin, goe a litle I would faine see thee pace, pretty VVin! By this fine Cap, I could neuer leaue kissing on't.

Come, indeede la, you are such a foole, still!

No, but halfe a one, Win, you are the tother halfe: man and wife make one foole, Win. (Good!) Is there the Proctor, or Doctor indeed, i'the Diocesse, that euer had the fortune to win him such a Win! (There I am againe!) I doe feele conceits comming vpon mee, more then I am able to turne tongue too. A poxe o these pretenders, to wit! your Three Cranes, Miter, and Mermaid men! Not a corne of true salt, nor a graine of right mustard amongst them all. They may stand for places or so, againe the next Wit fall, and pay two pence in a quart more for their Canary, then other men. But gi' mee the man, can start vp a Iustice of Wit out of six-shillings beare, and giue the law to all the Poets, and Poet-suc­kers i' Towne, because they are the Players Gossips? 'Slid, other men haue wiues as fine as the Players, and as well drest. Come hither, Win.

ACT. I. SCENE. IJ.

WHy, how now Master Little-wit! measuring of lips? or molding of kisses? which is it?

Troth I am a little taken with my Wins dressing here! Do'st not fine Master Win-wife? How doe you apprehend, Sir? Shee would not ha' worne this habit. I challenge all Cheapside, to shew such another: Morefields, Pimlic [...] path, or the Exchange, in a sommer euening, with a Lace to boot as this has. Deare Win, let Master Win-wife kisse you. Hee comes a wooing to our mo­ther Win, and may be our father perhaps, Win. There's no harme in him, Win.

None i'the earth, Master Little-wit.

I enuy no man, my delicates, Sir.

Alas, you ha' the garden where they grow still! A wife heere with a Strawbery-breath, Chery-lips, Apricot-cheekes, and a soft veluet head, like a Melicotion.

Good y'faith! now dulnesse vpon mee, that I had not that before him, that I should not light on't, as well as he! Veluet head!

But my taste, Master Little-wit, tends to fruict of a later kinde: the sober Matron, your wiues mother.

I! wee know you are a Suitor, Sir. Win, and I both, wish you well: by this Licence here, would you had her, that your two names were as fast in it, as here are a couple. Win would faine haue a fine young father i' law, with a fether: that her mother [Page 3] might hood it, and chaine it, with Mistris Ouer-doo. But, you doe not take the right course, Master Win-wife.

No? Master Litle-wit, why?

You are not madde enough.

How? Is madnesse a right course?

I say nothing, but I winke vpon Win. You haue a friend, one (Master Quarlous) comes here some times?

Why? he makes no loue to her, do's he?

Not a tokenworth that euer I saw, I assure you, But—

What?

He is the more Mad-cap o'the two. You doe not appre­hend mee.

You haue a hot coale i'your mouth, now, you cannot hold.

Let mee out with it, deare Win.

I'll tell him my selfe.

Doe, and take all the thanks, and much do good thy pret­ty heart, Win.

Sir, my mother has had her natiuity-water cast lately by the Cunning men in Cow [...]lane, and they ha' told her her for­tune, and doe ensure her, shee shall neuer haue happy houre; vn­lesse shee marry within this sen'night, and when it is, it must be a Madde-man, they say.

I, but it must be a Gentle-man Mad-man.

Yes, so the tother man of More-fields sayes.

But do's shee beleeue 'hem?

Yes, and ha's beene at Bedlem twice since, euery day, to enquire if any Gentleman be there, or to come there, mad!

Why, this is a confederacy, a meere piece of pra­ctice vpon her, by these Impostors?

I tell her so; or else say I, that they meane some young. Madcap-Gentleman (for the diuell can equiuocate, as well as a Shop-keeper) and therefore would I aduise you, to be a little mad­der, then Master Quarlous, hereafter.

Where is shee? stirring yet?

Stirring! Yes, and studying an old Elder, come from Banbury, a Suitor that puts in heere at meale-tyde, to praise the painefull brethren, or pray that the sweet singers may be restor'd; Sayes a grace as long as his breath lasts him! Some time the spirit is so strong with him, it gets quite out of him, and then my mo­ther, or Win, are faine to fetch it againe with Malmesey, or Aqua coelestis.

Yes indeed, we haue such a tedious life with him for his dyet, and his clothes too, he breaks his buttons, and cracks seames at euery saying he sobs out.

He cannot abide my Vocation, he sayes.

No, he told my mother, a Proctor was a claw of the Beast, [Page 4] and that she had little lesse then committed abomination in marry­ing me so as she ha's done.

Euery line (he sayes) that a Proctor writes, when it comes to be read in the Bishops Court, is a long blacke hayre, kemb'd out of the tayle of Anti-Christ.

When came this Proselyte?

Some three dayes since.

ACT. I. SCENE. IIJ.

O Sir, ha' you tane soyle, here? it's well, a man may reach you, after 3. houres running, yet! what an vnmercifull companion art thou, to quit thy lodging, at such vngentle manly houres? None but a scatterd couey of Fidiers, or one of these Rag-rakers in dung-hills, or some Marrow-bone man at most, would haue beene vp, when thou wert gone abroad, by all description. I pray thee what aylest thou, thou canst not sleepe? hast thou Thornes i'thy eye-lids, or Thistles i'thy bed.

I cannot tell: It seemes you had neither i'your feet; that tooke this paine to finde me.

No, and I had, all the Lime-hounds o'the City should haue drawne after you, by the sent rather, M^r Iohn Little-wit! God saue you, Sir. 'Twas a hot night with some of vs, last night, Iohn: shal we pluck a hayre o'the same Wolfe, to day, Proctor Iohn?

Doe you remember Master Quarlous, what wee discourst on, last night?

Not I, Iohn: nothing that I eyther discourse or doe, at those times I forfeit all to forgetfulnesse.

No? not concerning Win, looke you: there shee is, and drest as I told you she should be: harke you Sir, had you forgot?

By this head, I'le beware how I keepe you company, Iohn, when I drunke, and you haue this dangerous memory! that's certaine.

Why Sir?

Why? we were all a little stain'd last night, sprinckled with a cup or two, and I agreed with Proctor Iohn heere, to come and doe somewhat with Win (I know not what 'twas) to day; and he puts mee in minde on't, now; hee sayes hee was comming to fetch me: before Truth, if you haue that fearefull quality, Iohn, to remember, when you are sober, Iohn, what you promise drunke, Iohn; I shall take heed of you, Iohn. For this once, I am content to [Page 5] winke at you, where's your wife? come hither Win. (He kisseth her.

Why, Iohn! doe you see this, Iohn? looke you! helpe me, Iohn.

O Win, fie, what do you meane, Win! Be womanly, Win; make an outcry to your mother, Win? Master Quarlous is an ho­nest Gentleman, and our worshipfull good friend, Win: and he is Master Winwifes friends, too: And Master Win-wife comes a Suitor to your mother Win; as I told you before, Win, and may perhaps, be our Father, Win, they'll do you no harme, Win, they are both our worshipfull good friends. Master Quarlous! you must know M^r. Quarlous, Win; you must not quarrell with Master Quarlous, VVin.

No, wee'll kisse againe and fall in.

Yes, doe good Win.

Y'faith you are a foole, Iohn.

A Foole-Iohn she calls me, doe you marke that, Gentlemen? pretty littlewit of veluet! a foole-Iohn!

She may call you an Apple-Iohn, if you vse this.

Pray thee forbeare, for my respect somewhat.

Hoy-day! how respectiue you are become o'the sud­den! I feare this family will turne you reformed too, pray you come about againe. Because she is in possibility to be your daugh­ter in law, and may aske you blessing hereafter, when she courts it to Totnam to eat creame. Well, I will forbeare, Sir, but i'faith, would thou wouldst leaue thy exercise of widdow-hunting once! this drawing after an old reuerend Smocke by the splay-foote: There cannot be an ancient Tripe or Trillibub i'the Towne, but thou art straight nosing it, and 'tis a fine occupation thou'lt confine thy selfe to, when thou ha'st got one; scrubbing a piece of Buffe, as if thou hadst the perpetuity of Pannyer-alley to stinke in; or perhaps, worse, currying a carkasse, that thou hast bound thy selfe to aliue. I'll besworne, some of them, (that thou art, or hast beene a Suitor to) are so old, as no chast or marryed pleasure can euer become 'hem: the honest Instrument of procreation, has (forty yeeres since) left to belong to 'hem, thou must visit 'hem, as thou wouldst doe a Tombe, with a Torch, or three hand-fulls of Lincke, flaming hot, and so thou maist hap to make 'hem feele thee, and after, come to inherit according to thy inches. A sweet course for a man to waste the brand of life for, to be still [...]aking himselfe a fortune in an old womans embers; we shall ha' thee after thou hast beene but a moneth marryed to one of 'hem, looke like the quartane ague, and the black Iaundise met in a face, and walke as if thou had'st bor­row'd legges of a Spinner, and voyce of a Cricket. I would endure to heare fifteene Sermons aweeke for her, and such course, and lowd one's, as some of'hem must be; I would een desire of Fate, I might dwell in a drumme, and take in my sustenance, with an old broken Tobacco-pipe and a Straw. Dost thou euer thinke to [Page 6] bring thine eares or stomack, to the patience of a drie grace, as long as thy Tablecloth? and droan'd out by thy sonne, here, (that might be thy father;) till all the meat o'thy board has forgot, it was that day i'the Kitchin? Or to brooke the noise made, in a question of Predestination, by the good labourers and painefull eaters, assem­bled together, put to 'hem by the Matron, your Spouse; who mo­derates with a cup of wine, euer and anone, and a Sentence out of Knoxe between? or the perpetuall spitting, before, and after a sober drawne exhortation of six houres, whose better part was the hum-ha­hum? Or to heare prayers groan'd out, ouer thy iron-chests, as if they were charmes to breake 'hem? And all this for the hope of two Apostle-spoones, to suffer! and a cup to eate a cawdle in! For that will be thy legacy. She'll ha' conuey'd her state, safe enough from thee, an' she be a right widdow.

Alasse, I am quite off that sent now.

How so?

Put off by a Brother of Banbury, one, that, they say, is come heere, and gouernes all, already.

What doe you call him? I knew diuers of those Ban­burians when I was in Oxford.

Master Little-wit can tell vs.

Sir! good VVin, goe in, and if Master Bartholmew Cokes- his man come for the Licence: (the little old fellow) let him speake with me; what say you, Gentlemen?

What call you the Reuerend Elder? you told me of? your Banbury-man.

Rabbi Busy, Sir, he is more then an Elder, he is a Prophet, Sir.

O, I know him! a Baker, is he not?

Hee was a Baker, Sir, but hee do's dreame now, and see visions, hee has giuen ouer his Trade.

I remember that too: out of a scruple hee tooke, that (in spic'd conscience) those Cakes hee made, were seru'd to Bri­dales, May-poles, Morrisses, and such prophane feasts and meetings; his Christen-name is Zeale-of-the-land.

Yes, Sir, Zeale-of-the-land Busye.

How, what a name's there!

O, they haue all such names, Sir; he was Witnesse, for Win, here, (they will not be call'd God-fathers) and nam'd her VVinne-the-fight, you thought her name had beene VVinnifred, did you not?

I did indeed.

Hee would ha' thought himselfe a starke Reprobate, if it had.

I, for there was a Blew-starch-woman o'the name, at the same time. A notable hypocriticall vermine it is; I know him. One that stands vpon his face, more then his faith, at all times; [Page 7] Euer in seditious motion, and reprouing for vaine-glory: of a most lunatique conscience, and splene, and affects the violence of Singularity in all he do's: (He has vndone a Grocer here, in New-gate-market, that broke with him, trusted him with Currans, as errant a Zeale as he, that's by the way: by his profession, hee will euer be i'the state of Innocence, though; and child-hood; de­rides all Antiquity; defies any other Learning, then Inspiration; and what discretion soeuer, yeeres should afford him, it is all preuen­ted in his Originall ignorance; ha' not to doe with him: for hee is a fellow of a most arrogant, and inuincible dulnesse, I assure you; who is this?

ACT. I. SCEENE. IIIJ.

BY your leaue, Gentlemen, with all my heart to you: and god you good morrow; M^r Little-wit, my businesse is to you. Is this Licence ready?

Heere, I ha' it for you, in my hand, Master Humphrey.

That's well, nay, neuer open, or read it to me, it's labour in vaine, you know. I am no Clearke, I scorne to be sau'd by my booke, i'faith I'll hang first; fold it vp o'your word and gi' it mee; what must you ha' for't?

We'll talke of that anon, Master Humphrey.

Now, or not at all, good M^r Proctor, I am for no anon's, I assure you.

Sweet VVin, bid Salomon send mee the little blacke boxe within, in my study.

I, quickly, good Mistresse, I pray you: for I haue both egges o'the Spit, and yron i'the fire, say, what you must haue, good M^r Little-wit.

Why, you know the price, M^r Numps.

I know? I know nothing. I, what tell you mee of know­ing? (now I am in hast) Sir, I do not know, and I will not know, and I scorne to know, and yet, (now I think on't) I will, and do know, as well as another; you must haue a Marke for your thing here, and eight pence for the boxe; I could ha' sau'd two pence i'that, an' I had bought it my selfe, but heere's foureteene shillings for you. Good Lord! how long your little wife staies! pray God, Salomon, your Clerke, be not looking i'the wrong boxe, M^r Proctor.

Good i'faith! no, I warrant you, Salomon is wiser then so, Sir.

Fie, fie, fie, by your leaue Master Little-wit, this is scuruy, idle, foolish and abominable, with all my heart; I doe not like it.

Doe you heare? Iacke Little-wit, what businesse do's thy pretty head thinke, this fellow may haue, that he keepes such a coyle with?

More then buying of ginger-bread i'the Cloyster, here, (for that wee allow him) or a guilt pouch i'the Fayre?

Master Quarlous, doe not mistake him: he is his Masters both-hands, I assure you.

What? to pull on his boots, a mornings, or his stoc­kings, do's hee?

Sir, if you haue a minde to mocke him, mocke him softly, and looke to'ther way: for if hee apprehend you flout him, once, he will flie at you presently. A terrible testie old fellow, and his name is Waspe too.

Pretty Insect! make much on him.

A plag [...]e o'this boxe, and the poxe too, and on him that made it, and her that went for't, and all that should ha' sought it, sent it, or brought it! doe you see, Sir?

Nay, good M^r Waspe.

Good Master Hornet, turd i'your teeth, hold you your tongue; doe not I know you? your father was a Pothecary, and sold glisters, more then hee gaue, I wusse: and turd i'your little wiues teeth too (heere she come [...]) 'twill make her spit as fine as she is, for all her veluet-custerd on her head, Sir.

O! be ciuill Master Numpes.

Why, say I haue a humour not to be ciuill; how then? who shall compell me? you?

Here is the boxe, now.

Why a pox o'your boxe, once againe: let your little wife stale in it, and she will. Sir, I would haue you to vnderstand, and these Gentlemen too, if they please—

With all our hearts. Sir.

That I haue a charge. Gentlemen.

They doe apprehend, Sir.

Pardon me, Sir, neither they nor you, can apprehend mee, yet. (you are an Asse) I haue a young Master, hee is now vpon his making and marring; the whole care of his well doing, is now mine. His foolish scholemasters haue done nothing, but runne vp and downe the Countrey with him, to beg puddings, and cake-bread, of his tennants, and almost spoyled him, he has learn'd nothing, but to sing catches, and repeat rattle bladder rattle, and O, Madge. I dare not let him walke alone, for feare of lear­ning of vile tunes, which hee will sing at supper, and in the sermon-times! if hee meete but a Carman i'the streete, and I finde him not talke to keepe him off on him, hee will whistle him, and all his tunes ouer, at night in his sleepe! he has a head full [Page 9] of Bees! I am faine now (for this little time I am absent) to leaue him in charge with a Gentlewoman; 'Tis true, shee is A Iustice of Peace his wife, and a Gentlewoman o'the hood, and his na­turall sister▪ But what may happen, vnder a womans gouernment, there's the doubt. Gentlemen, you doe not know him: hee is ano­ther manner of peece then you think for! but nineteen yeere old, and yet hee is taller then either of you, by the head, God blesse him.

Well, mee thinkes, this is a fine fellow!

He has made his Master a finer by this description, I should thinke.

'Faith, much about one, it's crosse and pile, whether for a new farthing.

I'll tell you Gentlemen—

Will't please you drinke, Master VVaspe?

Why, I ha' not talk't so long to be drie, Sir, you see no dust or cobwebs come out o'my mouth: doe you? you'ld ha' me gone, would you?

No, but you were in hast e'en now, M^r Numpes.

What an' I were? so I am still, and yet I will stay too; meddle you with your match, your Win, there, she has as little wit, as her husband it seemes: I haue others to talke to.

She's my match indeede, and as little wit as I, Good!

We ha' bin but a day and a halfe in towne, Gentlemen, 'tis true, and yester day i'the afternoone, we walk'd London, to shew the City to the Gentlewoman, he shall marry, Mistresse Grace; but, afore I will endure such another halfe day, with him, I'll be drawne with a good Gib-cat, through the great pond at home, as his vncle Hodge was! why, we could not meet that heathen thing, all day, but [...]ayd him: he would name you all the Signes ouer, as hee went, aloud: and where hee spi'd a Parrat, or a Monkey, there hee was pitch'd, with all the littl-long-coats about him, male and female; no getting him away! I thought he would ha' runne madde o'the blacke boy in Bucklers-bury, that takes the scury, roguy tobacco, there.

You say true, Master Numpes: there's such a one indeed.

It's no matter, whether there be, or no, what's that to you?

He will not allow of Iohn's reading at any hand,

ACT. I. SCENE. V.

O Numpes! are you here Numpes? looke where I am, Numpes! and Mistris Grace, too! nay, doe not looke angerly, Numpes: my Sister is heere, and all, I doe not come without her.

What, the mischiefe, doe you come with her? or shee with you?

We came all to seeke you, Numpes.

To seeke mee? why, did you all thinke I was lost? or runne away with your foureteene shillings worth of small ware, here? or that I had chang'd it i'the Fayre, for hobby-horses? S'pretious—to seeke me!

Nay, good M^r Numpes, doe you shew discretion, though he bee exorbitant, (as M^r Ouer-doo saies,) and't be but for conseruation of the peace.

Mary gip, goody she-Iustice, Mistris French-hood! turd i'your teeth; and turd i'your French-hoods teeth, too, to doe you seruice, doe you see? must you quote your Adam to me! you thinke, you are Madam Regent still, Mistris Ouer-doo; when I am in place? no such matter, I assure you, your raigne is out, when I am in, Dame.

I am content to be in abeyance, Sir, and be gouern'd by you; so should hee too, if he did well; but 'twill be expected, you should also gouerne your passions.

Will't so forsooth? good Lord! how sharpe you are! with being at Bet'lem yesterday? VVhetston has set an edge vpon you, has hee?

Nay, if you know not what belongs to your dignity: I doe, yet, to mine.

Very well, then.

Is this the Licence, Numpes? for Loues sake, let me see't. I neuer saw a Licence.

Did you not so? why, you shall not see't, then.

An' you loue mee, good Numpes.

Sir, I loue you, and yet I do not loue you, i'these foole­ries, set your heart at rest; there's nothing in't, but hard words: and what would you see't for?

I would see the length and the breadth on't, that's all; and I will see't now, so I will.

You sha' not see it, heere.

Then I'll see't at home, and I'll looke vpo' the case heere.

Why, doe so, a man must giue way to him a little in [Page 11] trifles: Gentlemen. These are errors, diseases of youth: which he will mend, when he comes to iudgement, and knowledge of matters. I pray you conceiue so, and I thanke you. And I pray you pardon him, and I thanke you againe.

Well, this dry-nurse, I say still, is a delicate man.

And I, am, for the Cosset, his charge! Did you euer see a fellowes face more accuse him for an Asse?

Accuse him? it confesses him one without accusing. What pitty 'tis yonder wench should marry such a Cokes?

'Tis true.

Shee seemes to be discreete, and as sober as shee is handsome.

I, and if you marke her, what a restrain'd scorne she casts vpon all his behauiour, and speeches?

Well, Numpes, I am now for another piece of businesse more, the Fayre, Numpes, and then—

Blesse me! deliuer me, helpe, hold mee! the Fayre!

Nay, neuer fidge vp and downe, Numpes, and vexe it selfe. I am resolute Bartholmew, in this; Il'e make no suite on't to you; 'twas all the end of my iourney, indeed, to shew Mistris Grace my Fayre: I call't my Fayre, because of Bartholmew: you know my name is Bartholmew, and Bartholmew Fayre.

That was mine afore, Gentlemen: this morning. I had that i'faith, vpon his Licence, beleeue me, there he comes, after me.

Come, Iohn, this ambitious wit of yours, (I am afraid) will doe you no good i'the end.

No? why Sir?

You grow so insolent with it, and ouerdoing, Iohn: that if you looke not to it, and tie it vp, it will bring you to some ob­scure place in time, and there'twill leaue you.

Doe not trust it too much, Iohn, be more sparing, and vse it, but now and then; a wit is a dangerous thing, in this age; doe not ouer buy it.

Thinke you so, Gentlemen? I'll take heed on't, hereafter.

Yes, doe Iohn.

A prety little soule, this same Mistris Little-wit! would I might marry her.

So would I, or any body else, so I might scape you,

Numps, I will see it, Numpes, 'tis decreed: neuer be me­lancholy for the matter.

Why, see it, Sir, see it, doe see it! who hinders you? why doe you not goe see it? 'Slid see it.

The Fayre, Numps, the Fayre.

Would the Fayre and all the Drums, and Rattles in't, were i'your belly for mee: they are already i'your braine: he that had the meanes to trauell you head, now, should meet finer sights then any are i'the Fayre; and make a finer voyage on't; to see it [Page 6] all hung with cockle-shels, pebbles, fine wheat-strawes, and here and there a chicken's feather, and a cob-web.

Goodfaith, hee lookes, me thinkes an' you marke him, like one that were made to catch flies, with his Sir Cranion-legs.

And his Numpes, to flap 'hem away.

God, be w'you, Sir, there's your Bee in a box, and much good doo't, you.

Why, your friend, and Bartholmew; an' you be so con­tumacious.

What meane you, Numpes?

I'll not be guilty, I, Gentlemen.

You will not let him goe, Brother, and loose him?

Who can hold that will away? I had rather loose him then the Fayre, I wusse.

You doe not know the inconuenience, Gentlemen, you perswade to: nor what trouble I haue with him in these hu­mours. If he goe to the Fayre, he will buy of euery thing, to a Ba­by there; and houshold-stuffe for that too. If a legge or an arme on him did not grow on, hee would lose it i'the presse. Pray hea­uen I bring him off with one stone! And then he is such a Rauener after fruite! you will not beleeue what a coyle I had, t'other day, to compound a businesse betweene a Katerne-peare-woman, and him, about snatching! 'tis intolerable, Gentlemen.

O! but you must not leaue him, now, to these ha­zards, Numpes.

Nay, hee knowes too well, I will not leaue him, and that makes him presume: well, Sir, will you goe now? if you haue such an itch i'your feete, to foote it to the Fayre, why doe you stop, am I your Tarriars? goe, will you goe? Sir, why doe you not goe?

O Numps! haue I brought you about? come Mistresse Grace, and Sister, I am resolute Batt, i'faith, still.

Truely, I haue no such fancy to the Fayre; nor ambiti­on to see it; there's none goes thither of any quality or fashion.

O Lord, Sir! you shall pardon me, Mistris Grace, we are inow of our selues to make it a fashion: and for qualities, let Numps alone, he'l finde qualities.

What a Rogue in apprehension is this! to vnderstand her language no better.

I, and offer to marry to her? well, I will leaue the chase of my widdow, for to day, and directly to the Fayre. These flies [...] this hot season, but engender vs excellent creeping sport. [...] man that has but a spoone full of braine, would think [...]o [...]arewell, Iohn.

Win, you see, 'tis in fashion, to goe to the Fayre, Win: we [...]u [...]t to the Fayre too, you, and I, Win. I haue an affaire i'the Fayre, [...], a Puppet-play of mine owne making, say nothing, that I writ [Page 3] for [...]he motion man, which you must see, Win.

I would I might Iohn, but my mother will neuer con­sent to such a prophane motion: she will call it.

Tut, we'll haue a deuice, a dainty one; (Now, Wit, helpe at a pinch, good Wit come, come, good Wit, and't be thy will.) I haue it, Win, I haue it 'ifaith, and 'tis a fine one. Win, long to eate of a Pigge, sweet Win, i'the Fayre; doe you see? i'the heart o'the Fayre; not at Pye-Corner. Your mother will doe any thing, Win, to satisfie your longing, you know, pray thee long, presently, and be sicke o'the sudden, good Win. I'll goe in and tell her, cut thy lace i'the meane time, and play the Hypocrite, sweet Win.

No, I'll not make me vnready for it. I can be Hypocrite enough, though I were neuer so straight lac'd.

You say true, you haue bin bred i'the family, and brought vp to't. Our mother is a most elect Hypocrite, and has maintain'd us all this seuen yeere with it, like Gentle-folkes.

I, Let her alone, Iohn, she is not a wise wilfull widdow for nothing, nor a sanctified sister for a song. And let me alone too, I ha' somewhat o'the mother in me, you shall see, fetch her, fetch her, ah, ah.

ACT. I. SCENE. VI.

NOw, the blaze of the beauteous discipline, fright away this euill from our house! how now Win-the-fight, Child: how do you? Sweet child, speake to me.

Yes, forsooth.

Looke vp, sweet Win-the-fight, and suffer not the enemy to enter you at this doore, remember that your education has bin with the purest, what polluted one was it, that nam'd first the vn­cleane beast, Pigge, to you, Child?

(Vh, vh.)

Not I, o' my sincerity, mother: she long'd aboue three houres, ere she would let me know it; who was it Win?

A prophane blacke thing with a beard, Iohn.

O! resist it, Win-the-fight, it is the Tempter, the wicked Tempter, you may know it by the fleshly motion of Pig, be strong against it, and it's foule temptations, in these assaults, whereby it broacheth flesh and blood, as it were, on the weaker side, and pray against it's carnall prouocations, good child, sweet child, pray.

Good mother, I pray you; that she may eate some Pigge, and her belly full, too; and doe not you cast away your owne child, and perhaps one of mine, with your tale of the Tempter: how doe you, Win? Are you not sicke?

Yes, a great deale, Iohn, (vh, vh.)

What shall we doe? call our zealous brother Busy hither, for his faithfull fortification in this charge of the aduersary; child, my deare childe, you shall eate Pigge, be comforted, my sweet child.

I, but i'the Fayre, mother.

I meane i'the Fayre, if it can be any way made, or found lawfull; where is our brother Busy? Will hee not come? looke vp, child.

Presently, mother, as soone as he has cleans'd his beard. I found him, fast by the teeth, i'the cold Turkey-pye, i'the cupbord, with a great white loafe on his left hand, and a glasse of Malmesey on his right.

Slander not the Brethren, wicked one.

Here hee is, now, purified, Mother.

O brother Busy! your helpe heere to edifie, and raise vs vp in a scruple; my daughter Win-the-fight is visited with a naturall disease of women; call'd, A longing to eate Pigge.

I Sir, a Bartholmew-pigge: and in the Fayre.

And I would be satisfied from you, Religiously-wise, whether a widdow of the sanctified assembly, or a widdowes daughter, may commit the act, without offence to the weaker sisters.

Verily, for the disease of longing, it is a disease, a carnall disease, or appetite, incident to women: and as it is carnall, and incident, it is naturall, very naturall: Now Pigge, it is a meat, and a meat that is nourishing, and may be long'd for, and so conse­quently eaten; it may be eaten; very exceeding well eaten: but in the Fayre, and as a Bartholmew-pig, it cannot be eaten, for the very calling it a Bartholmew-pigge, and to eat it so, is a spice of Idolatry, and you make the Fayre, no better then one of the high Places. This I take it, is the state of the question. A high place.

I, but in state of necessity: Place should giue place, M^r ▪ Busy, (I haue a conceit left, yet.)

Good Brother, Zeale-of-the-land, thinke to make it as lawfull as you can.

Yes Sir, and as soone as you can: for it must be Sir; you see the danger my little wife is in, Sir.

Truely, I doe loue my child dearely, and I would not haue her miscarry, or hazard her first fruites, if it might be other­wise.

Surely, it may be otherwise, but it is subiect, to constru­ction, subiect, and hath a face of offence, with the weake, a great [Page 15] face, a foule face, but that face may haue a vaile put ouer it, and be shaddowed, as it were, it may be eaten, and in the Fayre, I take it, in a Booth, the tents of the wicked: the place is not much, not very much, we may be religious in midst of the prophane, so it be eaten with a reformed mouth, with sobriety, and humblenesse; not gorg'd in with gluttony, or greedinesse; there's the feare: for, should she goe there, as taking pride in the place, or delight in the vncleane dressing, to feed the vanity of the eye, or the lust of the palat, it were not well, it were not fit, it were abominable, and not good.

Nay, I knew that afore, and told her on't, but courage, Win, we'll be humble enough; we'll seeke out the homeliest Booth i'the Fayre, that's certaine, rather then faile, wee'll eate it o' the ground.

I, and I'll goe with you my selfe, Win the-fight, and my brother, Zeale-of-the-land, shall goe with vs too, for our better con­solation.

Vh, vh.

I, and Salomon too, Win, (the more the merrier) Win, we'll leaue Rabby Busy in a Booth. Salomon, my cloake.

Here, Sir.

In the way of comfort to the weake, I will goe, and eat. I will eate exceedingly, and prophesie; there may be a good vse made of it, too, now I thinke on't: by the publike eating of Swines flesh, to professe our hate, and loathing of Iudaisme, whereof the brethren stand taxed. I will therefore eate, yea, I will eate excee­dingly.

Good, i'faith, I will eate heartily too, because I will be no Iew, I could neuer away with that stiffenecked generation: and truely, I hope my little one will be like me, that cries for Pigge so, i'the mothers belly.

Very likely, exceeding likely, very exceeding likely.

ACT. II. SCENE. I.

WEll, in Iustice name, and the Kings; and for the common-wealth! defie all the world, Adam Ouerdoo, for a disguise, and all story; for thou hast fitted thy selfe, I sweare; faine would I meet the Linccus now, that Eagles eye, that peircing Epi­daurian serpent (as my Quint. Horace cal's him) that could discouer a Iustice of Peace, (and lately of the Quorum) vnder this couering. They may haue seene ma­ny a foole in the habite of a Iustice; but neuer till now, a Iustice in the habit of a foole. Thus must we doe, though, that wake for the publike good: and thus hath the wise Magistrate done in all ages. There is a doing of right out of wrong, if the way be found. Neuer shall I enough commend a worthy worshipfull man, some­time a capitall member of this City, for his high wisdome, in this point, who would take you, now the habit of a Porter; now of a Carman; now of the Dog-killer, in this moneth of August; and in the winter, of a Seller of tinder-boxes; and what would hee doe in all these shapes? mary goe you into euery Alehouse, and down in­to euery Celler; measure the length of puddings, take the gage of blacke pots, and cannes, I, and custards with a sticke; and their circumference, with a thrid; weigh the loaues of bread on his middle-finger; then would he send for 'hem, home; giue the pud­dings to the poore, the bread to the hungry, the custards to his children; breake the pots, and burne the cannes, himselfe; hee Would not trust his corrupt officers; he would do't himselfe. would all men in authority would follow this worthy president! For (alas) as we are publike persons, what doe we know? nay, what can wee know? wee heare with other mens eares; wee see with other mens eyes? a foolish Constable, or a sleepy Watch­man, [Page 17] is all our information, he slanders a Gentleman, by the vertue of his place, (as he calls it) and wee by the vice of ours, must be­leeue him. As a while agone, they made mee, yea me, to mis­take an honest zealous Pursiuant, for a Seminary: and a proper yong Batcheler of Musicke, for a Bawd. This wee are subiect to, that liue in high place, all our intelligence is idle, and most of our intelligencers, knaues: and by your leaue, our selues, thought little better, if not errant fooles, for beleeuing 'hem. I Adam Ouerdoo, am resolu'd therefore, to spare spy-money hereafter, and make mine owne discoueries. Many are the yeerely enormities of of this Fayre, in whose courts of Pye-pouldres I haue had the ho­nour during the three dayes sometimes to sit as Iudge. But this is the speciall day for detection of those foresaid enormities. Here is my blacke booke, for the purpose; this the cloud that hides me: vnder this couert I shall see, and not be seene. On Iunius Brutus. And as I began, so I'll end: in Iustice name, and the Kings; and for the Common-wealth.

ACT. II. SCENE. II.

THe Fayre's pestlence dead, mee thinkes; people come not a­broad, to day, what euer the matter is. Doe you heare, Sister Trash, Lady o'the Basket? sit farther with your ginger-bread-pro­geny there, and hinder not the prospect of my shop, or I'll ha' it proclaim'd i'the Fayre, what stuffe they are made on.

Why, what stuffe are they made on, Brother Leather-head? nothing but what's wholesome, I assure you.

Yes, stale bread, rotten egges, musty ginger, and dead honey, you know.

I! haue I met with enormity, so soone?

I shall marre your market, old Ione.

Marre my market, thou too-proud Pedler? do thy worst; I defie thee, I, and thy stable of hobby-horses. I pay for my ground, as well as thou dost, and thou wrong'st mee for all thou art parcell-poet, and an Inginer. I'll finde a friend shall right me, and make a ballad of thee, and thy cattell all ouer. Are you puft vp with the pride of your wares? your Arsedine?

Goe to, old Ione, I'll talke with you anone; and take you [Page 18] downe too, afore Iustice Ouerdoo, he is the man must charme you, Ile ha' you i'the Piepouldres.

Charme me? I'll meet thee face to face, afore his wor­ship, when thou dar'st: and though I be a little crooked o'my bo­dy, I'll be found as vpright in my dealing, as any woman in Smith­field, I, charme me?

I am glad, to heare, my name is their terror, yet, this is doing of Iustice.

What doe you lacke? what is't you buy? what do you lacke? Rattles, Drums, Halberts, Horses, Babies o [...]the best? Fid­dles o'th finest?

Buy any peares, peares, fine, very fine peares.

Buy any ginger-bread, guilt ginger-beard!

Fye vpon't: who would weare out their youth, and prime thus, in roasting of pigges, that had any cooler vocation? Hell's a kind of cold cellar to t, a very fine vault, o'my conscience! what Moone-calfe.

Heere, Mistresse.

How now Vrsla? in a heate, in a heat?

My chayre, you false faucet you; and my mornings draught, quickly, a botle of Ale, to quench mee, Rascall. I am all sire, and fat, Nightingale, I shall e'en melt away to the first woman, a ribbe againe, I am afraid. I doe water the ground in knots, as I goe, like a great Garden-pot, you may follow me by the S.S.^s. I make.

Alas, good Vr's; was Zekiel heere this morning?

Zekiel? what Zekiel?

Zekiel Edgeworth, the ciuill cut-purse, you know him well enough; hee that talkes bawdy to you still: I call him my Se­cretary.

He promis'd to be heere this morning, I remember.

When he comes, bid him stay: I'll be backe againe pre­sently.

Best take your mornings dew in your belly, Nightingale, come,

Sir, set it heere, did not I bid you should get this chayre let out o'the sides, for me, that my hips might play? you'll neuer thinke of any thing, till your dame be rumpgall'd; 'tis well, Changeling: because it can take in your Grasse-hoppers thighes, you care for no more. Now, you looke as you had been i' the cor­ner [Page 19] o'the Booth, fleaing your breech, with a candles end, and set fire o'the Fayre. Fill, Stote: fill.

This Pig-woman doe I know, and I will put her in, for my second enormity, shee hath beene before mee, Punke, Pinnace and Bawd, any time these two and twenty yeeres, vpon record i'the Pie-poudres.

Fill againe, you vnlucky vermine.

'Pray you be not angry, Mistresse, I'll ha' it widen'd anone.

No, no, I shall e'en dwindle away to't, ere the Fayre be done, you thinke, now you ha' heated me? A poore vex'd thing I am, I feele my selfe dropping already, as fast as I can: two stone a sewet aday is my proportion: I can but hold life & soule together, with this (heere's to you, Nightingale) and a whiffe of tobacco, at most. Where's my pipe now? not fill'd? thou errant Incubee.

Nay, Vrsla, thou'lt gall betweene the tongue and the teeth, with fretting, now.

How can I hope, that euer hee'll discharge his place of trust, Tapster, a man of reckoning vnder me, that remembers no­thing I say to him? but looke too't, sirrah, you were best, three pence a pipe full, I will ha' made, of all my whole halfe pound of tabacco, and a quarter of a pound of Coltsfoot, mixt with it too, to itch it out. I that haue dealt so long in the fire, will not be to seek in smoak, now. Then 6. and 20. shillings a barrell I will aduance o'my Beere; and fifty shillings a hundred o'my bottle-ale, I ha'told you the waies how to raise it. Froth your cannes well i'the filling, at length Rogue, and iogge your bottles o' the buttocke, Sirrah, then skinke out the first glasse, euer, and drinke with all companies, though you be sure to be drunke; you'll mis-reckon the better, and be lesse asham'd on't. But your true tricke, Rascall, must be, to be euer busie, and mis-take away the bottles and cannes, in hast, be­fore they be halfe drunke off, and neuer heare any body call, (if they should chance to marke you) till you ha' brought fresh, and be able to forsweare 'hem. Giue me a drinke of Ale.

This is the very wombe, and bedde of enormitie! grosse, as her selfe! this must all downe for enormity, all, euery whit on't.

Looke, who's there, Sirrah?

fiue shillings a Pigge is my price, at least; if it be a sow-pig, six pence more▪ if she be a great bellied wife, and long for't, six pence more for that.

O Tempora! O mores! I would not ha' lost my discouery of this one grieuance, for my place, and worship o'the Bench, how is the poore subiect abus'd, here! well, I will fall in with her, and with her Moone-calfe, and winne out wonders of enormity. By thy leaue, goodly woman, and the fatnesse of the Fayre: oyly as the Kings constables Lampe, and shining as his Shooing-horne! hath thy Ale vertue, or thy Beere strength? that the tongue of man may be tickled? and his palat pleas'd in the morning? let [Page 20] thy pretty Nephew here, goe search and see.

What new Roarer is this?

O Lord! doe you not know him, Mistris, 'tis mad Ar­thur of Bradley, that makes the Orations▪ Braue Master, old Arthur of Bradley, how doe you? welcome to the Fayre, when shall wee heare you againe, to handle your matters? with your backe againe a Booth, ha? I ha' bin one o'your little disciples, i'my dayes!

Let me drinke, boy, with my loue, thy Aunt, here; that I may be eloquent: but of thy best, lest it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foule on the Fayre.

Why dost thou not fetch him drinke? and offer him to sit?

Is't Ale, or Beere? Master Arthur?

Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best; the same thy Doue drinketh, and thou drawest on holy daies.

Bring him a sixe penny bottle of Ale; they say, a fooles handsell is lucky.

Bring both, child. Ale for Arthur, and Beere for Bradley. Ale for thine Aunt, boy. My disguise takes to the very wish, and reach of it. I shall by the benefit of this, discouer enough, and more: and yet get off with the reputation of what I would be. A certaine midling thing, betweene a foole and a madman.

ACT. II. SCENE. III.

WHat! my little leane Vrsla! my shee-Beare! art thou aliue yet? with thy litter of pigges, to grunt out another Bartholmew Fayre? ha!

Yes, and to amble afoote, when the Fayre is done, to heare you groane out of a cart, vp the heauy hill.

Of Holbourne, Vrsla, meanst thou so? for what? for what, pretty Vrs?

For cutting halfe-penny purses: or stealing little penny dogges, out o'the Fayre.

O! good words, good words Vrs.

Another speciall enormitie. A cutpurse of the sword! the boote, and the feather! those are his marks.

You are one of those horsleaches, that gaue out I was dead, in Turne-bull streete, of a surfet of botle ale, and tripes?

No, 'twas better meat Vrs: cowes vdders, cowes vd­ders!

Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day.

What? thou'lt poyson mee with a neuft in a bottle of Ale, will't thou? or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Vrs? Come, there's no malice in these fat folkes, I neuer feare thee, and I can scape thy leane Moonecalfe heere. Let's drinke it out, good Vrs, and no vapours!

Dost thou heare, boy? (there's for thy Ale, and the rem­nant for thee) speake in thy faith of a faucet, now; is this goodly person before vs here, this vapours, a knight of the knife?

What meane you by that, Master Arthur?

I meane a child of the horne-thumb, a babe of booty, boy; a cutpurse.

O Lord, Sir! far from it. This is Master Dan. Knock­hum: Iordane the Ranger of Turnebull. He is a horse-courser, Sir.

Thy dainty dame, though, call'd him cutpurse.

Like enough, Sir, shee'll doe forty such things in an houre (an you listen to her) for her recreation, if the toy take her i'the greasie kerchiefe: it makes her fat you see. Shee battens with it.

Here might I ha'beene deceiu'd, now: and ha'put a fooles blot vpon my selfe, if I had not play'd an after game o' discre­tion.

Alas poore Vrs, this's an ill season for thee.

Hang your selfe, Hacney-man.

How? how? Vrs, vapours! motion breede vapours?

Vapours? Neuer tuske, nor twirle your dibble, good Iordane, I know what you'll take to a very drop. Though you be Captaine o'the Roarers, and fight well at the case of pis-pots, you shall not fright me with your Lyon-chap, Sir, nor your tuskes, you angry? you are hungry: come, a pigs head will stop your mouth, and stay your stomacke, at all times.

Thou art such another mad merry Vrs still! Troth I doe make conscience of vexing thee, now i'the dog-daies, this hot weather, for feare of foundring thee i'the bodie; and melting down a Piller of the Fayre. Pray thee take thy chayre againe, and keepe state; and let's haue a fresh bottle of Ale, and a pipe of tabacco; and no vapours. I'le ha' this belly o'thine taken vp, and thy grasse scour'd, wench; looke! heere's Ezechiel Edgworth; a fine boy of his inches, as any is i'the Fayre! has still money in his purse, and will pay all, with a kind heart; and good vapours.

ACT. II. SCENE. IIII.

THat I will, indeede, willingly, Master Knockhum, fetch some Ale, and Tabacco.

What doe you lacke, Gentlemen? Maid: see a fine hobby horse for your young Master: cost you but a token a weeke his prouander.

Ha' you any cornes 'iyour feete, and toes?

Buy a Mouse-trap, a Mouse-trap, or a Tormentor for a Flea.

Buy some Ginger-bread.

Ballads, Ballads! fine new ballads:

Master Nightingale, come hither, leaue your mart a little.

O my Secretary! what sayes my Secretarie?

Childe o'the bottles, what's he? what he?

A ciuill young Gentleman, Master Arthur, that keepes company with the Roarers, and disburses all, still. He has euer mo­ney in his purse; He payes for them; and they roare for him: one do's good offices for another. They call him the Secretary, but he serues no body. A great friend of the Ballad-mans they are neuer asunder.

What pitty 'tis, so ciuill a young man should haunt this debaucht company? here's the bane of the youth of our time ap­parant. A proper penman, I see't in his countenance, he has a good Clerks looke with him, and I warrant him a quicke hand.

A very quicke hand, Sir.

All the purses, and purchase, I giue you to day by con­ueyance, [Page 23] bring hither to Vrsla's presently.

Heere we will meet at night in her [...]odge, and share. Looke you choose good places, for your standing i'the Fayre, when you sing, Nightingale.

I, neere the fullest passages; and shift'hem often.

And i'your singing, you must vse your hawks eye nimbly, and flye the purse to a marke, still, where 'tis worne, and o'which side; that you may gi'me the signe with your beake, or hang your head that way i'the tune.

Enough, talke no more on't: your friendship (Masters) is not now to beginne. Drinke your draught of Indenture, your sup of Couenant, and away, the Fayre fils apace, company begins to come in, and I ha' ne'er a Pigge ready, yet.

Well said! fill the cups, and light the tabacco: let's giue fire i'th' works, and noble vapours.

And shall we ha' smockes Vrsla, and good whimsies, ha?

Come, you are i'your bawdy vaine! the best the Fayre will afford, Zekiel, if Bawd Whit keepe his word; how doe the Pigges, Moone-calfe?

Very passionate, Mistresse, one on'hem has wept out an eye. Master Arthur o'Bradley is melancholy, heere, no body talkes to him. Will you any tabacco Master Arthur?

No, boy, let my meditations alone.

He's studying for an Oration, now.

If I can, with this daies trauell, and all my policy, but re­scue this youth, here, out of the hands of the lewd man, and the strange woman. I will sit downe at night, and say with my friend Ouid, Iam (que) opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis, &c.

Here Zekiel; here's a health to Vrsla, and a kind vapour, thou hast money i'thy purse still; and store! how dost thou come by it? Pray thee vapour thy friends some in a courteous va­pour.

Halfe I haue, Master Dan. Knockhum, is alwaies at your seruice,

Ha, sweete nature! what Goshawke would prey vpon such a Lambe?

Let's see, what 'tis, Zekiel! count it, come, fill him to pledge mee.

ACT. II. SCENE. V.

WEe are heere before 'hem, me thinkes.

All the better, we shall see 'hem come in now.

What doe you lacke, Gentlemen, what is't you lacke? a fine Horse? a Lyon? a Bull? a Beare? a Dog, or a Cat? an ex­cellent fine Bartholmew ▪ bird? or an Instrument? what is't you lacke?

S'lid! heere's Orpheus among the beasts, with his Fiddle, and all!

Will you buy any comfortable bread, Gentlemen?

And Ceres selling her daughters picture, in Ginger-worke!

That these people should be so ignorant to thinke vs chapmen for 'hem! doe wee looke as if wee would buy Ginger-bread? or Hobby-horses?

Why, they know no better ware then they haue, nor better customers then come. And our very being here makes vs fit to be demanded, as well as others. Would Cokes would come! there were a true customer for 'hem.

How much is't▪ thirty shillings? who's yonder! Ned Winwife? and Tom Quarlous, I thinke! yes, (gi' me it all) (gi' me it all) Master Win-wife! Master Quarlous! will you take a pipe of tabacco with vs? do not discredit me now, Zekiel.

Doe not see him! he is the roaring horse-courser, pray thee let's auoyd him: turne downe this way.

S'lud, I'le see him, and roare with him, too, and hee roar'd as loud as Neptune, pray thee goe with me.

You may draw me to as likely an inconuenience, when you please, as this.

Goe to then, come along, we ha' nothing to doe, man, but to see sights, now.

Welcome Master Quarlous, and Master Winwife! will you take any froth, and smoake with vs?

Yes, Sir, but you'l pardon vs, if we knew not of so much familiarity betweene vs afore.

As what, Sir?

To be so lightly inuited to smoake, and [...]roth.

A good vapour! will you sit downe, Sir? this is old [Page 25] Vrsla's mansion, how like you her bower? heere you may ha'your Punque, and your Pigge in state, Sir, both piping hot.

I had rather ha' my Punque, cold, Sir.

There's for me, Punque! and Pigge!

What Moonecalfe? you Rogue.

By and by, the bottle is almost off Mistresse, here Ma­ster Arthur.

I'le part you, and your play-fellow there, i'the garded coat, an' you sunder not the sooner.

Master Win-wife, you are proud (me thinkes) you doe not talke, nor drinke, are you proud?

Not of the company I am in, Sir, nor the place, I assure you.

You doe not except at the company! doe you? are you in vapours, Sir?

Nay, good Master Dan: Knockhum, respect my Mistris Bower, as you call it; for the honour of our Booth, none o'your vapours, heere.

Why, you thinne leane Polcat you, and they haue a minde to be i'their vapours, must you hinder'hem? what did you know Vermine, if they would ha' lost a cloake, or such a triflle?

must you be drawing the ayre of pacification heere? while I am tormented, within, i'the fire, you Weasell?

Good Mistresse, 'twas in the behalfe of your Booth's cre­dit, that I spoke.

Why? would my Booth ha' broake, if they had fal'ne out in't? Sir? or would their heate ha' fit'd it? in, you Rogue, and wipe the pigges, and mend the fire, that they fall not, or I'le both baste and roast you, till your eyes drop out, like 'hem. (Leaue the bottle behinde you, and be curst a while.)

Body o'the Fayre! what's this? mother o'the Bawds?

No, she's mother o'the Pigs, Sir, mother o'the Pigs!

Mother o'the Furies, I thinke, by her firebrand.

Nay, shee is too fat to be a Fury, sure, some walking Sow of tallow!

An inspir'd vessell of Kitchin-sluffe!

She'll make excellent geere for the Coach-makers,

here in Smithfield, to anoynt wheeles and axell trees with.

I, I, Gamesters, mocke a plaine plumpe soft wench o' the Suburbs, doe, because she's iuicy and wholesome: you must ha' your thinne pinch'd ware, pent vp i'the compasse of a dogge-collar, (or 'twill not do) that lookes like a long lac'd Conger, set vp­right, and a greene feather, like fennell i'the Ioll on't.

Well said Vrs, my good Vrs; to 'hem Vrs.

Is shee your quagmite, Dan: Knockhum? is this your Bogge?

We shall haue a quarrel presently.

How? Bog? Quagmire? foule vapours! hum'h!

Yes, hee that would venture for't, I assure him, might sinke into her, and be drown'd a weeke, ere any friend hee had, could find where he were.

And then he would be a fort'night weighing vp againe.

'Twere like falling into a whole Shire of butter: they had need be a teeme of Dutchmen, should draw him out.

Answer 'hem, Vrs, where's thy Bartholmew-wit, now? Vrs, thy Bartholmew-wit?

Hang 'hem, rotten, roguy Cheaters, I hope to see 'hem plagu'd one day (pox'd they are already, I am sure) with leane play­house poultry, that has the boany rumpe, sticking out like the Ace of Spades, or the point of a Partizan, that euery rib of'hem is like the tooth of a Saw: and will so grate 'hem with their hips, & shoul­ders, as (take 'hem altogether) they were as good lye with a hurdle.

Out vpon her, how she drips! she's able to giue a man the sweating Sicknesse, with looking on her.

Mary looke off, with a patch o'your face; and a dosen i'your breech, though they be o'scarlet, Sir. I ha' seene as fine out­sides, as either o'yours, bring lowsie linings to the Brokers, ere now, twice a weeke?

Doe you thinke there may be a fine new Cuckingstoole i'the Fayre, to be purchas'd? one large inough, I meane. I know there is a pond of capacity, for her.

For your mother, you Rascall, out you Rogue, you hedge bird, you Pimpe, you pannier-mans bastard, you.

Ha, ha, ha.

Doe you sneere, you dogs-head, you Trendle tayle! you looke as you were begotten a'top of a Cart in haruest-time, when the whelp was hot and eager. Go, snuffe after your brothers bitch, M^rs Commodity, that's the Liuory you weare, 'twill be out at the el­bows, shortly. It's time you went to't, for the to'ther remnant.

Peace, Vrs, peace, Vrs, they'll kill the poore Whale, and make oyle of her. Pray thee goe in.

I'le see 'hem pox'd first, and pil'd, and double pil'd.

Let's away, her language growes greasier then her Pigs.

Dos't so, snotty nose? good Lord! are you sniueling? you were engendred on a she-begger, in a barne, when the bald Thrasher, your Sire, was scarce warme.

Pray thee, let's goe.

No, faith: I'le stay the end of her, now: I know shee cannot last long; I finde by her similes, shee wanes a pace.

Do's shee so? I'le set you gone. Gi' mee my Pig-pan hi­ther a little. I'le scald you hence, and you will not goe.

Gentlemen, these are very strange vapours! and very idle vapours! I assure you.

You are a very serious asse, wee assure you.

Humh! Asse? and serious? nay, then pardon mee my vapour. I haue a foolish vapour, Gentlemen: any man that doe's vapour me, the Asse, Master Quarlous—

What then, Master Iordan?

I doe vapour him the lye.

Faith, and to any man that vapours mee the lie, I doe vapour that.

Nay, then, vapours vpon vapours.

'Ware the pan, the pan, the pan, Vrsla comes in, with the scalding-pan. They fight. Shee falls with it. shee comes with the pan, Gentlemen. God blesse the woman.

Oh.

What's the matter?

Goodly woman!

Mistresse!

Curse of hell, that euer I saw these Feinds, oh! I ha' scal­ded my leg, my leg, my leg, my leg. I ha' lost a limb in the seruice! run for some creame and sallad oyle, quickly. Are you vnder-pee­ring, you Baboun? rip off my hose, an' you be men, men, men.

Runne you for some creame, good mother Ione. I'le looke to your basket.

Best sit vp i'your chaire, Vrsla. Helpe, Gentlemen.

Be of good cheere, Vrs, thou hast hindred me the curry­ing of a couple of Stallions, here, that abus'd the good race-Bawd o'Smithfield; 'twas time for 'hem to goe.

I faith, when the panne came, they had made you runne else. (this had beene a fine time for purchase, if you had ven­tur'd.)

Not a whit, these fellowes were too fine to carry mo­ney.

Nightingale, get some helpe to carry her legge out o'the ayre; take off her shooes; body o'me, she has the Mallanders, the scratches, the crowne scabbe, and the quitter bone, i'the to­ther legge.

Oh! the poxe, why doe you put me in minde o'my leg, thus, to make it prick, and shoot? would you ha' me i'the Hospi­tall, afore my time?

Patience, Vrs, take a good heart, 'tis but a blister, as big as a Windgall; I'le take it away with the white of an egge, a little honey, and hogs grease, ha' thy pasternes well rol'd, and thou shall't pase againe by to morrow. I'le tend thy Booth, and looke to thy affaires, the while: thou shalt sit i'thy chaire, and giue dire­ctions, and shine Vrsa maior.

ACT. II. SCENE. VI.

THese are the fruites of bottle-ale, and tabacco! the some of the one, and the fumes of the other! Stay young man, and despise not the wisedome of these few hayres, that are growne gray in care of thee.

Nightingale, stay a little. Indeede I'le heare some o' this!

Come, Numps, come, where are you? welcome into the Fayre, Mistris Grace.

S'light, hee will call company, you shall see, and put vs into doings presently.

Thirst not after that frothy liquor, Ale: for, who knowes, when hee openeth the stopple, what may be in the bottle? hath not a Snaile, a Spider, yea, a Neuft bin found there? thirst not af­ter it, youth: thirst not after it.

This is a braue fellow, Numps, let's heare him.

S'blood, how braue is he? in a garded coate? you were best trucke with him, e'en strip, and trucke presently, it will be­come you, why will you heare him, because he is an Asse, and may be a kinnne to the Cokeses?

O, good Numps!

Neither doe thou lust after that tawney weede, tabacco.

Braue words!

Whose complexion is like the Indians that vents it!

Are they not braue words, Sister?

And who can tell, if, before the gathering, and making vp thereof, the Alligarta hath not piss'd thereon?

Heart let 'hem be braue words▪ as braue as they will! and they were all the braue words in a Countrey, how then? will you away yet? ha'you inough on him? Mistris Grace, come you away, I pray you, be not you accessary. If you doe lose your Li­cence, or somewhat else, Sir, with listning to his fables: say, Numps, is a witch, with all my heart, doe, say so.

Avoyd i' your sattin doublet, Numps.

The creeping venome of which subtill serpent, as some [Page 29] late writers affirme; neither the cutting of the perrillous plant, nor the drying of it, nor the lighting, or burning, can any way perssway or, asswage.

Good, i'faith! is't not Sister?

Hence it is, that the lungs of the Tabacconist are rotted, the Liuer spotted, the braine smoak'd like the backside of the Pig-womans Booth, here, and the whole body within, blacke, as her Pan, you saw e'en now, without.

A sine similitude, that, Sir! did you see the panne?

Yes, Sir.

Nay, the hole in the nose heere, of some tabacco-takers, or the third nostrill, (if I may so call it) which makes, that they can vent the tabacco out, like the Ace of clubs, or rather the Flower-de-lice, is caused from the tabacco, the meere tabacco! when the poore innocent pox, hauing nothing to doe there, is miserably, and most vnconscionably slander'd.

Who would ha' mist this, Sister?

Not any body, but Numps.

He do's not vnderstand.

Nor you feele.

What would you haue, Sister,

of a fellow that knowes nothing but a basket-hilt, and an old Fox in't? the best musique i'the Fayre, will not moue a logge.

In, to Vrsla, Nightingale, and carry her comfort: see it told. This fellow was sent to vs by fortune, for our first fairing.

But what speake I of the diseases of the body, children of the Fayre?

That's to vs, Sister. Braue i'faith!

Harke, O, you sonnes and daughters of Smithfield! and heare what mallady it doth the minde: It causeth swearing, it causeth swaggering, it causeth snuffling, and snarling, and now and then a hurt.

He hath something of Master Ouerdo [...], mee thinkes, bro­ther.

So mee thought, Sister, very much of my brother Ouer­doo: And 'tis, when he speakes.

Looke into any Angle o'the towne, (the Streights, or the Bermuda's) where the quarrelling lesson is read, and how doe they entertaine the time, but with bottle-ale, and tabacco? The Lecturer is o'one side, and his Pupils o'the other; But the seconds are still bottle ale, and tabacco, for which the Lecturer reads, and rhe Nouices pay. Thirty pound a weeke in bo [...]le-ale! forty in ta­bacco! and ten more in Ale againe. Then for a sute to drinke in, so much, and (that being slauer'd) so much for another sute, and then a third sute, and a fourth sute! and still the bottle-ale slaue­reth, and the tabacco stinketh!

Heart of a mad-man! are you rooted heere? well you [Page 30] neuer away? what can any man finde out in this bawling fellow, to grow heere for? hee is a full handfull higher, sin'he heard him, will you fix heere? and set vp a Booth? Sir?

I will conclude briefely—

Hold your peace, you roaring Rascall, I'le runne my head i'your chaps else. You were best build a Booth, and en­tertaine him, make your Will, and you say the word, and him your heyre! heart, I neuer knew one taken with a mouth of a peeke, a­fore. By this light, I'le carry you away o' my backe, and you will not come.

Stay Numpes, stay, set mee downe: I ha' lost my purse, Numps, O my purse! one o'my fine purses is gone.

Is't indeed, brother?

I, as I am an honest man, would I were an errant Rogue, else! a plague of all roguy, damn'd cut-purses for me.

Blesse 'hem with all my heart, with all my heart, do you see! Now, as I am no Infidell, that I know of, I am glad on't. I I am, (here's my witnesse!) doe you see, Sir? I did not tell you of his fables, I? no, no, I am a dull malt-horse, I, I know nothing. Are you not iustly seru'd i'your conscience now? speake i'your consci­ence. Much good doe you with all my heart, and his good heart that has it, with all my heart againe.

This fellow is very charitable, would he had a purse too! but, I must not be too bold, all at a time.

Nay, Numps, it is not my best purse.

Not your best! death! why should it be your worst? why should it be any, indeed, at all? answer me to that, gi'mee a reason from you, why it should be any?

Nor my gold, Numps; I ha' that yet, looke heere else, Sister.

Why so, there's all the feeling he has!

I pray you, haue a better care of that, brother.

Nay, so I will, I warrant you; let him catch this, that catch can. I would [...]aine see him get this, looke you heere.

So, so, so, so, so, so, so, so! Very good.

I would ha' him come againe, now, and but offer at it. Sister, will you take notice of a good iest? I will put it iust where th'other was, and if we ha' good lucke, you shall see a delicate fine trap to catch the cutpurse, nibling.

Faith, and he'll trye ere you be out o'the Fayre.

Come, Mistresse Grace, pre'thee be not melancholy for my mis-chance; sorrow wi'not keepe it, Sweet heart.

I doe not thinke on't, Sir.

'Twas but a little scuruy white money, hang it: it may hang the cutpurse, one day. I ha' gold left to gi'thee a fayring, yet, as hard as the world goes: nothing angers me, but that no body heere, look'd like a cutpurse, vnlesse 'twere Numps.

How? I? I looke like a cutpurse? death! your Sister's a cutpurse! and your mother and father, and all your kinne were cutpurses! And here is a Rogue is the baud o'the cutpurses, whom I will beat to begin with.

Numps, Numps.

Good M^r Humphrey.

You are the Patrico! are you? the Patriarch of the cutpurses? you share, Sir, they say, let them share this with you. Are you i'your hot fit of preaching againe? I'le coole you.

Murther, murther, murther.

Hold thy hand, childe of wrath, and heyre of anger,

make it not Childermasse day in thy fury, or the feast of the French Bartholmew, Parent of the of the Massacre.

ACT. III. SCENE. I.

NAy, tish all gone, now! dish tish, phen tou vilt not be phitin call, Master Offi­sher, phat ish a man te better to lishen out noyshes for tee, & tou art in an oder 'orld, being very shuffishient noyshes and gallantsh too, one o'their brabblesh woud haue fed vsh all dish fortnight, but tou art so bushy about beggersh stil, tou hast no leshure to intend shentlemen, and't be.

Why, I told you, Dauy Bristle.

Come, come, you told mee a pudding, Toby Haggise; A matter of nothing; I am sure it came to nothing! you said, let's goe [...]o Vrsla's, indeede; but then you met the man with the mon­sters, [Page 32] and I could not get you from him. An old foole, not leaue seeing yet?

Why, who would ha' thought any body would ha' quar­rell'd so earely? or that the ale o'the Fayre would ha' beene vp so soone.

Phy? phat a clocke toest tou tinke it ish, man?

I cannot tell.

Tou art a vishe vatchman, i'te meane teeme.

Why? should the watch goe by the clocke, or the clock by the watch, I pray?

One should goe by another, if they did well.

Tou art right now! phen didst tou euer know, or heare of a shuffishient vatchman, but he did tell the clocke, phat bushi­nesse soeuer he had?

Nay, that's most true, a sufficient watchman knowes what a clocke it is.

Shleeping, or vaking! ash well as te clocke himshelfe, or te lack dat shtrikes him!

Let's enquire of Master Leatherhead, or Ione Trash heere. Master Leatherhead, doe you heare, Master Leatherhead?

If it be a Ledderhead, tish a very tick Ledderhead, tat sho mush noish vill not peirsh him.

I haue a little businesse now, good friends doe not trou­ble me.

Phat? because o'ty wrought neet cap, and ty pheluet sherkin, Man? phy? I haue sheene tee in ty Ledder sherkin, ere now, Mashter o'de hobby-Horses, as bushy and as stately as tou sheem'st to be▪

Why, what an' you haue, Captaine Whit? hee has his choyce of Ierkins, you may see by that, and his caps too, I assure you, when hee pleases to be either sicke, or imploy'd.

God a mercy Ione, answer for me.

Away, be not sheen i'my company, here be shentlemen, and men of vorship.

ACT. III. SCENE. II.

WEe had wonderfull ill lucke, to misse this prologue o'the purse, but the best is, we shall haue fiue Acts of him ere night: hee'le be spectacle enough! I'le answer for't.

O Creesh! Duke Quarlous, how dosht tou? tou dosht not know me, I feare? I am te vishesht man, but Iustish Ouerdoo, in all Bartholmew Fayre, now. Gi' me tweluepence from tee, I vill help tee to a vife vorth forty marks for't, and't be.

Away, Rogue, Pimpe away.

And shee shall shew tee as fine cut o'rke fort't in her shmock too, as tou cansht vishe i'faith; vilt tou haue her, vorship­full Vin vife? I vill helpe tee to her, heere, be an't be, in te pig-quarter▪ gi'me ty twelpence from tee,

Why, there's twelpence, pray thee wilt thou be gone.

Tou art a vorthy man, and a vorshipfull man still.

Get you gone, Rascall.

I doe meane it, man. Prinsh Quarlous if tou has [...]t need on me, tou shalt finde me heere, at Vrsla's, I vill see phat ale, and punque ish i'te pigshty, for tee, blesse ty good vorship.

Looke! who comes heere! Iohn Little-wit!

And his wife, and my widdow, her mother: the whole family.

'Slight, you must gi'hem all fairings, now!

Not I, I'le not see 'hem,

They are going a feasting. What Schole-master's that [...]s with 'hem?

That's my Riuall, I beleeue, the Baker!

So, walke on in the middle way, fore-right, turne ney­ther to the right hand, nor to the left: let not your eyes be drawne aside with vanity, nor your eare with noyses.

O, I know him by that start!

What do you lack? what do you buy, pretty Mistris! a fine Hobby-Horse, to make your sonne a Tilter? a Drum to make him a Souldier? a Fiddle, to make him a Reueller? What is't you lack? Little Dogs for your Daughters! or Babies, male, or female?

Look not toward them, harken not: the place is Smithfield, or the field of Smiths, the Groue of Hobbi-horses and trinkets, the wares are the wares of diuels. And the whole Fayre is the shop of Satan! They are hooks, and baites, very baites, that are hung out on euery side, to catch you, and to hold you as it were, by the gills; and by the nostrills, as the Fisher doth: therefore, you must not looke, nor turne toward them— The Heathen man could stop his eares with wax, against the harlot o'the sea: Doe you the like, with your fingers against the bells of the Beast.

What flashes comes from him!

O, he has those of his ouen! a notable hot Baker 'twas, when hee ply'd the peele: hee is leading his flocke into the Fayre, now.

Rather driuing 'hem to the Pens: for he will let 'hem looke vpon nothing.

Gentlewomen, the weather's hot! whither walke you? [Page 34] Haue a care o'your fine veluet caps, the Fayre is dusty. Take a sweet delicate Booth,

with boughs, here, ithe way, and coole your selues i'the shade: you and your friends. The best pig and bottle-ale i' the Fayre, Sir. Old Vrsla is Cooke, there you may read: the pigges head speakes it. Poore soule, shee has had a Sringhalt, the Maryhin­chco: but shee's prettily amended.

A delicate show-pig, little Mistris, with shweet sauce, and crackling, like de bay-leafe i'de fire, la! Tou shalt ha'de cleane side o'de table-clot and di glass vash'd with phatersh of Dame Annessh Cleare.

This's sine, verily, here be the best pigs: and shee doe's roast 'hem as well as euer she did; the Pigs head sayes.

Excellent, excellent, Mistris, with fire o' Iuniper and Rose­mary branches! The Oracle of the Pigs head, that, Sir.

Sonne, were you not warn'd of the vanity of the eye? haue you forgot the wholesome admonition, so soone?

Good mother, how shall we finde a pigge, if we doe not looke about for't? will it run off o'the spit, into our mouths thinke you? as in Lubberland? and cry, we, we?

No, but your mother, religiously wise, conceiueth it may offer it selfe, by other meanes, to the sense, as by way of steeme which I thinke it doth, here in this place (Huh, huh) yes, it doth. and it were a sinne of obstinacy,

great obstinacy, high and hor­rible obstinacy, to decline, or resist the good titillation of the famelick sense, which is the smell. Therefore be bold (huh, huh, huh) follow the sent. Enter the Tents of the vncleane, for once, and satisfie your wiues frailty. Let your fraile wife be satisfied: your zealous mother, and my suffering selfe, will also be satisfi­ed.

Come, Win, as good winny here, as goe farther, and see nothing.

Wee scape so much of the other vanities, by our earely entring.

It is an aedifying consideration.

This is scuruy, that wee must come into the Fayre, and not looke on't.

Win, haue patience, Win, I'le tell you more anon.

Moone-calfe, entertaine within there, the best pig i'the Booth; a Porklike pig. These are Banbury-bloods, o'the sincere stud, come a pigge-hunting. Whit, wait Whit, looke to your charge.

A pigge prepare, presently, let a pigge be prepared to vs.

S'light, who be these?

Is this the good seruice, Iordan, you'ld doe me?

Why, Vrs? why, Vrs? thou'lt ha' vapours i'thy legge againe presently, pray thee go in, 't may turne to the scratches else.

Hang your vapours, they are stale, and stinke like you, are these the guests o'the game, you promis'd to fill my pit with­all, to day?

I [...] what aile they Vrs?

Aile they? they are all sippers, sippers o'the City, they looke as they would not drinke off two penn'orth of bottle-ale a­mongst 'hem.

A body may read that i'their small printed ruffes.

Away, thou art a foole, Vrs, and thy Moone-calfe too, i'your ignorant vapours, now? hence, good guests, I say right hypocrites, good gluttons. In, and set a couple o'pigs o'the board, and halfe a dozen of the biggest bottles afore 'hem, and call Whit, I doe not loue to heare Innocents abus'd: Fine ambling hypo­crites! and a stone-puritane, with a sorrell head, and beard, good mouth'd gluttons: two to a pigge, away.

Are you sure they are such?

O'the right breed, thou shalt try 'hem by the teeth, Vrs, where's this Whit?

Well said, braue Whit, in, and feare the ale out o'the bottles, into the bellies of the brethren, and the sisters drinke to the cause, and pure vapours.

My Roarer is turn'd Tapster, mee thinks. Now were a fine time for thee, Win-wife, to lay aboard thy widdow, thou'lt ne­uer be Master of a better season, or place; shee that will venture her selfe into the Fayre, and a pig-boxe, will admit any assault, be assur'd of that.

I loue not enterprises of that suddennesse, though.

I'le warrant thee, then, no wife out o'the widdowes Hundred: if I had but as much Title to her, as to haue breath'd once on that streight stomacher of hers, I would now assure my selfe to carrry her, yet, ere shewent out of Smithfield. Or she should carry me, which were the fitter sight, I confesse. But you are a mo­dest vndertaker, by circumstances, and degrees; come, 'tis Disease in thee, not Iudgement, I should offer at all together. Looke, here's the poore foole, againe, that was stung by the waspe, ere while.

ACT. III. SCENE. III.

I will make no more orations, shall draw on these tragicall con­clusions. And I begin now to thinke, that by a spice of collate­rall Iustice, Adam Ouerdoo, deseru'd this beating; for I the said Adam, was one cause (a by-cause) why the purse was lost: and my wiues brothers purse too, which they know not of yet. But I shall make very good mirth with it, at supper, (that will be the sport) and put my little friend, M^r Humphrey Wasp's choler quite out of counte­nance. When, sitting at the vpper end o'my Table, as I vse, & drink­ing to my brother Cokes, and M^rs. Alice Ouerdoo, as I wil, my wife, for their good affectiō to old Bradley, I deliuer to'hem, it was I, that was cudgell'd, and shew 'hem the marks. To see what bad euents may peepe out o'the taile of good purposes! the care I had of that ciuil yong man, I tooke fancy to this morning, (and haue not left it yet) drew me to that exhortation, which drew the company, indeeede, which drew the [...]ut-purse; which drew the money; which drew my brother Cokes his losse; which drew on Wasp's anger; which drew on my beating: a pretty gradation! And they shall ha' it i'their dish, i'faith, at night for fruit: I loue to be merry at my Ta­ble. I had thought once, at one speciall blow he ga'me, to haue re­uealed my selfe? but then (I thank thee fortitude) I remembred that a wise man (and who is euer so great a part, o'the Common-wealth in himselfe) for no particular disaster ought to abandon a publike good designe. The husbandman ought not for one vn­thankful yeer, to forsake the plough; The Shepheard ought not, for one scabb'd sheep, to throw by his tar-boxe; The Pilot ought not for one leake i'the poope, to quit the Helme; Nor the Alderman ought not for one custerd more, at a meale, to giue vp his cloake; The Constable ought not to breake his staffe, and forsweare the watch, for one roaring night; Nor the Piper o'the Parish (Vt par­uis componere magna solebam) to put vp his pipes, for one rainy Sunday. These are certaine knocking conclusions; out of which, I am resolu'd, come what come can, come beating, come imprison­ment, come infamy, come banishment, nay, come the rack, come the hurdle, (welcome all) I will not discouer who I am, till my due time; and yet still, all shall be, as I said euer, in Iustice name, and the King's, and for the Common-wealth.

What doe's he talke to himselfe, and act so seriously? poore foole!

No matter what. Here's fresher argument, intend that.

ACT. III. SCENE. IIIJ.

COme, Mistresse Grace, come Sister, heere's more fine sights, yet i'faith. Gods 'lid where's Numps?

What doe you lacke, Gentlemen? what is't you buy? fine Rattles! Drummes? Babies? little Dogges? and Birds for Ladies? What doe you lacke?

Good honest Numpes, keepe afore, I am so afraid thou'lt lose somewhat: my heart was at my mouth, when I mist thee.

You were best buy a whip i'your hand to driue me.

Nay, doe not mistake, Numps, thou art so apt to mis­take: I would but watch the goods. Looke you now, the treble fiddle, was e'en almost like to be lost.

Pray you take heede you lose not your selfe: your best way, were e'en get vp, and ride for more surety. Buy a tokens worth of great pinnes, to fasten your selfe to my shoulder.

What doe you lacke, Gentlemen? fine purses, pouches, pincases, pipes? What is't you lacke? a paire o'smithes to wake you i'the morning? or a fine whistling bird?

Numps, here be finer things then any we ha' bought by oddes! and more delicate horses, a great deale! good Numpes, stay▪ and come hither.

Will you scourse with him? you are in Smithfield, you may fit your selfe with a fine easy-going street-nag, for your sad­dle again' Michaelmasse-terme, doe, has he ne'er a little odde cart for you, to make a Carroch on, i'the countrey, with foure pyed hob­byhorses? why the meazills, should you stand heere, with your traine, cheaping of Dogges, Birds, and Babies? you ha' no chil­dren to bestow 'hem on? ha' you?

No, but again' I ha' children, Numps, that's all one.

Do, do, do, do; how many shall you haue, think you? an' I were as you, I'ld buy for all my Tenants, too, they are a kind o'ciuill Sauages, that wil part with their children for rattles, pipes, and kniues. You were best buy a hatchet, or two, & truck with 'hem.

Good Numps, hold that little tongue o'thine, and saue it a labour. I am resolute Bat, thou know'st.

A resolute foole, you are, I know, and a very sufficient Coxcombe; with all my heart; nay you haue it, Sir, and you be angry, turd i'your teeth, twice: (if I said it not once afore) and much good doe you.

Was there euer such a selfe-affliction? and so imper­tinent?

Alas! his care will goe neere to cracke him, let's in, and comfort him.

Would I had beene set i'the ground, all but the head on me, and had my braines bowl'd at, or thresh'd out, when first I vnderwent this plague of a charge!

How now, Numps! almost tir'd i'your Protectorship? ouerparted? ouerparted?

Why, I cannot tell, Sir, it may be I am, dos't grieue you?

No, I sweare dos't not, Numps: to satisfie you.

Numps? S'blood, you are fine and familiar! how long ha' wee bin acquainted, I pray you?

I thinke it may be remembred, Numps, that? 'twas since morning sure.

Why, I hope I know't well enough, Sir, I did not aske to be told.

No? why then?

It's no matter why, you see with your eyes, now, what I said to you to day? you'll beleeue me another time?

Are you remouing the Fayre, Numps?

A pretty question! and a very ciuill one! yes faith, I ha' my lading you see; or shall haue anon, you may know whose beast I am, by my burthen. If the pannier-mans Iacke were euer better knowne by his loynes of mutton, I'le be flead, and feede dogs for him, when his time comes.

How melancholi' Mistresse Grace is yonder! pray thee let's goe enter our selues in Grace, with her.

Those sixe horses, friend I'le haue—

How!

And the three Iewes trumps; and halfe a dozen o'Birds, and that Drum, (I haue one Drumme already) and your Smiths; I like that deuice▪ o'your smiths, very pretty well, and foure Hal­berts —and (le'me see) that fine painted great Lady, and her three women for state, I'le haue.

No, the shop; buy the whole shop, it will be best, the shop, the shop!

If his worship please.

Yes, and keepe it during the Fayre, Bobchin.

Peace, Numps, friend, doe not meddle with him, an' [Page 39] you be wise, and would shew your head aboue board: hee will sting thorow your wrought night-cap, beleeue me. A set of these Violines, I would buy too, for a delicate young noise I haue i'the countrey, that are euery one a size lesse then another, iust like your fiddles. I would faine haue a fine young Masque at my marriage, now I thinke on't: but I doe want such a number o'things. And Numps will not helpe me now, and I dare not speake to him.

Will your worship buy any ginger-bread, very good bread, comfortable bread?

Ginger-bread! yes, let's see.

There's the tother sprindge?

Is this well, goody Ione? to interrupt my market? in the midst? and call away my customers? can you answer this, at the Piepouldres?

Why? if his Master-ship haue a minde to buy, I hope my ware lies as open as another's; I may shew my ware, as well as you yours.

Hold your peace; I'le content you both: I'le buy vp his shop, and thy basket.

Will you i'faith?

Why should you put him from it, friend?

Cry you mercy! you'ld be sold too, would you? what's the price on you? Ierkin, and all as you stand? ha' you any qua­lities?

Yes, good-man angry-man, you shall finde he has quali­ties, if you cheapen him.

Gods so, you ha' the selling of him! what are they? will they be bought for loue, or money?

No indeed, Sir.

For what then? victualls?

He scornes victuals, Sir, he has bread and butter at home, thanks be to God! and yet he will do more for a good meale, if the toy take him i'the belly, mary then they must not set him at lower end; if they do, he'll goe away, though he fast. But put him a top o'the Table, where his place is, and hee'll doe you forty fiue things. Hee has not been sent for, and sought out for nothing, at your great citty-suppers, to put downe Coriat, and Cokeley, and bin laught at for his labour; he'll play you all the Puppets i'the towne ouer, and the Players, euery company, and his owne company too; he spares no body!

I'faith?

Hee was the first, Sir, that euer baited the fellow i'the beare's skin, an't like your worship: no dog euer came neer him, since. And for fine motions!

Is hee good at those too? can hee set out a Masque trow?

O Lord, Master! sought to farre, and neere, for his in­uentions: [Page 40] and hee engrosses all, hee makes all the Puppets i'the Fayre.

Do'st thou (in troth) old veluet Ierkin▪ giue mee thy hand.

Nay, Sir, you shall see him in his veluet Ierkin, and a scarfe, too, at night, when you heare him interpret Master Little­wit's Motion.

Speake no more, but shut vp shop presently, friend. I'le buy both it, and thee too, to carry downe with me, and he [...] hamper, beside. Thy shop shall furnish out the Masque, and hers the Banquet: I cannot goe lesse, to set out any thing with credit▪ what's the price, at a word, o'thy whole shop, case, and all as it stands?

Sir, it stands me in sixe and twenty shillings seuen pence, halfe-peny, besides three shillings for my ground.

Well, thirty shillings will doe all, then! And what comes yours too?

Foure shillings, and eleauen pence, Sir, ground, and all, an't like your worship.

Yes, it do's like my worship very well, poore woman, that's fiue shillings more, what a Masque shall I furnish out, for forty shillings? (twenty pound scotsh) and a Banquet of Ginger-bread? there's a stately thing! Numps? Sister? and my wedding gloues too? (that I neuer thought on afore.) All my wedding gloues, Ginger-bread? O me! what a deuice will there be? to make 'hem eate their fingers ends! and delicate Brooches for the Bride-men! and all! and then I'le h [...]' this poesie put to 'hem: For the best grace, meaning Mistresse Grace, my wedding poesie.

I am beholden to you, Sir, and to your Bartholmew-wit.

You doe not meane this, doe you? is this your first pur­chase?

Yes faith, and I doe not thinke, Numpes, but thou'lt say, it was the wisest Act, that euer I did in my wardship.

Like inough! I shall say any thing. I!

ACT. III. SCENE. V.

I Cannot beget a Proiect, with all my politicall braine, yet; my Proiect is how to fetch off this proper young man, from his de­baucht company: I haue followed him all the Fayre ouer, and still I finde him with this songster: And I begin shrewdly to suspect their familiarity; and the young man of a terrible taint, Poetry! with which idle disease, if he be infected, there's no hope of him, in a state-course. Actum est, of him for a common-wealths-man: i [...] hee goe to't in Rime, once.

Yonder he is buying o'Ginger-bread: set in quickly, be [...]fore he part wirh too much on his money.

My masters and friends, and good people, draw neere, &c.

Ballads! harke, harke! pray thee, fellow, stay a little,

good Numpes, looke to the goods. What Ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see my selfe.

Why so! hee's flowne to another lime-bush, there he will flutter as long more; till hee ha' ne'r a feather left. Is there a vexation like this, Gentlemen? will you beleeue mee now, here­after? shall I haue credit with you?

Yes faith, shalt thou, Numps, and thou art worthy on't, for thou sweatest for't. I neuer saw a young Pimpe errant, and his Squire better match'd.

Faith, the sister comes after'hem, well, too.

Nay, if you saw the Iustice her husband, my Guardian, you were fitted for the Messe, hee is such a wise one his way—

I wonder, wee see him not heere.

O! hee is too serious for this place, and yet better sport then then the other three, I assure you, Gentlemen: where ere he is, though't be o'the Bench.

How dost thou call it! A caueat against cutpurses! a good iest, i'faith, I would faine see that Daemon, your Cutpurse, you talke of, that delicate handed Diuell;

they say he walkes here­about; I would see him walke, now. Looke you sister, here, here, let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, do's any cutpur­ses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two▪ beginne and shew me one.

Sir, this is a spell against 'hem, spicke and span new; and 'tis made as 'twere in mine owne person, and I sing it in mine owne [Page 42] defence. But 'twill cost a penny alone, if you buy it.

No matter for the price, thou dost not know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholmew.

Ha'st a fine picture, Brother?

O Sister, doe you remember the ballads ouer the Nur­sery-chimney at home o' my owne pasting vp, there be braue pi­ctures. Other manner of pictures, than these, friend.

Yet these will serue to picke the pictures out o' your pockets, you shall see.

So, I heard 'hem say. Pray thee mind him not, fellow: hee'll haue an oare in euery thing.

It was intended Sir, as if a purse should chance to be cut in my presence, now, I may be blamelesse, though: as by the se­quell, will more plainely appeare.

We shall find that i'the matter. Pray thee begin.

To the tune of Paggingtons Pound, Sir.

Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Nay, I'll put thee in tune, and all! mine owne country dance! Pray thee begin.

It is a gentle admonition, you must know, Sir, both to the purse-cutter, and the purse-bearer.

Not a word more, out o'the tune, an' thou lou'st mee: Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Come, when?

Ha, ha, this chimes! good counsell at first dash.

Good!

Well said! hee were to blame that wold not i'faith.

Good i'faith, how say you, Numps? Is there any harme i'this?

The more coxcōbes they that did it, I wusse.

God a mercy for that! why should they be more free in­deede?

That againe, good Ballad-man, that againe. O rare! I would faine rubbe mine elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand. On, I pray thee, hee that made this ballad, shall be Poet to my Masque.

Is it possible?

I'faith?

Youth, youth, &c? pray thee stay a little, friend, yet o'thy conscience, Numps, speake, is there any harme i'this?

To tell you true, 'tis too good for you, lesse you had grace to follow it.

It doth discouer enormitie, I'le marke it more: I ha'not lik'd a paltry piece of poetry, so well a good while.

Youth, youth, &c! where's this youth, now? A man must call vpon him, for his owne good, and yet hee will not ap­peare: looke here, here's for him, handy-dandy,

which hand will he haue? On, I pray there, with the rest, I doe heare of him, but I cannot see him, this Master Youth, the cutpurse.

That was a fine fellow! I would haue him, now.

But where's their cunning, now, when they should vse it? they are all chain'd now, I warrant you. Youth, youth, thou hadst better, &c. The Rat-catchers charme, are all fooles and Asses to this! A poxe on 'hem, that they will not come! that a man should haue such a desire to a thing, and want it.

'Fore God, I'ld giue halfe the Fayre, and 'twere mine, for a cutpurse for him, to saue his longing.

Looke you Sister, heere, heere, where is't now?

which pocket is't in? for a wager?

I beseech you leaue your wagers, and let him end his matter, an't may be.

O, are you aedified Numps?

Indeed hee do's interrupt him, too much: There Numps spoke to purpose.

Sister, I am an Asse, I cannot keepe my purse: on, on; I pray thee, friend.

Will you see sport? looke, there's a fellow ga­thers vp to him, marke.

Good, 'i faith [...] ô he has lighted on the wrōg pocket. WINW. He has it, 'fore God hee is a braue fellow; pitty hee should be detected.

An excellent ballad! an excellent ballad!

Friend, let mee ha' the first, let mee ha' the first, I pray you.

Pardon mee, Sir. First come, first seru'd; and I'le buy the whole bundle too.

That conueyance was better then all, did you see't? he has giuen the purse to the ballad-singer.

Has hee?

Sir, I cry you mercy; I'le not hinder the poore mans profit: pray you mistake me not.

Sir, I take you for an honest Gentleman; if that be mis­taking, I met you to day afore: ha! humh! O God! my purse is gone, my purse, my purse, &c.

Come, doe not make a stirre, and cry your selfe an Asse, thorow the Fayre afore your time.

Why, hast thou it, Numpes? good Numpes, how came you by it? I mar'le!

I pray you seeke some other gamster, to play the foole with: you may lose it time enough, for all your Fayre-wit.

By this good hand, gloue and all, I ha' lost it already, if thou hast it not: feele else, and Mistris Grace's handkercher, too, out o'the tother pocket.

Why, 'tis well; very well, exceeding pretty, and well.

Are you sure you ha' lost it, Sir?

O God! yes; as I am an honest man, I had it but e'en now, at youth, youth.

I hope you suspect not me, Sir.

Thee? that were a iest indeede! Dost thou thinke the Gentleman is foolish? where hadst thou hands, I pray thee? Away Asse, away.

I shall be beaten againe, if I be spi'd.

Sir, I suspect an odde fellow, yonder, is stealing away.

Brother, it is the preaching fellow! you shall suspect him. He was at your tother purse, you know! Nay, stay, Sir, and view the worke you ha'done, an'you be benefie'd at the Gallowes, and preach there, thanke your owne handy-worke.

Sir, you shall take no pride in your preferment: you shall be silenc'd quickly.

What doe you meane? sweet buds of gentility.

To ha' my peneworths out on you: Bud. No lesse then two purses a day, serue you? I thought you a simple fellow, when my man Numpes beate you, i'the morning, and pittied you—

So did I, I'll besworne, brother; but now I see hee is a lewd, and pernicious Enormity: (as Master Ouerdoo calls him.)

Mine owne words turn'd vpon mee, like swords.

Cannot a man's purse be at quiet for you, i'the Masters pocket, but you must intice it forth, and debauch it?

Sir, Sir, keepe your debauch, and your fine Bartholmew-termes to your selfe; and make as much on'hem as you please. But gi'me this from you, i'the meane time: I beseech you, see if I can looke to this.

Why, Numps?

Why? because you are an Asse, Sir, there's a reason the shortest way, and you will needs ha' it; now you ha'got the tricke of losing, you'ld lose your breech, an't 'twere loose. I know you, Sir, come, deliuer, you'll goe and cracke the vermine, you breed now, will you? 'tis very fine, will you ha' the truth on't? they are such retchlesse flies as you are, that blow cutpurses a­broad in euery corner; your foolish hauing of money, makes 'hem. An' there were no wiser then I, Sir, the trade should lye open for you, Sir, it should i'faith, Sir. I would teach your wit to come to your head, Sir, as well as your land to come into your hand, I as­sure you, Sir.

Alacke, good Numps.

Nay, Gentlemen, neuer pitty mee, I am not worth it: Lord send me at home once, to Harrow o'the Hill againe, if I tra­uell any more, call me Coriat; withall my heart.

Stay, Sir, I must haue a word with you in priuate. Doe you heare?

With me, Sir? what's your pleasure? good Sir.

Doe not deny it. You are a cutpurse, Sir, this Gentle­man here, and I, saw you, nor doe we meane to detect you (though we can sufficiently informe our selues, toward the danger of con­cealing you) but you must doe vs a piece of seruice.

Good Gentlemen, doe not vndoe me; I am a ciuill young man, and but a beginner, indeed.

Sir, your beginning shall bring on your ending, for vs. [Page 46] We are no Catchpoles nor Constables. That you are to vndertake, is this; you saw the old fellow, with the bl [...]cke boxe, here?

The little old Gouernour, Sir?

That same: I see, you haue flowne him to a marke al­ready. I would ha'you get away that boxe from him, and bring it vs.

Would you ha' the boxe and all, Sir? or onely that, that is in't? I'le get you that, and leaue him the boxe, to play with still: (which will be the harder o'the two) because I would gaine your worships good opinion of me.

He sayes well, 'tis the greater Mastry, and 'twill make the more sport when 'tis mist.

I, and 'twill be the longer a missing, to draw on the sport.

But looke you doe it now, sirrah, and keepe your word: or—

Sir, if euer I breake my word, with a Gentleman, may I neuer read word at my need. Where shall I find you?

Some-where i'the Fayre, heereabouts. Dispatch it quickly. I would faine see the carefull foole deluded! of all Beasts, I loue the serious Asse. He that takes paines to be one, and playes the foole, with the greatest diligence that can be.

Then you would not chose, Sir, but loue my Guardian, Iustice Ouerdo [...], who is answerable to that description, in euery haire of him.

So I haue heard. But how came you, Mistis Welborne, to be his Ward? or haue relation to him, at first?

Faith, through a common calamity, he bought me, Sir; and now he will marry me to his wiues brother, this wise Gentle­man, that you see, or else I must pay value o'my land

S'lid, is there no deuice of disparagement? or so? talke with some crafty fellow, some picklocke o'the Law! Would I had studied a yeere longer i'the Innes of Court, and't had beene but i'your case.

I Master Quarlous, are you proffering?

You'ld bring but little ayde, Sir.

(I'le looke to you 'ifaith, Gamster.) An vnfortunate foolish Tribe you are falne into, Lady, I wonder you can en­dure 'hem.

Sir, they that cannot worke their fetters off; must weare 'hem.

You see what care they haue on you, to leaue you thus.

Faith the same they haue of themselues, Sir. I cannot greatly complaine, if this were all the plea I had against 'hem.

'Tis true! but will you please to withdraw with vs, a little, and make them thinke, they haue lost you. I hope our man­ners ha' beene such hitherto, and our language, as will giue [Page 47] you no cause, to doubt your selfe, in our company.

Sir, I will giue my selfe, no cause; I am so secure of mine owne manners, as I suspect not yours.

Looke where Iohn Little-wit comes.

Away, I'le not be seene, by him.

No, you were not best, hee'ld tell his mother, the widdow.

Heatt, what doe you meane?

Cry you mercy, is the winde there? must not the wid­dow be nam'd?

ACT. III SCENE. VI.

DOe you heare Win, Win?

What say you, Iohn?

While they are paying the reckoning, Win, I'll tell you a thing Win, wee shall neuer see any sights i'the Fayre, Win, except you long still, Win, good Win, sweet Win, long to see some Hob­by-horses, and some Drummes, and Rattles, and Dogs, and fine deuices, Win. The Bull with the fiue legs, Win; and the great Hog: now you ha' begun with Pigge, you may long for any thing, Win, and so for my Motion, Win.

But we sha'not eat o'the Bull, and the Hogge, Iohn, how shall I long then?

O yes! Win: you may long to see, as well as to taste, Win: how did the Pothecarie's wife, Win, that long'd to see the Anatomy, Win? or the Lady, Win, that desir'd to spit i'the great Lawyers mouth, after an eloquent pleading? I assure you they long'd, VVin, good Win, goe in, and long.

I think we are rid of our new customer, brother Leather-head, wee shall heare no more of him.

All the better, let's packe vp all, and be gone, before he finde vs

Stay a little, yonder comes a company: it may be wee may take some more money.

Sir, I will take your counsell, and cut my haire, and leaue vapours: I see, that Tabacco, and Bottle-Ale, and Pig, and Whit, and very Vrsla, her selfe, is all vanity.

Onely Pigge was not comprehended in my admonition, [Page 48] the rest were. For long haire, it is an Ensigne of pride, a banner, and the world is full of those banners, very full of Banners. And, bottle-ale is a drinke of Sathan's, a diet-drinke of Sathans, deui­sed to puffe vs vp, and make vs swell in this latter age of vanity, as the smoake of tabacco, to keepe vs in mist and error: But the fleshly woman, (which you call Vrsla) is aboue all to be auoyded, hauing the marks vpon her, of the three enemies of Man, the World, as being in the Faire; the Deuill, as being in the fire; and and the Flesh, as being her selfe.

Brother Zeale-of-the land! what shall we doe? my daugh­ter Win-the-fight, is falne into her fit of longing againe.

For more pig? there is no more, is there?

To see some sights, i' the Faire.

Sister, let her fly the impurity of the place, swiftly, lest shee partake of the pitch thereof. Thou art the seate of the Beast, O Smithfield, and I will leaue thee. Idolatry peepeth out on euery side of thee.

An excellent right Hypocrite! now his belly is full, he falls a railing and kicking, the Iade. A very good vapour! I'll in, and ioy Vrsla, with telling, how her pigge works, two and a halfe he eate to his share. And he has drunke a pailefull. He eates with his eyes, as well as his teeth.

What doe you lack, Gentlemen? What is't you buy? Rattles, Drumms, Babies.—

Peace, with thy Apocryphall wares, thou prophane Pub­lican: thy Bells, thy Dragons, and thy Tobie's Dogges. Thy Hobby-horse is an Idoll, a very Idoll, a feirce and rancke Idoll: And thou, the Nabuchadnezzar, the proud Nabuchadnezzar of the Faire, that set'st it vp, for children to fall downe to, and worship.

Cry you mercy, Sir, will you buy a fiddle to fill vp your noise.

Looke Win. doe, looke a Gods name, and saue your longing. Here be fine sights.

I child, so you hate 'hem, as our Brother Zeale do's, you may looke on 'hem.

Or what do you say, to a Drumme. Sir?

It is the broken belly of the Beast, and thy Bellowes there are his lungs, and these Pipes are his throate, those Feathers are of his taile, and thy Rattles, the gnashing of his teeth.

And what's my ginger-bread? I pray you.

The prouander that pricks him vp. Hence with thy bas­ket of Popery, thy nest of Images: and whole legend of ginger-worke.

Sir if you be not quiet, the quicklier, I'll ha'you clapp'd fairely by the heeles, for disturbing the Faire.

The sinne of the Faire prouokes me, I cannot bee silent.

Good brother Zeale!

Sir, I'll make you silent, beleeue it.

Il'd giue a shilling, you could i'faith, friend.

Sir, giue me your shilling, I'll giue you my shop, if I do not, and I'll leaue it in pawne with you, i'the meane time.

A match i'faith, but do it quickly, then.

Hinder me not, woman. I was mou'd in spirit,

to bee here, this day, in this Faire, this wicked, and foule Faire; and fit­ter may it be a called a foule, then a Faire: To protest against the abuses of it, the foule abuses of it, in regard of the afflicted Saints, that are troubled, very much troubled, exceedingly troubled, with the opening of the merchandize of Babylon againe, & the peeping of Popery vpon the stals, here, here, in the high places. See you not Goldylocks, the purple strumpet, there? in her yellow gowne, and greene sleeues? the prophane pipes, the tinckling timbrells? A shop of reliques!

Pray you forbeare, I am put in trust with 'hem.

And this Idolatrous Groue of Images, this flasket of Idols!

which I will pull downe—

(TRA. O my ware, my ware, God blesse it.)

In my zeale, and glory to be thus exercis'd.

Here he is, pray you lay hold on his zeale, wee cannot sell a whistle, for him, in tune. Stop his noyse, first!

Thou canst not: 'tis a sanctified noise.

I will make a loud and most strong noise, till I haue daunted the prophane ene­my. And for this cause.—

Sir, heer's no man afraid of you, or your cause. You shall sweare it, i'the stocks, Sir.

I will thrust my selfe into the stocks, vpon the pikes of the Land.

Carry him away.

What doe you meane, wicked men?

Let them alone; I feare them not.

Was not this shilling well ventur'd, Win? for our liber­ty? Now we may goe play, and see ouer the Fayre, where we list our selues; my mother is gone after him, and let her ee'n go, and loose vs.

Yes Iohn, but I know not what to doe.

For what, Win?

For a thing, I am asham'd to tell you, i'faith, and 'tis too farre to go home.

I pray thee bee not asham'd, VVin. Come, i'faith thou shall not be asham'd, is it any thing about the Hobby-horse-man? an't be, speake freely.

Hang him, base Bobchin, I scorne him; no, I haue very great, what sha' call'um, Iohn.

ô! Is that all, Win? wee'll goe backe to Captaine Ior­dan; to the pig-womans, Win. hee'll helpe vs, or she with a [Page 50] dripping pan, or an old kettle, or something. The poore greasie soule loues you, Win, and after we'll visit the Fayre all ouer, Win, and, see my Puppet play, Win, you know it's a fine matter, Win.

Let's away, I counsell'd you to packe vp afore, Ione.

A poxe of his Bedlem purity. Hee has spoyl'd halfe my ware: but the best is, wee lose nothing, if wee misse our first Merchant.

It shall be hard for him to finde, or know vs, when we are translated, Ione.

ACT. IIII. SCENE. I.

MY Masters, I doe make no doubt, but you are officers.

What then, Sir?

And the Kings louing, and o­bedient subiects.

Obedient, friend? take heede what you speake, I aduise you: Oliuer Bristle aduises you. His louing subiects, we grant you: but not his obedient, at this time, by your leaue, wee know our selues, a little better then so, wee are to command, S^r. and such as you are to be obedient. Here's one of his obedient subiects, going to the stocks, and wee'll make you such another, if you talke.

You are all wise enough i'your places, I know.

If you know it, Sir, why doe you bring it in question?

I question nothing, pardon me. I do only hope you haue warrant, for what you doe, and so, quit you, and so, multiply you.

What's hee? bring him vp to the stocks there. Why bring you him not vp?

If you haue Iustice Ouerdoo's warrant, 'tis well:

you are safe; that is the warrant of warrants. I'le not giue this button, for any mans warrant else.

Like enough, Sir, but let me tell you, an' you play away your buttons, thus, you will want 'hem ere night,

for any store I see about you: you might keepe 'hem, and saue pinnes, I wusse.

What should hee be, that doth so esteeme, and aduance my warrant? he seemes a sober and discreet person! it is a com­fort to a good conscience, to be follow'd with a good fame, in his sufferings. The world will haue a pretty tast by this, how I can beare aduersity: and it will beget a kind of reuerence, toward me, hereafter, euen from mine enemies, when they shall see I carry my calamity nobly, and that it doth neither breake mee, nor bend mee.

Come, Sir, heere's a place for you to preach in.

Will you put in your legge?

That I will, cheerefully.

O'my conscience a Seminary! hee kisses the stockes.

Well my Masters, I'le leaue him with you; now I see him bestow'd, I'le goe looke for my goods, and Numps.

You may, Sir, I warrant you; where's the tother Baw­ler? fetch him too, you shall find 'hem both fast enough.

In the mid'st of this tumult, I will yet be the Author of mine owne rest, and not minding their fury, sit in the stockes, in that calme, as shall be able to trouble a Triumph.

Doe you assure me vpon your words?

may I vndertake for you, if I be ask'd the question; that you haue this warrant?

What's this fellow, for Gods sake?

Doe but shew me Adam Ouerdoo, and I am satisfied▪

Hee is a fellow that is distracted, they say; one Trouble-all ▪ hee was an officer in the Court of Pie-poulders, here last yeere, and put out on his place by Iustice Ouerdoo.

Ha!

Vpon which, he tooke an idle conceipt, and's runne mad vpon't. So that euer since, hee will doe nothing, but by Iustice Ouerdoo's warrant, he will not eate a crust, nor drinke a little, nor make him in his apparell, ready. His wife, Sirreuerence, cannot get him make his water, or shift his shirt, without his warrant.

If this be true, this is my greatest disaster! how am I bound to satisfie this poore man, that is of so good a nature to mee, out of his wits! where there is no roome left for dissembling.

If you cannot shew me Adam Ouerdoo, I am in doubt of you: I am afraid you cannot answere it.

Before me,

Neighbour Bristle (and now I thinke on't bet­ter) Iustice Ouerdoo, is a very parantory person.

O! are you aduis'd of that? and a seuere Iusticer, by your leaue.

Doe I heare ill o'that side, too?

He will sit as vpright o'the bench, an' you marke him, as a candle i'the socket, and giue light to the whole Court in euery businesse.

But he will burne blew, and swell like a bile (God blesse vs) an' he be angry.

I, and hee will be angry too, when his list, that's more: and when hee is angry, be it right or wrong; hee has the Law on's side, euer. I marke that too.

I will be more tender hereafter. I see compassion may become a Iustice, though it be a weaknesse, I confesse; and neerer a vice, then a vertue.

Well, take him out o' the stocks againe, wee'll goe a sure way to worke, wee'll ha' the Ace of hearts of our side, if we can.

Come, bring him away to his fellow, there. Master Busy, we shall rule your legges, I hope, though wee cannot rule your tongue.

No, Minister of darkenesse, no, thou canst not rule my tongue, my tongue it is mine own; and with it I will both kn [...]ke [...] and mocke downe your Bartholmew abhominat [...]ns, till you [...] made a hissing to the neighbour Parishes, round about.

Let him alone, we haue deuis'd better vpon't.

And shall he not into the stocks then?

No, Mistresse, wee'll haue 'hem both to Iustice Ouerdoo, and let him doe ouer 'hem as is fitting. Then I, and my gossip Haggis, and my beadle Pocher are discharg'd.

O, I thanke you, blessed, honest men!

Nay, neuer thank vs, but thank this mad-man that comes heere, hee put it in our heads.

Is hee mad? Now heauen increase his madnesse, and blesse it,

and thanke it, Sir, your poore hand-maide thanks you.

Haue you a warrant? an' you haue a warrant, shew it.

Yes, I haue a warrant out of the word, to giue thankes for remouing any scorne intended to the brethren.

It is Iustice Ouerdoo's warrant, that I looke for, if you haue not that, keepe your word, I'le keepe mine. Quit yee, and multiply yee.

ACT. IIII. SCENE. II.

COme away Nightingale, I pray thee.

Whither goe you? where's your warrant?

Warrant, for what, Sir?

For what you goe about, you know how fit it is, an' you haue no warrant, blesse you, I'le pray for you,

that's all I can doe.

What meanes hee?

A mad-man that haunts the Fayre, doe you not know him? it's maruell hee has not more followers, after his ragged heeles.

Beshrew him, he startled me: I thought he had knowne of our plot. Guilt's a terrible thing! ha' you prepar'd the Costard­monger?

Yes, and agreed for his basket of peares; hee is at the corner here, ready. And your Prise, he comes downe, sailing, that way, all alone; without his Protector: hee is rid of him, it seemes.

I, I know; I should ha' follow'd his Protector-ship for a feat I am to doe vpon him: But this offer'd it selfe, so i'the way, I could not let it scape: heere he comes, whistle,

be this sport call'd Dorring the Dottrell.

Wh, wh, wh, wh, &c.

By this light, I cannot finde my ginger-bread-Wife, nor my Hobby-horse-man in all the Fayre, now; to ha' my money a­gaine. And I do not know the way out on't, to go home for more, doe you heare, friend, you that whistle; what tune is that, you whistle?

A new tune, I am practising, Sir.

Dost thou know where I dwell, I pray thee? nay, on with thy tune, I ha' no such hast, for an answer: I'le practise with thee.

Buy any peares, very fine peares, peares fine.

Gods so! a musse, a musse, a musse, a musse.

Good Gentleman, my ware, my ware, I am a poore man. Good Sir, my ware.

Let me hold your sword, Sir, it troubles you.

Doe, and my cloake, an'thou wilt; and my hat, too.

A delicate great boy! me thinks, he out-scrambles 'hem all. I cannot perswade my selfe, but he goes to grammer-schole yet; and playes the trewant, to day.

Would he had another purse to cut, Zekiel.

Purse? a man might cut out his kidneys, I thinke; and he neuer feele 'hem, he is so earnest at the sport.

His soule is halfe way out on's body, at the game.

Away, Nightingale: that way.

I thinke I am furnish'd for Catherne peares, for one vn­der-meale: gi'me my cloake.

Good Gentleman, giue me my ware.

Where's the fellow, I ga' my cloake to? my cloake? and my hat?

ha! Gods'lid, is he gone? thieues, thieues, helpe me to cry, Gentlemen.

Away, Costermonger, come to vs to Vrsla's. Talke of him to haue a soule? 'heart, if hee haue any more then a thing giuen him in stead of salt, onely to keepe him from stinking, I'le be hang'd afore my time, presently, where should it be trow? in his blood; hee has not so much to'ard it in his whole body, as will maintaine a good Flea; And if hee take this course, he will not ha' so much land left, as to reare a Calfe within this twelue month. Was there euer greene Plouer so pull'd! That his little Ouerseer had beene heere now, and beene but tall enough, to see him steale peares, in exchange, for his beauer-hat, and his cloake thus? I must goe finde him out, next, for his blacke boxe, and his Patent (it seemes) hee has of his place; which I thinke the Gentleman would haue a reuersion of; that spoke to me for it so earnestly.

Would I might lose my doublet, and hose, too; as I am an honest man, and neuer stirre, if I thinke there be any thing, but thieuing, and cooz'ning, i'this whole Fayre▪ Bartholmew-fayre, quoth he; an' euer any Bartholmew had that lucke in't, that I haue had, I'le be martyr'd for him,

and in Smithfield, too. I ha' paid for my peares, a rot on 'hem, I'le keepe 'hem no longer; you were choake-peares to mee; I had bin better ha'gone to mum chance for you, I wusse. Me thinks the Fayre should not haue vs'd me thus, and 'twere but for my names sake, I would not ha' vs'd a dog o'the name, so. O, Numps will triumph, now! Friend, doe you know who I am? or where I lye? I doe not my selfe, I'll besworne. Doe but carry me home, and I'le please thee, I ha' money enough there, I ha' lost my selfe, and my cloake and my hat; and my fine sword, and my sister, and Numps, and Mistris Grace, (a Gentlewoman that I should ha' marryed) and a cut-worke handkercher, shee ga' mee, and two purses to day. And my bargaine o'Hobby-horses and Ginger-bread, which grieues me worst of all.

By whose warrant, Sir, haue you done all this?

Warrant? thou art a wise fellow, indeed, as if a man need a warrant to lose any thing, with.

Yes, Iustice Ouerdo's warrant, a man may get, and lose with, I'le stand to't.

Iustice Ouerdoo? Dost thou know him? I lye there, hee is my brother in Law, hee marryed my sister: pray thee shew me the way, dost thou know the house?

Sir, shew mee your warrant, I know nothing without a warrant, pardon me.

Why, I warrant thee, come along: thou shalt see, I haue wrought pillowes there, and cambricke sheetes, and sweete bags, too. Pray thee guide me to the house.

Sir, I'le tell you; goe you thither your selfe, first, alone; tell your worshipfull brother your minde: and but bring me three lines of his hand, or his Clerkes, with Adam Ouerdoo, vnderneath; here I'le stay you, Ile obey you, and I'le guide you presently.

S'lid, this is an Asse, I ha' found him, poxe vpon mee, what doe I talking to such a dull foole; farewell, you are a very Coxcomb, doe you heare?

I thinke, I am, if Iustice Ouerdoo signe to it, I am, and so wee are all, hee'll quit vs all, multiply vs all.

ACT. IIII.
SCENE. IIJ.

GEntlemen, this is no way that you take: you do but breed one another trouble, and offence, and giue me no contentment at all. I am no she, that affects to be quarell'd for, or haue my name or fortune made the question of mens swords.

S'lood, wee loue you.

If you both loue mee, as you pretend, your owne reason will tell you, but one can enioy me; and to that point, there leads a directer line, then by my infamy, which must follow, if you fight. 'Tis true, I haue profest it to you ingenuously, that rather then to be yoak'd with this Bridegroome is appointed me, I would take vp any husband, almost vpon any trust. Though Subtilty would say to me, (I know) hee is a foole, and has an estate, and I might go­uerne him, and enioy a friend, beside. But these are not my aymes, I must haue a husband I must loue, or I cannot liue with him. I shall ill make one of these politique wiues!

Why, if you can like either of vs, Lady, say, which is he, and the other shall sweare instantly to desist.

Content, I accord to that willingly.

Sure you thinke me a woman of an extreme leuity, Gen­tlemen, or a strange fancy, that (meeting you by chance in such a place, as this, both at one instant, and not yet of two hours acquain­tance, neither of you deseruing afore the other, of me) I should so forsake my modesty (though I might affect one more particularly) as to say, This is he, and name him.

Why, wherefore should you not? What should hinder you?

If you would not giue it to my modesty, allow it yet to my wit; giue me so much of woman, and cunning, as not to betray my selfe impertinently. How can I iudge of you, so farre as to a choyse, without knowing you more? you are both equall, and alike to mee, yet: and so indifferently affected by mee, as each of you might be the man, if the other were away. For you are rea­sonable creatures, you haue vnderstanding, and discourse. And if fate send me an vnderstanding husband, I haue no feare at all, but mine owne manners shall make him a good one.

Would I were put forth to making for you, then.

It may be you are, you know not what's toward you: will you consent to a motion of mine, Gentlemen?

What euer it be, we'll presume reasonablenesse, com­ming from you.

And fitnesse, too.

I saw one of you buy a paire of tables, e'en now.

Yes, heere they be, and maiden ones too, vnwritten in.

The fitter for what they may be imployed in. You shall write either of you, heere, a word, or a name, what you like best; but of two, or three syllables at most: and the next person that comes this way (because Destiny has a high hand in businesse of this nature) I'le demand, which of the two words, he, or she doth approue; and according to that sentence, fixe my resolution, and affection, without change.

Agreed, my word is conceiued already.

And mine shall not be long creating after.

But you shall promise, Gentlemen, not to be curious to know, which of you it is, taken; but giue me leaue to conceale that till you haue brought me, either home, or where I may safely tender my selfe.

Why that's but equall.

Wee are pleas'd.

Because I will bind both your indeauours to work toge­ther, friendly, and ioyntly, each to the others fortune, and haue my selfe fitted with some meanes, to make him that is forsaken, a part of amends.

These conditions are very curteous. Well my word is out of the Arcadia, then: Argalus.

And mine out of the play, Palemon.

Haue you any warrant for this, Gentlemen?

Ha!

There must be a warrant had, beleeue it.

For what?

Fot whatsoeuer it is, any thing indeede, no matter what.

S'light, here's a fine ragged Prophet, dropt downe 'ithe nicke!

Heauen quit you, Gentlemen.

Nay, stay a little, good Lady, put him to the question.

You are content, then?

Yes yes.

Sir, heere are two names written—

Is Iudice Ouerdoo, one?

How, Sir? I pray you read 'hem to your selfe, it is for a wager betweene these Gentlemen, and with a stroake or any dif­ference, marke which you approue best.

They may be both worshipfull names for ought I know, Mistresse, but Adam Ouerdoo had beene worth three of 'hem, I as­sure you, in this place, that's in plaine english.

This man amazes mee! I pray you, like one of 'hem, Sir.

I doe like him there, that has the best warrant, Mistresse, to saue your longing, and (multiply him) It may be this. But I am I still for Iustice Ouerdoo, that's my conscience. And quit you.

Is't done, Lady?

I, and strangely, as euer I saw! What fellow is this trow?

No matter what, a Fortune-teller wee ha' made him. Which is't, which is't.

Nay, did you not promise, not to enquire?

S'lid, I forgot that, pray you pardon mee. Looke, here's our Mercury come: The Licence arriues i'the finest time, too! 'tis but scraping out Cokes his name, and 'tis done.

How now lime-twig? hast thou touch'd.

Not yet, Sir, except you would goe with mee, and see't, it's not worth speaking on. The act is nothing, without a witnesse. Yonder he is, your man with the boxe falne into the fi­nest company, and so transported with vapours, they ha' got in a Northren Clothier, and one Puppy, a Westerne man, that's come to wrastle before my Lord Maior, anone, and Captaine Whit, and one Val Cutting, that helpes Captaine Iordan to roare, a circling boy: with whom your Numps, is so taken, that you may strip him of his cloathes, if you will. I'le vndertake to geld him for you; if you had but a Surgeon, ready, to feare him. And Mistresse Iustice, [Page 58] there, is the goodest woman! shee do's so loue 'hem all ouer, in termes of Iustice, and the Stile of authority, with her hood vp­right—that I beseech you come away Gentlemen, and see't.

S'light, I would not lose it for the Fayre, what'll you doe, Ned?

Why, stay heere about for you, Mistresse Welborne must not be seene.

Doe so, and find out a Priest i'the meane time, I'le bring the License. Lead, which way is't?

Here, Sir, you are o'the backeside o'the Booth already, you may heare the noise.

ACT. IIIJ. SCENE. IV.

WHit, bid Vall Cutting continue the vapours for a lift, Whit, for a lift.

Il'e ne mare, Il'e ne mare, the eale's too meeghty.

How now! my Galloway Nag, the staggers? ha! Whit, gi'him a slit i'the fore-head. Cheare vp, man, a needle, and threed to stitch his eares. I'ld cure him now an'I had it, with a little butter, and garlike, long-pepper, and graines. Where's my horne? I'le gi'him a mash, presently, shall take away this dizzinesse.

Why, where are you zurs? doe you vlinch, and leaue vs i'the zuds, now?

I'le ne mare, I'is e'en as vull as a Paipers bag, by my troth, I.

Doe my Northerne cloth zhrinke i'the wetting? ha?

Why, well said, old Flea-bitten, thou'lt neuer tyre, I see.

No, Sir, but he may tire, if it please him.

Who told dee sho? that he vuld neuer teer, man?

No matter who told him so, so long as he knowes.

Nay, I know nothing, Sir, pardon me there.

They are at it stil, Sir, this they call vapours.

He shall not pardon dee, Captaine, dou shalt not be par­don'd. Pre'de shweete heart doe not pardon him.

S'light, I'le pardon him, an'I list, whosoeuer saies nay to't.

Where's Numps? I misse him.

Why, I say nay to't.

O there he is!

To what doe you say nay, Sir?

To any thing, whatsoeuer it is, so long as I do not like it.

Pardon me, little man, dou musht like it a little.

No, hee must not like it at all, Sir, there you are i'the wrong.

I tinke I be, he musht not like it, indeede.

Nay, then he both must, and will like it, Sir, for all you.

If he haue reason, he may like it, Sir.

By no meansh Captaine, vpon reason, he may like no­thing vpon reason.

I haue no reason, nor I will heare of no reason, nor I will looke for no reason, and he is an Asse, that either knowes any, or lookes for't from me.

Yes, in some sense you may haue reason, Sir.

I, in some sense, I care not if I grant you.

Pardon mee, thou ougsht to grant him nothing, in no she [...]sh, if dou doe loue dy shelfe, angry man.

Why then, I doe grant him nothing; and I haue no sense.

'Tis true, thou hast no sense indeed.

S'lid, but I haue sense, now I thinke on't better, and I will grant him any thing, doe you see?

He is i'the right, and do's vtter a sufficient vapour.

Nay, it is no sufficient vapour, neither, I deny that.

Then it is a sweet vapour.

It may be a sweet vapour.

Nay, it is no sweet vapour, neither, Sir, it stinkes, and I'le stand to't.

Yes, I tinke it dosh shtinke, Captaine. All vapour dosh shtinke.

Nay, then it do's not stinke, Sir, and it shall not stinke.

By your leaue, it may, Sir.

I, by my leaue, it may stinke, I know that.

Pardon me, thou knowesht nothing, it cannot by thy leaue, angry man.

How can it not?

Nay, neuer question him, for he is i'the right.

Yesh, I am i'de right, I confesh it, so ish de little man too.

I'le haue nothing confest, that concernes mee. I am not i'the right, nor neuer was i'the right, nor neuer will be i'the right, while I am in my right minde,

Minde? why, heere's no man mindes you, Sir,

nor any thing else.

Vreind, will you mind this that wee doe?

Call you this vapours? this is such beltching of quar­rell, as I neuer heard. Will you minde your businesse, Sir?

You shall see, Sir.

I'le ne maire, my waimb warkes too mickle with this anready.

Will you take that, Master Waspe, that no body should minde you?

Why? what ha' you to doe? is't any matter to you?

No, but me thinks you should not be vnminded, though,

Nor, I wu'not be, now I thinke on't, doe you heare, new acquaintance, do's no man mind me, say you?

Yes, Sir, euery man heere mindes you, but how?

Nay, I care as little how, as you doe, that was not my question.

No, noting was ty question, tou art a learned man, and I am a valiant man, i'faith la, tou shalt speake for mee, and I vill fight for tee.

Fight for him, Whit? A grosse vapour, hee can fight for himselfe.

It may be I can, but it may be, I wu' not, how then?

Why, then you may chuse.

Why, and I'le chuse whether I'le chuse or no.

I thinke you may, and 'tis true; and I allow it for a re­solute vapour.

Nay, then, I doe thinke you doe not thinke, and it is no resolute vapour.

Yes, in some sort he may allow you.

In no sort, Sir, pardon me, I can allow him nothing. You mistake the vapour.

He mistakes nothing, Sir, in no sort.

Yes, I pre dee now, let him mistake.

A turd i'your teeth, neuer pre dee mee, for I will haue nothing mistaken.

Turd, ha turd? a noysome vapour, strike Whit.

Why, Gentlemen, why Gentlemen, I charge you vpon my authority, conserue the peace. In the Kings name, and my Husbands, put vp your weapons, I shall be driuen to commit you my selfe, else.

Ha, ha, ha.

Why doe you laugh, Sir?

Sir, you'll allow mee my christian liberty. I may laugh, I hope.

In some sort you may, and in some sort you may not, Sir.

Nay in some sort, Sir, hee may neither laugh, nor hope, in this company.

Yes, then he may both laugh, and hope in any sort, an't please him.

Faith, and I will then, for it doth please mee excee­dingly.

No exceeding neither, Sir.

No, that vapour is too lofty.

Gentlemen, I doe not play well at your game of vapours, I am not very good at it, but—

Doe you heare, Sir? I would speake with you in circle?

In circle, Sir? what would you with me in circle?

Can you lend me a Piece, a Iacobus? in circle?

S'lid, your circle will proue more costly then your va­pours, then. Sir, no, I lend you none.

Your beard's not well turn'd vp, Sir.

How Rascall? are you playing with my beard?

I'le breake circle with you.

Gentlemen, Gentlemen!

Gather vp, Whit, gather vp, Whit, good vapours.

What meane you? are you Rebells? Gentlemen? shall I send out a Sericant at Armes, or a Writ o'Rebellion, against you? I'le commit you vpon my woman-hood, for a Riot, vpon my Iu­stice-hood, if you persist.

Vpon your Iustice-hood? Mary shite o'your hood, you'll commit? Spoke like a true Iustice of peace's wife, indeed, and a fine female Lawyer! turd i'your teeth for a fee, now.

Why, Numps, in Master Ouerdoo's name, I charge you.

Good Mistresse Vnderdoo hold your tongue.

Alas! poore Numps.

Alas! and why alas from you, I beseech you? or why poore Numps, goody Rich? am I come to be pittied by your tuft taffata now? why Mistresse, I knew Adam, the Clerke, your hus­band, when he was Adam Scriuener, and writ for two pence a sheet, as high as he beares his head now, or you your hood, Dame. What are you, Sir?

Wee be men, and no Infidells; what is the matter, here, and the noyses? can you tell?

Heart, what ha' you to doe? cannot a man quarrell in quietnesse? but hee must be put out on't by you? what are you?

Why, wee be his Maiesties Watch, Sir.

Watch? S'blood, you are a sweet watch, indeede. A body would thinke, and you watch'd well a nights, you should be contented to sleepe at this time a day. Get you to your fleas, and your flocke-beds, you Rogues, your kennells, and lye downe close.

Downe? yes, we will downe, I warrant you, downe with him in his Maiesties name, downe, downe with him, and carry him away, to the pigeon-holes.

I thanke you honest friends, in the behalfe o'the Crowne, and the peace, and in Master Ouerdoo's name, for suppressing enor­mities.

Stay, Bristle, heere ish a noder brash o'drunkards, but very quiet, speciall drunkards, will pay dee, fiue shillings very well. Take 'hem to dee, in de graish o' God: one of hem do's change cloth, for Ale in the Fayre, here, te toder ish a strong man, a mighty man, my Lord Mayors man, and a wrastler. Hee has wrashled so long with the bottle, heere, that the man with the beard, hash almosht streeke vp hish heelsh.

S'lid, the Clerke o'the Market, has beene to cry him all the Fayre ouer, here, for my Lords seruice.

Tere he ish, pre de taik him hensh, and make ty best on him. How now woman o' shilke, vat ailsh ty shweet faish? art tou melancholy?

A little distemper'd with these enormities; shall I in­treat a curtesie of you, Captaine?

Intreat a hundred, veluet voman, I vill doe it, shpeake out.

I cannot with modesty speake it out, but—

I vill doe it, and more, and more, for dee. What Vrsla, and't be bitch, and't be baud and't be!

How now Rascall? what roare you for? old Pimpe.

Heere, put vp de cloakes Vrsh; de purchase, pre dee now, shweet Vrsh, help dis good braue voman, to a Iordan, and't be.

S'lid call your Captaine Iordan to her, can you not?

Nay, pre dee leaue dy consheits, and bring the veluet woman to de—

I bring her, hang her: heart must I find a common pot for euery punque i'your purlews?

O good voordsh, Vrsh, it ish a guest o'veluet, i'fait la.

Let her sell her hood, and buy a spunge, with a poxe to her, my vessell, employed Sir. I haue but one, and 'tis the bottome of an old bottle. An honest Proctor, and his wife, are at it, with­in, if shee'll stay her time, so.

As soone ash tou cansht shwet Vrsh. Of a valiant man I tinke I am the patientsh man i'the world, or in all Smithfield.

How now Whit? close vapours, stealing your leaps? couering in corners, ha?

No fait, Captaine, dough tou beesht a vishe man, dy vit is a mile hence, now. I vas procuring a shmall courtesie, for a woman of fashion here.

Yes, Captaine, though I am Iustice of peace's wife, I doe loue Men of warre, and the Sonnes of the sword, when they come before my husband.

Say'st thou so Filly? thou shalt haue a leape presently, I'le horse thee my selfe, else.

Come, will you bring her in now? and let her talke her turne?

Gramercy good Vrsh, I tanke dee.

Master Ouerdoo shall thanke her.

ACT. IIII. SCENE. V.

Good Ga'mere Vrs; Win, and I, are exceedingly beholden to you, and to Captaine Iordan, and Captaine Whit. Win, I'le be bold to leaue you, i'this good company, Win: for halfe an houre, or so Win, while I goe, and see how my matter goes forward, and if the Puppets be perfect: and then I'le come & fetch you, Win.

Will you leaue me alone with two men, Iohn?

I, they are honest Gentlmen Win, Captaine Iordan, and Captaine Whit, they'll vse you very ciuilly, Win, God b'w'you, Win.

What's her husband gone?

On his false, gallop, Vrs, away.

An' you be right Bartholmew-birds, now shew your selues so: we are vndone for want of fowle i'the Fayre, here. Here will be Zekiell Edgworth, and three or foure gallants, with him at night, and I ha' neither Plouer nor Quaile for 'hem: perswade this be­tweene you two, to become a Bird o'the game, while I worke the veluet woman, within, (as you call her.)

I conceiue thee, Vrs! goe thy waies, doest thou heare, Whit? is't not pitty, my delicate darke chestnut here; with the fine leane head, large fore-head, round eyes, euen mouth, sharpe eares, long necke, thinne crest, close withers, plaine backe, deepe sides, short fillets, and full flankes: with a round belly, a plumpe but tocke, large thighes, knit knees, streight legges, short pasternes, smooth hoofes, and short heeles; should lead a dull honest wo­mans life, that might liue the life of a Lady?

Yes, by my fait, and trot, it is, Captaine: de honesht wo­mans life is a scuruy dull life, indeed, la.

How, Sir? is an honest womans life a scuruy life?

Yes fait, shweet heart, beleeue him, de leefe of a Bond. woman! but if dou vilt harken to me, I vill make tee a free-wo­man, and a Lady: dou shalt liue like a Lady, as te Captaine saish.

I, and be honest too sometimes: haue her wiers, and [Page 64] her tires, her greene gownes, and veluet petticoates.

I, and ride to Ware and Rumford i'dy Coash, shee de Players, be in loue vit 'hem; sup vit gallantsh, be drunke, and cost de noting.

Braue vapours!

And lye by twenty on'hem, if dou pleash shweet heart.

What, and be honest still, that were fine sport.

Tish common, shweet heart, tou may'st doe it by my hand: it shall be iustified to ty husbands faish, now: tou shalt be as honesht as the skinne betweene his hornsh, la!

Yes, and weare a dressing, top, and top-gallant, to com­pare with ere a husband on 'hem all, for a fore-top: it is the va­pour of spirit in the wife, to cuckold, now adaies; as it is the va­pour of fashion, in the husband, not to suspect. Your prying cat-eyed-citizen, is an abominable vapour.

Lord, what a foole haue I beene!

Mend then, and doe euery ting like a Lady, heereafter, neuer know ty husband, from another man.

Nor any one man from another, but i'the darke.

I, and then it ish no dishgrash to know any man.

Helpe, helpe here.

How now? what vapour's there?

O, you are a sweet Ranger! and looke well to your walks. Yonder is your Punque of Turnbull, Ramping Ales, has falne v­pon the poore Gentlewoman within, and pull'd her hood ouer her eares,

and her hayre through it.

Helpe, helpe, i'the Kings name.

A mischiefe on you, they are such as you are, that vndoe vs, and take our trade from vs, with your tuft-taffata hanches.

How now Alice!

The poore common whores can ha' no traffique, for the priuy rich ones; your caps and hoods of veluet, call away our cu­stomers, and lick the fat from vs.

Peace you foule ramping Iade, you—

Od's foote, you Bawd in greace, are you talking?

VVhy, Alice, I say.

Thou Sow of Smithfield, thou.

Thou tripe of Turnebull.

Cat-a-mountaine-vapours! ha!

You know where you were taw'd lately, both lash'd, and slash'd you were in Bridewell.

I, by the same token, you rid that weeke, and broake out the bottome o'the Cart, Night-tub.

VVhy, Lyon face! ha! doe you know who I am? shall I teare ruffe, slit wastcoat, make ragges of petticoat? ha! goe to, vanish, for feare of vapours. Whit, a kick, Whit, in the parting va­pour. Come braue woman, take a good heart, thou shalt be a La­dy, too.

Yes fait, dey shal all both be Ladies, and write Madame. I vill do't my selfe for dem. Doe, is the vord, and D is the middle letter of Madame, D D, put 'hem together, and make deeds, with­out which, all words are alike, la.

'Tis true, Vrsla, take 'hem in, open thy wardrope, and fit 'hem to their calling. Greene-gownes, Crimson-petticoats, green women! my Lord Maiors green women! guests o'the Game, true bred. I'le prouide you a Coach, to take the ayre, in.

But doe you thinke you can get one?

O, they are as common as wheelebarrowes, where there are great dunghills. Euery Pettifoggers wife, has 'hem, for first he buyes a Coach, that he may marry, and then hee marries that hee may be made Cuckold in't: For if their wiues ride not to their Cuckolding, they doe 'hem no credit. Hide, and be hidden; ride, and be ridden, sayes the vapour of experience.

ACT. IIIJ. SCENE. VI.

BY what warrant do's it say so?

Ha [...] mad child o'the Pye-pouldres, art thou there? fill vs a fresh kan, Vrs, wee may drinke together.

I may not drinke without a warrant, Captaine.

S'lood, thou'll not stale without a warant, shortly. Whit, Giue mee pen, inke and paper. I'l draw him a warrant present­ly.

It must be Iustice Ouerdoo's?

I know, man, Fetch the drinke, Whit.

I pre dee now, be very briefe, Captaine; for de new Ladies stay for dee.

O, as briefe as can be, here 'tis already. Adam Ouerdoo.

VVhy, now, I'le pledge you, Captaine.

Drinke it off. I'll come to thee, anone, againe.

Well, Sir. You are now discharg'd:

beware of being spi'd, hereafter.

Sir, will it please you, enter in here, at Vrsla's; and take [Page 66] part of a silken gowne, a veluet petticoate, or a wrought smocke; I am promis'd such: and I can spare any Gentleman a moity.

Keepe it for your companions in beastlinesse, I am none of 'hem, Sir. If I had not already forgiuen you a greater trespasse, or thought you yet worth my beating, I would instruct your man­ners, to whom you made your offers. But goe your wayes, talke not to me, the hangman is onely fit to discourse with you; the hand of Beadle is too mercifull a punishment for your Trade of life. I am sorry I employ'd this fellow; for he thinks me such: Fa­cinus quos inquinat, aequat. But, it was for sport. And would I make it serious, the getting of this Licence is nothing to me, without o­ther circumstances concurre. I do thinke how impertinently I la­bour, if the word bee not mine, that the ragged fellow mark'd: And what aduantage I haue giuen Ned Win-wife in this time now, of working her, though it be mine. Hee'll go neare to forme to her what a debauch'd Rascall I am, and fright her out of all good con­ceipt of me: I should doe so by him, I am sure, if I had the oppor­tunity. But my hope is in her temper, yet; and it must needs bee next to despaire, that is grounded on any part of a woman's dis­cretion. I would giue by my troth, now, all I could spare (to my cloathes, and my sword) to meete my tatter'd sooth-sayer againe, who was my iudge i'the question, to know certainly whose word he has damn'd or sau'd. For, till then, I liue but vnder a Repreiue. I must seeke him. Who be these?

Sir, you are a welsh Cuckold, and a prating Runt, and no Constable.

You say very well. Come put in his legge in the middle roundell, and let him hole there.

You stinke of leeks, Metheglyn, and chee [...]e. You Rogue.

Why, what is that to you, if you sit sweetly in the stocks in the meane time? if you haue a minde to stinke too, your bree­ches sit close enough to your bumm. Sit you merry, Sir.

How now, Numps?

It is no matter, how; pray you looke off.

Nay I'll not offend you, Numps. I thought you had sate there to be seen.

And to be sold, did you not? pray you mind your busi­nesse, an' you haue any.

Cry you mercy, Numps. Do's your leg lie high enough?

How now, neighbour Haggise, what sayes Iustice Ouerdo's worship, to the other offenders?

Why, hee sayes iust nothing, what should hee say? Or where should he say? He is not to be found, Man. He ha' not been seen i'the Fayre, here, all this liue-long day, neuer since seuen a clocke i' the morning. His Clearks know not what to thinke on't. There is no Court of Pie-poulders yet. Heere they be return'd.

What shall be done with 'hem, then? in your discretion?

I thinke wee were best put 'hem in the stocks, in discre­tion (there they will be safe in discretion) for the valour of an houre, or such a thing, till his worship come.

It is but a hole matter, if wee doe, Neighbour Haggise, come, Sir, heere is company for you, heaue vp the stocks.

I shall put a tricke vpon your welsh diligence, per­haps.

Put in your legge, Sir.

What, Rabby Busy! is hee come?

I doe obey thee, the Lyon may roare, but he cannot bite.

I am glad to be thus separated from the heathen of the land, and put a part in the stocks, for the holy cause.

VVhat are you, Sir?

One that reioyceth in his affliction, and sitteth here to prophesie, the destruction of Fayres and May-games, Wakes, and Whitson-ales, and doth sigh and groane for the reformation, of these abuses.

And doe you sigh, and groane too, or reioyce in your affliction?

I doe not feele it, I doe not thinke of it, it is a thing with­out mee. Adam, thou art aboue these battries, these contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy friend Horace saies; thou art one, Quem neque pauperies, neque mors, neque vincula terrent,. And there­fore as another friend of thine saies, (I thinke it be thy friend Per­sius) Non te quaesi [...]cris extra.

What's heere! a Stoick i'the stocks? the Foole is turn'd Philosopher.

Friend, I will leaue to communicate my spirit with you, if I heare any more of those superstitious reliques, those lists of Latin, the very rags of Rome, and patches of Poperie.

Nay, an'you begin to quarrel, Gentlemen, I'll leaue you. I ha' paid for quarrelling too lately: looke you, a deuice,

but shifting in a hand for a foot. God b'w'you.

Wilt thou then leaue thy brethren in tribulation?

For this once, Sir.

Thou art a halting Neutrall stay him there, stop him: that will not endure the heat of persecution.

How now, what's the matter?

Hee is fled, he is fled, and dares not sit it out.

What, has he made an escape, which way? follow, neigh­bour Haggise.

O me! in the stocks! haue the wicked preuail'd?

Peace religious sister, it is my calling, comfort your selfe, an extraordinary calling, and done for my better standing, my su­rer standing, hereafter.

By whose warrant, by whose warrant, this?

O, here's my man! dropt in, I look'd for.

Ha!

O good Sir, they haue set the faithfull, here to be won­der'd at; and prouided holes, for the holy of the land.

Had they warrant for it? shew'd they Iusticce Ouerdoo's hand? if they had no warrant, they shall answer it.

Sure you did not locke the stocks sufficiently, neighbour Toby!

No! see if you can lock 'hem better.

They are very sufficiently lock'd, and truely, yet some thing is in the mater.

True, your warrant is the matter that is in question, by what warrant?

Mad man, hold your peace, I will put you in his roome else, in the very same hole, doe you see?

How! is hee a mad-man!

Shew me Iustice Ouerdoo's warrant. I obey you.

You are a mad foole, hold your tongue.

In Iustice Ouerdoo's name, I drinke to you, and here's my warrant.

Alas poore wretch! how it earnes my heart for him!

If hee be mad, it is in vaine to question him. I'le try though, friend: there was a Gentlewoman, shew'd you two names, some houre since, Argalus and Palemon, to marke in a booke, which of 'hem was it you mark'd?

I marke no name, but Adam Ouerdoo, that is the name of names, hee onely is the sufficient Magistrate; and that name I re­uerence, shew it mee.

This fellowes madde indeede: I am further off, now, then afore.

I shall not breath in peace, till I haue made him some a­mends.

Well, I will make another vse of him, is come in my head: I haue a nest of beards in my Truncke, one some thing like his.

This mad foole has made mee that I know not whether I I haue lock'd the stocks or no, I thinke I lock'd 'hem.

Take Adam Ouerdoo in your minde, and feare nothing.

S'lid, madnesse it selfe, hold thy peace, and take that.

Strikest thou without a warrant? take thou that.

Wee are deliuered by miracle; fellow in fetters, let vs not refuse the meanes, this madnesse was of the spirit: The malice of the enemy hath mock'd it selfe.

Mad doe they call him! the world is mad in error, but hee is mad in truth: I loue him o'the sudden, (the cunning man sayd all true) and shall loue him more, and more. How well it becomes a man to be mad in truth! O, that I might be his yoake-fellow, and be mad with him, what a many should wee draw to [Page 69] madnesse in truth, with vs!

How now! all scap'd? where's the woman? it is witchcraft!

Her veluet hat is a witch, o' my conscience, or my key! t'one. The mad-man was a Diuell, and I am an Asse; so blesse me, my place, and mine office.

ACT. V. SCENE. I.

WEll, Lucke and Saint Bartholmew; out with the signe of our inuention, in the name of Wit, and do you beat the Drum, the while; All the fowle i'the Fayre, I meane, all the dirt in Smithfield, (that's one of Master Littlewit's Carwhitchets now) will be throwne at our Banner to day, if the matter do's not please the people. O the Motions, that I Lanthorne Leatherhead haue giuen light to, i' my time, since my Master Pod dyed! Ierusalem was a stately thing; and so was Niniue, and the citty of Norwich, and Sodom and Gomorrah; Pod was a Master of motions be­fore him. with the rising o'the prentises; and pulling downe the bawdy houses there, vpon Shroue-Tuesday; but the Gunpowder-plot, there was a get-penny! I haue presented that to an eighteene, or twenty pence audience, nine times in an afternoone. Your home-borne proiects proue euer the best, they are so easie, and familiar, they put too much learning i'their things now o'dayes: and that I feare will be the spoile o'this. Little-wit? I say, Mickle-wit! if not too mickle! looke to your gathering there, good man Filcher.

I warrant you, Sir.

And there come any Gentlefolks, take two pence a piece, Sharkwell.

I warrant you, Sir, three pence, an'we can.

ACT. V. SCENE. II.

THis later disguise, I haue borrow'd of a Porter, shall carry me out to all my great and good ends;

which how euer interrup­ted, were neuer destroyed in me: neither is the houre of my seue­rity yet come, to reueale my selfe, wherein cloud-like, I will breake out in raine, and haile, lightning, and thunder, vpon the head of enormity. Two maine works I haue to prosecute: first, one is to inuent some satisfaction for the poore, kinde wretch, who is out of his wits for my sake, and yonder I see him comming, I will walke aside, and proiect for it.

I wonder where Tom Quarlous is, that hee returnes not, it may be he is strucke in here to seeke vs.

See, heere's our mad-man againe.

I haue made my selfe as like him, as his gowne, and cap will giue me leaue.

Sir, I loue you, and would be glad to be mad with you in truth.

How! my widdow in loue with a mad-man?

Verily, I can be as mad in spirit, as you.

By whose warrant? leaue your canting. Gentlewoman, haue I found you? (saue yee, quit yee, and multiply yee) where's your booke? He desires to see the booke of Mistresse Grace. 'twas a sufficient name I mark'd, let me see't, be not afraid to shew't me.

What would you with it, Sir?

Marke it againe, and againe, at your seruice.

Heere it is, Sir, this was it you mark'd.

Palemon? fare you well, fare you well.

How, Palemon!

Yes faith, hee has discouer'd it to you, now, and there­fore 'twere vaine to disguise it longer, I am yours, Sir, by the be­nefit of your fortune.

And you haue him Mistresse, beleeue it, that shall ne­uer giue you cause to repent her benefit, but make you rather to thinke that in this choyce, she had both her eyes.

I desire to put it to no danger of protestation.

Palemon, the word, and Win-wife the man?

Good Sir, vouchsafe a yoakefellow in your madnesse, shun not one of the sanctified sisters, that would draw with you, in truth.

Away, you are a heard of hypocriticall proud Igno­rants, rather wilde, then mad. Fitter for woods, and the society of beasts then houses, and the congregation of men. You are the se­cond part of the society of Canters, Outlawes to order and Disci­pline, and the onely priuiledg'd Church-robbers of Christendome. Let me alone. Palemon, the word, and Winwife the man?

I must vncouer my selfe vnto him, or I shall neuer enioy him, for all the cunning mens promises. Good Sir, heare mee, I am worth sixe thousand pound, my loue to you, is become my racke, I'll tell you all, and the truth: since you hate the hyporisie of the party-coloured brother-hood. These seuen yeeres, I haue beene a wilfull holy widdow, onely to draw feasts, and gifts from my in­tangled suitors: I am also by office, an assisting sister of the Deacons, and a deuourer, in stead of a distributer of the alms. I am a speciall maker of marriages for our decayed Brethren, with our rich wid­dowes; for a third part of their wealth, when they are marryed, for the reliefe of the poore elect: as also our poore handsome yong Virgins, with our wealthy Batchelors, or Widdowers; to make them steale from their husbands, when I haue confirmed them in the faith, and got all put into their custodies. And if I ha' not my bargaine, they may sooner turne a scolding drab, in to a silent Minister, then make me leaue pronouncing reprobation, and damna­tion vnto them. Our elder, Zeale-of-the-land, would haue had me, but I know him to be the capitall Knaue of the land, making him­selfe rich, by being made Feoffee in trust to deceased Brethren, and coozning their heyres, by swearing the absolute gift of their inhe­ritance. And thus hauing eas'd my conscience, and vtter'd my heart, with the tongue of my loue: enioy all my deceits together. I beseech you. I should not haue reuealed this to you, but that in time I thinke you are mad, and I hope you'll thinke mee so too, Sir?

Stand aside, I'le answer you, presently. He consider with him­selfe of it. Why should not I marry this sixe thousand pound, now I thinke on't? and a good trade too, that shee has beside, ha? The tother wench, Winwife, is sure of; there's no expectation for me there! here I may make my selfe some sauer, yet, if shee continue mad, there's the question. It is money that I want, why should I not marry the money, when 'tis offer'd mee? I haue a License and all, it is but razing out one name, and putting in another. There's no playing with a man's fortune! I am resolu'd! I were truly mad, an' I would not! well, come your wayes, follow mee, an' you will be mad, He takes her along with him. The Iustice calls him. I'll shew you a warrant!

Most zealously, it is that I zealously desire.

Sir, let mee speake with you.

By whose warrant?

The warrant that you tender, and respect so; Iustice Ouer­doo's! I am the man, friend Trouble-all, though thus disguis'd (as the carefull Magistrate ought) for the good of the Republique, in the Fayre, and the weeding out of enormity. Doe you want a house or meat, or drinke, or cloathes? speake whatsoeuer it is, it shall be supplyed you, what want you?

Nothing but your warrant.

My warrant? for what?

To be gone, Sir.

Nay, I pray thee stay, I am serious, and haue not many words, nor much time to exchange with thee; thinke what may doe thee good.

Your hand and seale, will doe me a great deale of good; nothing else in the whole Fayre, that I know.

If it were to any end, thou should'st haue it willingly.

Why, it will satisfie me, that's end enough, to looke on; an' you will not gi' it mee, let me goe.

Alas! thou shalt ha' it presently: I'll but step into the Scriueners,

hereby, and bring it. Doe not go away.

Why, this mad mans shape, will proue a very fortunate one, I thinke! can a ragged robe produce these effects? if this be the wise Iustice, and he bring mee his hand, I shall goe neere to make some vse on't. Hee is come already!

Looke thee! heere is my hand and seale, Adam Ouerdoo, if there be any thing to be written, aboue in the paper, that thou want'st now, or at any time hereafter; thinke on't; it is my deed, I deliuer it so, can your friend write?

Her hand for a witnesse, and all is well.

With all my heart.

Why should not I ha' the conscience, to make this a bond of a thousand pound? now, or what I would else?

Looke you, there it is; and I deliuer it as my deede a­gaine.

Let vs now proceed in madnesse.

Well, my conscience is much eas'd; I ha' done my part, though it doth him no good, yet Adam hath offer'd satisfaction! The sting is remoued from hence: poore man, he is much alter'd with his affliction, it has brought him low! Now, for my other worke, reducing the young man (I haue follow'd so long in loue) from the brinke of his bane, to the center of safety. Here, or in some such like vaine place, I shall be sure to finde him. I will waite the good time.

ACT. V. SCENE. IIJ.

HOw now? what's here to doe? friend, art thou the Master of the Monuments?

'Tis a Motion, an't please your worship.

My phantasticall brother in Law, Master Bartholmew Cokes!

A Motion, what's that?

The ancient moderne history of Hero, and Leander, otherwise called The Touchstone of true Loue, with as true a tryall of friendship, betweene Damon, and Pithias, two faithfull friends o'the Bankside? pretty i'faith, what's the mea­ning on't? is't an Enterlude? or what is't?

Yes Sir, please you come neere, wee'll take your money within.

Backe with these children;

they doe so follow mee vp and downe.

By your leaue, friend.

You must pay, Sir, an' you goe in.

Who, I? I perceiue thou know'st not mee: call the Ma­ster o'the Motion.

What, doe you not know the Author, fellow Filcher? you must take no money of him; he must come in gratis: M^r. Little-wit is a voluntary; he is the Author.

Peace, speake not too lowd, I would not haue any notice taken, that I am the Author, till wee see how it passes.

Master Littlewit, how do'st thou?

Master Cokes! you are exceeding well met: what, in your doublet, and hose, without a cloake, or a hat?

I would I might neuer stirre, as I am an honest man, and by that fire; I haue lost all i'the Fayre, and all my acquaintance too; did'st thou meet any body that I know, Master Littlewit? my man Numps, or my sister Ouerdoo, or Mistresse Grace? pray thee Master Littlewit, lend mee some money to see the Interlude, here. I'le pay thee againe, as I am a Gentleman. If thou'lt but carry mee home, I haue money enough there.

O, Sir, you shall command it, what, will a crowne serue you?

I think it well, what do we pay for comming in, fellowes?

Two pence, Sir.

Two pence? there's twelue pence, friend; Nay, I am a Gallant, as simple as I looke now; if you see mee with my man a­bout me, and my Artillery, againe.

Your man was i'the Stocks, ee'n now, Sir.

Who, Numps?

Yes faith.

For what i' saith, I am glad o' that; remember to tell me on't anone; I haue enough, now! What manner of matter is this, M^r. Littl [...] wit? What kind of Actors ha' you? Are they good A­ctors?

Pretty youthes, Sir, all children both old and yong, heer's the Master of 'hem—

Call me not Leatherhead, but Lanterne.)

Master Lanterne, that giues light to the businesse,

In good time, Sir, I would faine see 'hem, I would be glad drinke with the young company; which is the Tiring-house?

Troth, Sir, our Tiring-house is somewhat little, we are but beginners, yet, pray pardon vs; you cannot goe vpright in't.

No? not now my hat is off? what would you haue done with me, if you had had me, feather, and all, as I was once to day? Ha' you none of your pretty impudent boyes, now; to bring stooles, fill Tabacco, fetch Ale, and beg money, as they haue at other houses? let me see some o'your Actors.

Shew him 'hem, shew him 'hem. Master Lanterne, this is a Gentleman, that is a fauorer of the quality.

I, the fauouring of this licencious quality, is the consump­tion of many a young Gentleman; a pernicious enormity.

What, doe they liue in baskets?

They doe lye in a basket, Sir, they are o'the small Play­ers.

These be Players minors, indeed. Doe you call these Play­ers?

They are Actors, Sir, and as good as any, none disprais'd, for dumb showes: indeed, I am the mouth of 'hem all!

Thy mouth will hold 'hem all. I thinke, one Taylor, would goe neere to beat all this company, with a hand bound be­hinde him.

I, and eate 'hem all, too, an' they were in cake-bread.

I thanke you for that, Master Littlewit, a good [...]est! which is your Burbage now?

What meane you by that, Sir?

Your best Actor. Your Field?

Good ifaith! you are euen with me, Sir.

This is he, that acts young Leander, Sir. He is extream­ly belou'd of the womenkind, they doe so affect his action, the [Page 75] green gamesters, that come here, and this is louely Hero; this with the beard, Damon; and this pretty Pythias: this is the ghost of King Dionysius in the habit of a scriuener: as you shall see anone, at large.

Well they are a ciuill company, I like 'hem for that; they offer not to fleere, nor geere, nor breake iests, as the great Players doe: And then, there goes not so much charge to the fea­sting of 'hem, or making 'hem drunke, as to the other, by reason of their littlenesse. Doe they vse to play perfect? Are they neuer fluster'd?

No, Sir. I thanke my industry, and policy for it; they are as well gouern'd a company, though I say it— And heere is young Leander, is as proper an Actor of his inches; and shakes his head like an hostler.

But doe you play it according to the printed booke? I haue read that.

By no meanes, Sir.

No? How then?

A better way, Sir, that is too learned, and poeticall for our audience; what doe they know what Hellespont is? Guilty of true loues blood? or what Abidos is? or the other Sestos hight?

Th'art i'the right, I do not know my selfe.

No, I haue entreated Master Littlewit, to take a little paines to reduce it to a more familiar straine for our people.

How, I pray thee, good M^r. Littlewit?

It pleases him to make a matter of it, Sir. But there is no such matter I assure you: I haue onely made it a little easie, and moderne for the times, Sir, that's all; As, for the Hellespont I ima­gine our Thames here; and then Leander, I make a Diers sonne, a­bout Puddle-wharfe: and Hero a wench o'the Banke-side, who go­ing ouer one morning, to old fish-street; Leander spies her land at Trigsstayers, and falls in loue with her: Now do I introduce Cu­pid, hauing Metamorphos'd himselfe into a Drawer, and hee strikes Hero in loue with a pint of Sherry, and other pretty passages there are, o'the friendship, that will delight you, Sir, and please you of iudgement.

I'll be sworne they shall; I am in loue with the Actors al­ready, and I'll be allyed to them presently. (They respect gentle­men, these fellowes) Hero shall be my fayring: But, which of my fayrings? (Le' me see) i'faith, my fiddle! and Leander my fiddle-sticke: Then Damon, my drum; and Pythias, my Pipe and the ghost of Dionysius, my hobby-horse. All fitted.

ACT. V. SCENE IV.

Looke yonder's your Cokes gotten in among his play-fellowes; I thought we could not misse him, at such a Spectacle.

Let him alone, he is so busie, he will neuer spie vs.

Nay, good Sir.

Cokes is handling the Puppets. I warrant thee, I will not hurt her, fellow; what dost think me vnciuill? I pray thee be not iealous: I am toward a wife.

Well good Master Lanterne, make ready to begin, that I may fetch my wife, and looke you be perfect, you vndoe me else, i'my reputation.

I warrant you Sir, doe not you breed too great an expe­ctation of it, among your friends: that's the onely hurter of these things.

No, no, no.

I'll stay here, and see; pray thee let me see.

How diligent and troublesome he is!

The place becomes him, me thinkes.

My ward, Mistresse Grace in the company of a stranger? I doubt I shall be compell'd to discouer my selfe, before my time!

Two pence a piece Gentlemen, an excellent Motion.

Shall we haue fine fire-works, and good vapours!

Yes Captaine, and water-works, too.

I pree dee, take a care o'dy shmall Lady, there, Edgworth; I will looke to dish tall Lady my selfe.

Welcome Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen.

Predee, Mashter o'de Monshtersh, helpe a very sicke Lady, here, to a chayre, to shit in.

Presently, Sir.

Good fait now, Vrsla's Ale, and Aqua-vitae ish to blame for't; shit downe shweet heart, shit downe▪ and shleep a little.

Madame, you are very welcom hither.

Yes, and you shall see very good vapours.

Here is my care come! I like to see him in so good com­pany; By Edge­worth. and yet I wonder that persons of such fashion, should re­sort hither!

This is a very priuate house, Madame. The Cut-purse courts Mistresse Litt [...] wit.

Will it please your Ladiship sit, Madame?

Yes good-man. They doe so all to be Madame mee, I thinke they thinke me a very Lady!

What else Madame?

Must I put off my masque to him?

O, by no meanes.

How would my husband know mee, then?

Husband? an idle vapour; he must not know you, nor you [...]im; there's the true vapour.

Y [...], I will obserue more of this: is this a Lady, friend?

I and [...] is anoder Lady, shweet heart; if dou hasht a minde to 'hem gi [...]e me twelue pence from tee, and dou shalt haue eder-oder on 'hem!

I? This will prooue my chiefest enormity: I will follow this.

Is not this a finer life, Lady, then to be clogg'd with a husband?

Yes, a great deale. When will they beginne, trow? in the name o'the Motion?

By and by Madame, they stay but for company.

Doe you heare, Puppet. Master, these are tedious vapours; when begin you?

We stay but for Master Littlewit, the Author, who is gone for his wife; and we begin presently.

That's I, that's I.

That was you, Lady; but now you are no such poore thing.

Hang the Authors wife, a running vapour! here be La­dies, will stay for nere a Delia o'hem all.

But heare mee now, heere ish one o'de Ladish, a shleep, stay till shee but vake man.

How now friends? what's heere to doe?

Two pence a piece, Sir, the best Motion, in the Fayre. The doore-keepers a­gaine.

I beleeue you lye; if you doe, I'll haue my money a­gaine, and beat you.

Numps is come!

Did you see a Master of mine, come in here, a tall yong Squire of Harrow o'the Hill; Master Bartholmew Cokes?

I thinke there be such a one, within.

Looke hee be, you were best: but it is very likely: I wonder I found him not at all the rest. I ha' beene at the Eagle, and the blacke Wolfe, and the Bull with the fiue legges, and two pizzles; (hee was a Calfe at Vxbridge Fayre, two yeeres agone) And at the dogges that daunce the Morrice, and the Hare o' the Taber; and mist him at all these! Sure this must needs be some fine sight, that holds him so, if it haue him.

Come, come, are you ready now?

Presently, Sir.

Hoyday, hee's at worke in his Dublet, and hose; doe you heare, Sir? are you imploy'd? that you are bare headed, and so busie?

Hold your peace, Numpes; you ha' beene i'the Stocks, I heare.

Do's he know that? nay, then the date of my Authority is out; I must thinke no longer to raigne, my gouernment is at an end. He that will correct another, must want fault in himselfe.

Sententious Numps! I neuer heard so much from him, before.

Sure, Master Littlewit will not come; please you take your place, Sir, wee'll beginne.

I pray thee doe, mine eares long to be at it; and my eyes too. O Numps, i'the Stocks, Numps? where's your sword, Numps?

I pray you intend your game, Sir, let me alone.

Well then, we are quit for all. Come, sit downe, Numps; I'le interpret to thee: did you see Mistresse Grace? it's no mat­ter, neither, now I thinke on't, tell mee anon.

A great deale of loue, and care, he expresses.

Alas! would you haue him to expresse more then hee has? that were tyranny.

Peace, ho; now, now.

Cole, Cole, old Cole.

That is the Scullers name without controle.

Cole, Cole, I say, Cole.

We doe heare you.

Old Cole.

Old cole? Is the Dyer turn'd Collier? how do you sell?

A pox o'your maners, kisse my hole here, and smell.

Kisse your hole, and smell? there's manners indeed.

Why, Cole, I say, Cole.

It's the Sculler you need!

I, and be hang'd.

Where is he?

Here, Cole, what fayerest of Fayers, was that fare, that thou landedst but now a Trigsstayres?

What was that, fellow? Pray thee tell me, I scarse vn­derstand 'hem.

It is louely Hero.

Nero?

No, Hero.

Most admirable good, is't not?

Stay, Sculler.

What say you?

You must stay for Leander, and carry him to the wench.

You Rogue, I am no Pandar.

He sayes he is no Pandar. 'Tis a fine language; I vnder­stand it, now.

Are you no Pandar, Goodman Cole? heer's no man sayes you are, You'll grow a hot Cole, it seemes, pray you stay for your fare.

Will hee come away?

What doe you say?

I'de ha' him come away.

Yes Goodman Hogrubber, o' Pickt-hatch.

How, Hogrubber, o' Pickt-hatch?

I Hogrubber o' Pickt-hatch. Take you that.

Harme watch, harme catch.

Harme watch, harme catch, he sayes: very good i' faith, the Sculler had like to ha' knock'd you, sirrah.

Yes, but that his fare call'd him away.

Row apace, row apace, row, row, row, row, row.

You are knauishly loaden, Sculler, take heed where you goe.

Knaue i' your face, Goodman Rogue.

Row, row, row, row, row, row.

Hee said knaue i' your face, friend.

I Sir, I heard him. But there's no talking to these water [...]men, they will ha' the last word

God's my life! I am not allied to the Sculler, yet; hee shall be Dauphin my boy. But my Fiddle-sticke do's fiddle in and out too much; I pray thee speake to him, on't: tell him, I would haue him tarry in my sight, more.

I Pray you be content; you'll haue enough on him, Sir.

A pint of sacke, score a pint of sacke, i'the Conney.

Sack? you said but ee'n now it should be Sherry.

Why so it is; sherry, sherry, sherry.

Sherry, sherry, sherry. By my troth he makes me merry. I must haue a name for Cupid, too. Let me see, thou mightst helpe me now, an' thou wouldest, Numps, at a dead lift, but thou art dream­ing o' the stocks, still! Do not thinke on't, I haue forgot it: 'tis but a nine dayes wonder, man; let it not trouble thee.

I would the stocks were about your necke, Sir; conditi­on I hung by the heeles in them, till the wonder were off from you, with all my heart.

Well said resolute Numps: but hearke you friend, where is the friendship, all this while, betweene my Drum, Damon; and my Pipe, Pythias?

You shall see by and by, Sir?

You thinke my Hobby-horse is forgotten, too; no, I'll see▪ 'hem all enact before I go; I shall not know which to loue best, else

This Gallant has interrupting vapours, troublesome va­pours, Whitt, puffe with him.

No, I pre dee, Captaine, let him alone. Hee is a Child i' faith, la'.

You whore-masterly Slaue, you·

Whore-masterly slaue, you? very friendly, & familiar, that.

Damon sayes Pythias has lien with her, himselfe, hee'll prooue't in this place.

They are Whore-masters both, Sir, that's a plaine case.

You lye, like a Rogue.

Doe I ly, like a Rogue?

A Pimpe, and a Scabbe.

You lye againe.

Doe I lye againe?

Like a Rogue againe.

Like a Rogue againe?

And you are a Pimpe, againe.

And you are a Pimpe againe, he sayes.

And a Scabbe, againe.

And a Scabbe againe, he sayes.

Do'st thou, do'st thou, do'st thou?

What, both at once?

Downe with him, Damon

Pinke his guts, Pythias▪

Ho! well acted my Drum, well acted my Pipe, well acted still.

Well acted, with all my heart.

Hld, hold your hands

I, both your hands, for▪ my sake! for you ha' both done well.

Gramercy pure Pythias.

Gramercy, Deare Damon.

Gramercy to you both, my Pipe, and my drum.

Come now wee'll together to breakfast to Hero.

'Tis well, you can now go to breakfast to Hero, you haue giuen many breakfast, with a hone and honero.

How is't friend, ha' they hurt thee?

Well, we haue seen't, and thou hast felt it, whatsoeuer thou sayest, what's next? what's next?

Excellently well said, Fiddle, shee'll euer be his goose, so hee'll be her gander: was't not so?

Braue! he will swimme o're the Thames, and tread his goose, too night, he sayes.

I, peace, Sir, the'll be angry, if they heare you eaues-drop­ping, now they are setting their match.

But lest the Thames should be dark, my goose, my deare friend, let thy window be prouided of a candles end.

Feare not my gander, I protest, I should handle my matters very ill, if I had not a whole candle.

Well then, looke to't, and kisse me to boote.

Now, heere come the friends againe, Pythias, and Damon, and vnder their clokes,

they haue of Bacon, a gammon.

Drawer, fill some wine heere.

How, some wine there? there's company already, Sir, pray forbeare!

'Tis Hero.

Yes, but shee will not be taken, after sacke, and fresh herring, with your Dunmow-bacon.

You lye, it's Westfabian.

Westphalian you should say.

If you hold not your peace, you are a Coxcombe, I would say.

What's here? what's here? kisse, kisse, vpon kisse.

I, Wherefore should they not? what harme is in this? 'tis Mistresse Hero.

Mistresse Hero's a whore.

Is shee a whore? keepe you quiet, or Sir Knaue out of dore.

Knaue out of doore?

Yes, Knaue, out of doore.

Whore out of doore.

I say, Knaue, out of doore.

I say, whore, out of doore.

Yea, so say I too.

Kisse the whore o'the arse.

Now you ha' something to doe: you must kisse her o' the arse shee sayes:

So we will, so we will.

O my hanches, O my hanches, hold, hold.

Vpon'hem Leander, be not so stupid.

You Goat-bearded slaue!

You whore-master Knaue.

Thou art a whore-master.

Whore-masters all.

See, Cupid with a word has tane vp the brawle.

These be fine vapours!

By this good day they fight brauely! doe they not, Numps?

Yes, they lack'd but you to be their second, all this while.

I cannot, I will not, I promise you endure it.

ACT. V. SCENE. V.

Downe with Dagon, downe with Dagon; 'tis I, will no longer endure your prophanations.

What meane you, Sir?

I wil remoue Dagon there, I say, that Idoll, that heathenish Idoll, that remaines (as I may say) a beame, a very beame, not a beame of the Sunne, nor a beame of the Moone, nor a beame of a bal­lance, neither a house-beame, nor a Weauers beame, but a beame in the eye, in the eye of the brethren; a very great beame, an ex­ceeding great beame; such as are your Stage players, Rimers, and Morrise-dancers, who haue walked hand in hand, in contempt of the Brethren, and the Cause; and beene borne out by instruments, of no meane countenance.

Sir, I present nothing, but what is licens'd by authority.

Thou art all license, euen licentiousnesse it selfe, Shimei!

I haue the Master of the Reuell's hand for't, Sir.

The Master of Rebells hand, thou hast; Satan's! hold thy peace, thy scurrility shut vp thy mouth, thy profession is dam­nable, and in pleading for it, thou dost plead for Baal. I haue long opened my mouth wide, and gaped, I haue gaped as the oyster for the tide after thy destruction▪ but cannot compasse it by sute, or dispute; so thar I looke for a bickering, ere long, and then a battell.

Good Banbury-vapours.

Friend, you'ld haue an ill match on't, if you bicker with him here, though he be no man o'the fist, hee has friends that will goe to cuffes for him, Numps, will not you take our side?

Sir, it shall not need, in my minde; he offers him a fairer course, to end it by disputation! hast thou nothing to say for thy selfe, in defence of thy quality?

Faith, Sir, I am not well studied in these controuersies, betweene the hypocrites and vs. But here's one of my Motion, Pup­pet Donisius shall vndertake him, and I'le venture the cause on't.

Who? my Hobby-horse? will he dispute with him?

Yes, Sir, and make a Hobby-Asse of him, I hope.

That's excellent! indeed he lookes like the best scholler of 'hem all. Come, Sir, you must be as good as your word, now.

I will not feare to make my spirit, and gifts knowne! as­sist me zeale, fill me, fill me, that is, make me full.

What a desperate, prophane wretch is this! is there any Ignorance, or impudence like his? to call his zeale to fill him against a Puppet?

I know no fitter mat [...]h, then a Puppet to commit with an Hypocrite!

First, I say vnto thee, Idoll, thou hast no Calling.

You lie, I am call'd Dionisius.

The Motion sayes you lie, he is call'd Dionisius ithe mat­ter, and to that calling he answers.

I meane no vocation, Idoll, no present lawfull Calling.

Is yours a lawfull Calling?

The Motion asketh, if yours be a lawfull Calling?

Yes, mine is of the Spirit.

Then Idoll is a lawfull Calling.

He saies, then Idoll is a lawfull Calling! for you call'd him Idoll, and your Calling is of the spirit.

Well disputed, Hobby-horse!

Take not part with the wicked young Gallant▪ He neygh­eth and hinneyeth, all is but hir nying Sophistry. I call him Idoll againe. Yet, I say, his Calling, his Profession is prophane, it is prophane, Idoll.

It is not prophane!

It is not prophane, he sayes.

It is prophane.

It is not prophane.

It is prophane.

It is not prophane.

Well said, confute him with not, still. You cannot beare him downe with your base noyse, Sir.

Nor he me, with his treble creeking, though he creeke like the chariot wheeles of Satan; I am zealous for the Cause—

As a dog for a bone.

And I say, it is prophane, as being the Page of Pride, and the waiting woman of vanity.

Yea? what say you to your Tire-women, then?

Good.

Or feather-makers i'the Fryers, that are o'your faction of faith? Are not they with their perrukes, and their puffes, their fannes, and their huffes, as much Pages of Pride, and waiters vpon vanity? what say you? what say you? what say you?

I will not answer for them.

Because you cannot, because you cannot. Is a Bugle-maker a lawfull Calling? or the Confect-makers? such you haue there: or your French Fashioner? you'ld haue all the sinne within your selues, would you not? would you not?

No, Dagon.

What then, Dagonet? is a Puppet worse then these?

Yes, and my maine argument against you, is, that you are an abomination: for the Male, among you, putteth on the ap­parell of the Female, and the Female of the Male.

You lye, you lye, you lye abominably.

Good, by my troth, he has giuen him the lye thrice.

It is your old stale argument against the Players, but it will not hold against the Puppets; for we haue neyther Male nor Female amongst vs. And that thou may'st see, if thou wilt,

like a malicious purblinde zeale as thou art!

By my faith, there he has answer'd you, friend; by playne demonstration.

Nay, I'le proue, against ere a Rabbin of'hem all, that my stan­ding is as lawfull as his; that I speak by inspiration, as well as he; that I haue as little to doe with learning as he; and doe scorne her helps as much as he.

I am confuted, the Cause hath failed me.

Then be conuerted, be conuerted.

Be conuerted, I pray you, and let the Play goe on!

Let it goe on. For I am changed, and will become a be­holder with you!

That's braue i'saith, thou hast carryed it away, Hobby-horse, on with the Play!

Stay, now do I forbid, I Adam Ouerdoo! sit still, I charge you.

What, my Brother i'law!

My wise Guardian!

Iustice Ouerdoo!

It is time, to take Enormity by the fore head, and brand it▪ for, I haue discouer'd enough.

ACT. V. SCENE. VI.

Nay, come Mistresse Bride. You must doe as I doe, now. You must be mad with mee, in truth. I haue heere Iustice Ouerdoo for it.

Peace good Trouble-all; come hither, and you shall trou­ble n [...]ne.

I will take the charge of you, and your friend too, you also, young man shall be my care, stand there.

Now, mercy vpon mee.

Would we were away, Whit, these are dangerous va­pours,

best fall off with our birds, for feare o'the Cage.

Stay, is not my name your terror?

Yesh faith man, and it ish fot tat, we would be gone man.

O Gentlemen! did you not see a wife of mine? I ha' lost my little wife, as I shall be trusted: my little pretty Win, I left her at the great woman's house in trust yonder, the Pig-womans, with Captaine Iordan, and Captaine Whit, very good men, and I cannot heare of her. Poore foole, I feare shee's stepp'd aside. Mo­ther, did you not see Win?

If this graue Matron be your mother, Sir, stand by her, Et digito compesc [...] labellum, I may perhaps spring a wife for you, anone. Brother Bartholmew, I am sadly sorry, to see you so lightly giuen, and such a Disciple of enormity: with your graue Gouer­nour Humphrey: but stand you both there, in the middle place; I will reprehend you in your course. Mistresse Grace, let me rescue you out of the hands of the stranger.

Pardon me, Sir, I am a kinsman of hers.

Are you so? of what name, Sir?

Winwife, Sir▪

Master Winwife? I hope you haue won no wife of her, Sir. If you haue, I will examine the possibility of it, at fit leasure. Now, to my enormities: looke vpon mee, O London! and see mee, O Smithfield; The example of Iustice, and Mirror of Magistrates: the true top of formality, and scourge of enormity. Harken vnto my [Page 87] labours, and but obserue my discoueries; and compare Hercules with me, if thou dar'st, of old; or Columbus; Magellan; or our countrey man Drake of later times: stand forth you weedes of enormity, and spread. First, Rabbi Busy, thou superlunaticall hypocrite, next,

thou other extremity, thou prophane professor of Puppetry, little better then Poetry: then thou strong Debaucher, and Seducer of youth; witnesse this easie and honest young man: now thou E­squire of Dames, Madams, and twelue-penny Ladies: now my greene Madame her selfe, of the price. Let mee vnmasque your Ladiship.

O my wife, my wife, my wife!

Is she your wife? Redde te Harpocratem!

By your leaue, stand by my Masters, be vncouer'd.

O stay him, stay him, helpe to cry, Nightingale; my pan,

my panne.

What's the matter?

Hee has stolne gammar Vrsla's panne.

Yes, and I feare no man but Iustice Ouerdoo.

Vrsla? where is she? O the Sow of enormity, this!

wel­come, stand you there, you Songster, there.

An' please your worship, I am in no fault: A Gentleman stripp'd him in my Booth, and borrow'd his gown, and his hat; and hee ranne away with my goods, here, for it.

Then this is the true mad-man, and you are the enormity!

You are i'the right, I am mad,

but from the gowne out­ward.

Stand you there.

Where you please, Sir.

O lend me a bason, I am sicke, I am sicke;

where's M^r. Ouerdoo? Bridget, call hither my Adam.

How?

Dy very owne wi [...]e, i'fait, worshipfull Adam.

Will not my Adam come at mee? shall I see him no more then?

Sir, why doe you not goe on with the enormity? are you opprest with it? I'le helpe you: harke you Sir, i'your eare, your Innocent young man, you haue tane such care of, all this day, is a Cutpurse; that hath got all your brother Cokes his things, and help'd you to your beating, and the stocks; if you haue a minde to hang him now, and shew him your Magistrates wit, you may▪ but I should think it were better, recouering the goods, and to saue your estimation in him. I thank you S^r. for the gift of your Ward, M^rs. Grace: look you, here is your hand & seale, by the way. M^r. Win-wife giue you ioy, you are Palemon, you are possest o'the Gentlewoman, but she must pay me value, here's warrant for it. And honest mad-man, there's thy gowne, and cap againe; I thanke thee for my wife. Nay, I can be mad, sweet heart, when I please, still; neuer feare me:

[Page 88] And carefull Numps, where's he? I thanke him for my licence.

How!

'Tis true, Numps.

I'll be hang'd then.

Loke i'your boxe, Numps, nay, Sir, stand not you fixt here, like a stake in Finsbury to be shot at, or the whipping post i'the Fayre, but get your wife out o'the ayre, it wil make her worse else; and remember you are but Adam, Flesh, and blood! you haue your frailty, forget your other name of Ouerdoo, and inuite vs all to supper. There you and I will compare our discoueries; and drowne the memory of all enormity in your bigg'st bowle at home.

How now, Numps, ha' you lost it? I warrant, 'twas when thou wert i'the stocks: why dost not speake?

I will neuer speak while I liue, againe, for ought I know.

Nay, Humphrey, if I be patient, you must be so too; this pleasant conceited Gentleman hath wrought vpon my iudgement, and preuail'd: I pray you take care of your sicke friend, Mistresse Alice, and my good friends all—

And no enormities.

I inuite you home, with mee to my house, to supper: I will haue none feare to go along, for my intents are Ad correctionem, non ad destructionem; Ad aedificandum, non ad diruendum: so lead on.

Yes, and bring the Actors along, wee'll ha'the rest o'the Play at home.

ACT. I. SCENE. I.

Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is!

Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?

Rare, rare!

Most gracious Chiefe!

Any conditions to be gone.

Away, then.

ACT. I. SCENE. II.

ACT. I. SCENE. IIJ.

Sir, I am a Diuell.

How!

A true Diuell, S^r.

What's your name?

My name is Diuell, S^r.

Sai'st thou true.

In­deed, S^r.

'Slid! there's some omen i'this! what countryman?

Of Derby-shire, S^r. about the Peake.

Yes, Diuells arse, S^r.

ACT. I. SCENE. IIII.

YOnder hee walkes, Sir, I'll goe lift him for you.

I'll warrant you for halfe a piece.

'Tis done, S^r.

Is't possible there should be such a man?

And furnish forth himselfe so from the Brokers?

I am that vent'rer, Sir.

The same, S^r.

That I haue, S^r.

Yes, S^r.

So I may still cloth, and keepe warme your wisdome?

You lade me S^r!

I know what you wil beare, S^r.

Only, to speake to her.

And in my presence?

In your very presence.

And in my hearing?

I aske no more.

Louers? How falls that o'your phantsie?

Yes, Sir.

I shall do't. Sir.

ACT. I. SCENE. V.

INgine, you hope o'your halfe piece? 'Tis there, Sir.

Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?

I am directly in a fit of wonder

What'll be the issue of this conference!

For that, ne'r vex your selfe, till the euent.

How like yo'him?

I would faine see more of him.

What thinke you of this?

I am past degrees of thinking.

Old Africk, and the new America,

With all their fruite of Monsters cannot shew

So iust a prodigie.

Could you haue beleeu'd,

Without your sight, a minde so sordide inward,

Should be so specious, and layd forth abroad,

To all the shew, that euer shop, or ware was?

I beleeue any thing now, though I confesse

His Vices are the most extremities

I euer knew in nature. But, why loues hee

The Diuell so?

O S^r! for hidden treasure,

Hee hopes to finde: and has propos'd himselfe

So infinite a Masse, as to recouer,

He cares not what he parts with, of the present,

To his men of Art, who are the race, may coyne him.

Promise gold-mountaines, and the couetous

Are still most prodigall.

But ha' you faith,

That he will hold his bargaine?

O deare, Sir!

He will not off on't. Feare him not. I know him▪

One basenesse still accompanies another.

See! he is heere already, and his wife too.

A wondrous handsome creature, as I liue!

ACT. I. SCENE. VI.

COme wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.

Why, what do you meane Sir? ha'you your reason?

I'le set it, Sir, with yours.

I must obey.

Set 'hem so much backe.

I thinke, I shall not need it.

I did looke for this geere.

Sir I shall ease you.

Mum.

No, no, no, no.

I shall resume, S^r.

Sir, what doe you meane?

You mus [...] play faire, S^r.

Keepe your ground Sir.

Will you be lightned?

Mum.

Well, then, I ha'won?

Sir, And I may win, too.

This is the strangest motion I ere saw.

ACT. I. SCENE. VII.

HEere is one Ingine, Sir, desires to speake with you.

Where, Ingine?

Can hee not coniure at all?

'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't, the while!

O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.

By my meanes?

How should he haue'hem else?

That Gallant?

Is he a gallant?

ACT. IJ. SCENE. I.

How, talks he? millions?

Sir.

Good, S^r.

Thorowout England?

Pray you let's see't Sir.

'Tis a toy, a trifle!

Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?

Of the Kings glouer?

Yes, how heard you that?

Sir, I doe know you can.

Is not that strange, S^r, to make wine of raisins?

O yes, Diuell!

Aboue, S^r. in her chamber.

Is it past?

In, here.

Where none may interrupt vs.

Well, doe so.

ACT. II. SCENE. II.

Dainty she-Diuell!

This is some foole turn'd!

Yes.

And what saies he?

My pretious M^rs.

How now!

ACT. II. SCENE. III.

HOw now, sweet heart? what's the matter?

Did you so, Diuell?

Sweet Mistresse, are you mad?

Good S^r.

Why▪ where S^r, were you?

Would you had done, Sir.

Gentle Sir.

You ha' strange phantasies!

ACT. II. SCENE. IV.

WHere are you, Sir?

O, no, I'll none!

Why, S^r?

Tis fatall.

By m'faith you are cunning i'the Chronicle, Sir.

That's sure, Sir.

What's that?

ACT. II. SCENE. V.

ACT. IJ. SCENE. VI.

Where was your soule, friend?

Away, fall backe, she comes.

M^rs!

You make me paint, S^r.

Who is there with you, S^r?

Who was it sung?

ACT. II. SCENE. VII.

So, I doe, Sir.

That haue I, Sir.

Nay, then, I tell you, you are.

What am I, Sir?

Why, that I'll thinke on, when I ha' cut your throat.

Goe, you are an Asse.

I am resolu'd on't, Sir.

I thinke you are.

To call you to a reckoning.

Away, you brokers blocke, you property.