ACT the First.

FVror, Furor. So—Ho—Ho. [...],— [...].

Good Master Invention— Oh— You are too quick for me. You are in as much haste as a Schollar to get a Wife, or an Heir to Sell his Land. Hey Presto— Whip and away; your Brains are as nimble as if Projections and Monopolies were alive again.

Come Furor, you know I have a deal of Work to do; since my name was Invention, I never knew such a busie time.— Let me see my Table-Book; What Business have I to dispatch?

Ho! Bodkin the Taylor, I must invent for him new Fashion'd Breeches, with a Tippet here behind to turn up, that Gentlemen may go to Stool and not Untruss. Item, I must invent a Plot, how the Papists may escape the Purgatory of the Parliament.

I have a Plot for that. Let them put their Heads through an Hempen Rosary, and say three Ave Mary's with a Wry-mouth; and I'll be their Bondslave they need not fear afterwards.

Memorandum, I must invent a Plot how the Scots may get more Money, when that they have is gone.

Pish— That's easie. Let them come for't.

Arm's for a Welch-Man.

Two Trees Rampant, and another Crossant, a Ladder As­cendant, an Hangman Couchant, the Rope Pendant, and the Fields Sable, &c.

To help a Chamber-Maid to her Maiden-Head.

If she be Handsome, she shall have mine.

Memorandum, Parson T. M. must have a Sermon made against Christmas, Pret. 2s. 4d. Hem.— Mr. &c. would learn to Preach after the New Cut.

And that's not the short Cut, I'm sure.

Item, I must find out a Cure for one that's sick of two Livings.

Let the Incumbent sweat three Weeks for Anger; suck his Thumbs with Patience; be soundly Cup'd twenty four Hours: After that, take the Wax of an old Commission for a Divine to be a Iustice of Peace; and to it add a Quart of Abel's Wine, a Pound of Brumfield's Soap that hath scaped a Scouring, with an handful of Goring's Tobacco-roots; mix them with the Oyl of Lambs Grease, boyl them in a Corner'd-Cap from an Arch-Bishop to a Bishop, from that to Dean, from that to an Arch-Deacon, from that to a Prebend, and so to a Commissary (if you can Decoct them so low) then [Page 7] strain it through a Lawn-Sleeve; let it cool: Fiat Emplaistrum. Lay this to one of his Temples, and his Plurisy will leave him.

Item, I must find out, How many Religions there be in London.— Item, Whether Strafford be dead with his Head off.— Item, I must make Verses for a young Gentleman, upon a Louse that was found in his Mistress's Head, six Foot long, upon the fifth of November last.

—Avaunt Six-footed Monster, if I catch thee, My Pollux Onix quickly shall dispatch thee.

Brother Furor, where are we?— What Place is this? It should be a Conventicle, with so many Heads and Faces in it, and all together in a Barn too.

As in presenti perfectum format in avi.

Heark— Here's a School, I think.

Ay, and here's the old one in his Form, as sad as if he had two Livings, and had Sold one of them: He looks as Melancholy, as if some Woman had Scratch'd him by the Face, for whipping her Boy; Or if he were studying to Decline.— Hist— Hist.— Come hither little Boy.

Now Gentlemen, what's your Pleasure?

Prithee what's thy Master studying on? He's so close at it.

Why, He's making a Play, for an Exclusion.

And hath he done it?

Done it! I think he hath gnawed three Quills to the Hilts for a Line or two. The Frost hath gotten into his Nose I think; and till his Brains be thawed, we shall not have a Drop more done in it. I think, if the Clasps and Keepers of Hope, did not hold up the Breeches of Discretion, He'd do't in's Hose: And yet he hath all [Page 8] the Play Books in the Country to help him. Like the Cuckooe, he sucks other's Eggs: Here he steals a Word, and there he filches a Line, as we Boys do for Theams. He hath studied himself out of his Wits about it, and if it should not take, (I hope it will not) I believe it will be his last. He'll run away for shame.

And why do'st thou hope it will not take?

Why? Because I have never a Part in it.— But he shall come short of a Christmas Dinner, my Mother says. Kissing goes by Favour, she says.— Pray ye Gentlemen step in to him, while I run home to Breakfast.

By your leave Sir,— God bless your Learning.

Marry, and Soust Hog's Head is no ill Meat, Furor.

Gentlemen you are welcome. Ye take me at a hard Task here.

Why? Prithee Pedanto what's thy Negotium?

Why Gentlemen, my Trade is to teach Wild-Geese how t [...] fly in the Figure of Criss-Cross-Row.— That is to say in English, I am a School-master; and here against Christmas, I am blowing my Nose for a Dialogue.

A Dialogue? What's that? It's neither Prologue, nor Epilogue, nor Tragedy, nor Comedy, nor Pastoral, nor Satyr, nor Masque, nor Morrice-Dance.— What's a Dialogue?

Why Gentlemen, a Dialogue is a Poetical Pudding, or the Muses Hodg-Podg; a Discourse like that between Dr. Faustus and the Devil, or two or three Men in a Pig-Market.— That's a Dialogue.

May I be so bold as to peruse your Library?

Yes Sir, if you please; see the Books I have borrowed for the Business.

Plautus.

And yet he came off in his last Act, like a Costive Man from the Stool, without wiping. His Splay-feet were too broad for Verse. He'd been a pretty Fellow, but that they fed him with Mill-Corn and Pottage.— So take him Jaylor.

Ben. Iohnson.

Pritty! Pritty!— An ordinary Wit would make him Piss and Stink at th'Stake like an old Bear.— And then damnable tedi­ous and costly too.— Every half quarter of an Hour a glass of Sack must be sent of an Errand into his Guts, to tell his Brains they must come up quickly, and help out with a Line.— So take him Jaylor.

Shakspear.

Pish.— I never read any of him but in Tobacco-papers, and the bottom of Pigeon-Pies.— But he had been a Curate to the Stage so long, that he could not choose but get some ends and bot­toms;— I, and they were his Fees too;—

Beaumont and Fletcher.

A pair of Journey-Men. They write both with a Quill.—

A couple of Cowards. Part them, and like two Worms, they would shrink in their Heads. Marry,— Take them together, and let them spit in one another's Mouths, and they would do smartly. They would Club for Verse. One find Rhyme, and another Rea­son.— So take them Jaylor.

Tom Randolph's Poems.

Take him Jaylor.

These Authors are as good as you can have.— Have you done the Dialogue?

Alass! Gentlemen, I am allowed no fuel to my Sacred fire of Poetry; but I am fain to Curb and Curtail my Fancy. I scorn a Dialogue, as I do Toys and Pamphlets.— I had intended to have had my Scene, Delphos, Apollo and the Nine Muses should have been in a Masque.— But we have no Clothes, unless we would dress them like Gypsies, or Butter-Queens with Baskets on their Arms.— I would have had an Oracle, Priest, Poet and Notaries.— And that Oracle should have told Fortunes; All these Poet's Ghosts should have come in their Winding-Sheets; — But in truth, we have not so much Linnen in the Town as would have dress'd them.— I had much ado to borrow an old Doublet to act a Tinker in; and am fain to pay for Hair to make Beards of, as if the Horse-Tail was the Golden-Fleece.

Difficile est Satyram non scribere.

I would some Prentice would light on't to cross his Master's Debt-Books when he's Drunk. Or some Elder-Brother find it, to Sub­scribe to Ten i'th' Hundred. Or it would serve a whole Corpora­tion to set their Marks to a Petition against Bishops. May it be so full of Teeth, as to write a Libel first, and then the Sentence against the Libellor's Ears.—

But my Credit lies at stake, Gentlemen. There's never an empty Head of my Trade hereabouts, but ventures to be Witty; and therefore something must be done; and something in English too, because here's Gentlemen will be present at it; and something for the Times; and all out of Nothing.

And something shall be done.— Furor, shall we con­jure?

Furor shall conjure; and I'll raise the Poets, and charm their Quills to write a Satyr for thee. A Satyr, that shall Sting, and Lash, and Scratch; sharp like a Razor, that shall make Men hang themselves. And those Nine Brats of Helicon, shall leave their Horse-Pool, to come and grease thy Buskins with their Sweat.

—Speak, —shall it be a Tragedy or a Comedy; a Pa­storal or Satyr? Invention can do any thing.

Furor Poeticus can do more, you Rogue. I made an Al­derman a Poet once, and he never said Grace afterward, but it was in Rhyme; nor wore his Holy-day Breeches but in Meeter.

Then for Apollo's sake, charm open that Trunk; there lies Comaedia, a most Pritty Girl. There she lies Fetter'd in that fatal Trunk, and hath done ever since Dialogues came in, and Latine-Speeches under every Sign-post.— Raise her good Furor; raise her from her Vrn.—

I'll wake her; and then thou shalt get her out.

Do.—

Oh— Oh— Oh.— Who calls?

Come now, I'll get her out, I'll warrant thee.

What? My Servant Invention! And Furor my Compa­nion! — Thanks to you both for my Liberty.— Who is this?

A true Well-wisher to your Ladyship, and one that de­sires your Help.

I am a Stranger to this Place and him. The Prentices Se­ven Champions scared me so, that I fled hither for safety.— But he being a Friend of yours, I'll do what he'll command me.

A cast of thine Office, sweet Rogue.— Sirrah, speak to her.— Let him kiss thy hand, Wench.— Come.— Swear him first.— Come you little Pedanto; if you be a Poet,— you shall Swear,— That you will never Drink but till two a Clock in the Morning.— Item, — You shall never be Master of more than one Suit at a time; and lie in Bed while that is Loused, and put into the Fashion. — Item, You shall keep three or four to admire you, and so pay for the Shot.— Item, Endeavour to get more Comaedians.— Item, Get the Pox in Policy, that no Man may make a Bridg of your Nose.— Item, Be sure to die in Debt.

I will do my Endeavour.

You two pass your words for him?

Yes, yes.

This is, fair Lady, but the second Year of Schooling, and I am not provided with old Verses and Knacks, as they are at Stam­ford, and those stale Places, (where Verses on the Fifth of Novem­ber, do serve an Apprentiship before they be set free) therefore I implore your Aid.

Hang Anagrams, and Acrosticks, and Singing Rhymes, like Pipers at a Wake; — Tho'st have it.

I am not in Tune now. But something I will do for you now; more hereafter.

A fools Bolt is soon shot. If we burn this Barn, I'll get her more Barns if she'll let me.— This is Ceres, and she is woondy angry because we are upon her Ground.— We must please her; No Ceres no Barley, no Barley no Malt, no Malt no Ale, no Ale no Poets.— We must please her.

Invention speak to her.

Let us stand all together.

Surely she lives like Cats and Owls, by catching of Mice.— Ask her, who eat up her Oats in the High-fields last Year.

Peace.

What? Are ye Dumb? Answer me. What's your Busi­ness? Know ye not that I can Curse your Lands?

For 2 pence you shall Curse all the Lands that we four have.

Do, do,— And I will promise you a Days-Work in Harvest.

Is Mirth all your intent?

Yes, yes.

ACT the Second.

A Fever?— I would it had been the Plague, or a whole Kennel of Diseases.— Yet the Fever is a good sound Card.— Out upon them; these Parsons live for Wagers, I think.— Fourscore and odd!— His Parish have been weary of him this thirty Years, and I these For­ty.— Three or four that have bought a Tith-Pig in Poke have paid for the Advowson, and are all Dead, and now, God be thanked, he hath found in his heart to be Sickish.— If the old Rogue die— Ha, ha, ha, what a Flock of Flesh-Crows, Learned Creatures in Black Coats, shall I have Nawing about me, like so many Jack-Daws about a Steeple. I'll get that Oath against Symony well oyled and greased, that it may go down glib with the Gudgeons.

Do ye hear, Sir? let me not Lie-in here. Your Kinsman Mar­pudding will never endure me. He's never out of the Kitchin, prying up and down. I'me so fearful of him lest he should spie my Belly—

— I know that it cannot be helped now, But— but— you would be doing with me.— I would,— I would,— I had been in my Grave.

Come, come, Wench, leave your crying, Fool; I know thou hast Brains in thy Belly.— No body knows of it, do's there?

No, no, Sir— But I would I had taken of that Savin in time you gave me; but now it is too late.

Come, come, Girl,—

— Here, here, you Slut, buy thee some Clouts, and keep close,— I'll make it the bravest Bastard in England, and yet there are great ones abroad too.— What? If all fail, I'll make him my own Clark; and if he come once to have a twang in the Law, I'll warrant—.

Yea, Sir, But you'll divide the Mony that he should have for Warrants. I had rather that he were made Priest and then Clark.— Hold still, your Ruff's unpin'd,—

— Sir, I hear Mr. Parson's a dying;— you may put me and my Belly to some poor Minister; Alass! all will be a case to him.— Look you here,—

Do I not look well in it?— I shall make a Gentlewoman quickly.— I look as well as some Body.— I pray, Sir,— I even long to be in my Pew, and my loose Gown, and to take the Wall.

A pritty Woman,— Go thy way Wench, I'll think on thee; but here we are in danger to be seen.— I fear nothing but that the old Pitch-barrel hath Fire in him still.— If he recover this Fit, the Devil's in him.— I would he might live to see all Learn­ing call'd in, and his Chancel turn'd into a Barn, for me to lay my Corn in, and he and his Tribe die all mad in poor English.— Go thy way, Wench,—

Do I not kiss better in my black Bag?— I pray, Sir, re­member me.

ACT the Third.

HA! True, true old Menander!

What shall I do? I cannot Curse him, nor my self. Poor Wretch! he knows not the price of Virtue; and I do too well.— 'Tis dear, 'tis dear, the Money I have spent would have bought me Land or Living, House or Wife; it would have maintain'd me in Scarlet and Livery, and lasted a while in Hawks or Horses; I could have Sworn it away, or Drunk it either, or Plaid it out for Pots at Shuffleboard or Billiards:—But it's gone, and I as far to seek as Men in Leather-breeches at the Statues.—Here's all is left.—Some thir­teen Shillings. It is in vain to grieve.— I'll pawn my Clothes and buy some others, and with my little Sum of Mony go trade in Toys and Pamphlets.— A Profession that will get more Money than Disputing.

ACT the Fourth.

HOW shall he Sing, whose Throat is hoarse with care?

Or he keep Time, whose Heart-strings broken are?

Alas! how shall I sing that am so much out of Tune? I had ra­ther confute Bellarmine, or turn Aquinas into English Verse. Yet this is better than the Mill of School, where they grind Gram­mar Toll-free; and the poor Master turns round in's Accidence till his Eyes drop out. Nay, faith, it's better than a Parlour Lecture, tho not so sweet and gainful; where the Men with their smooth Chin, and Velvet Caps, stand damning the Tongues; Unless the Hebrew escape, because, like Women, it doth back­ward fall. All Learning, to Reprobrates, is as ungodly as Lo­gick.—But I shall forget my Knacks.—Come, come, come. New Almanacks, new Almanacks, new Almanacks new— [Page 38] Who buys an Almanack? without Saint-Days, and Ember Weeks in't, or any superstitious Feast-Days that end in Mass, Christ­mass, Candlemass— Who buys an Almanack, with a new Chronology of Memorable Accidents?—Since the Conquest, one Year. Since the Rising in the North—Since Hallifax went to the Tower—Since Finch and Windebank departed this Na­tion—Since Doctors Commons were enclosed—Since the Scots had Mony—Who buys an Almanack, with new Fairs and Mar­kets.—As for Example—Upon the thirty first of February, there shall be a Fair throughout all England; At which there will be sold Northern-Cloth that will not shrink; Sponges that will not Drink. Tradesmen may buy Consciences. Whore's Maiden-heads, and French-men Noses. There will be also Tongues tip't with true Latin for Attornies; and Pens that will write true English for Gentlewomen. Extemporary Prayers without Tautologies. Fellowships for Scholars, and Scholarships for Fellows; and Benefices so plentiful, they shall go a begging. —Come, who buys an Almanack? Memorandum; There shall be great Eclipses in the Star-Chamber, by reason of the happy Conjunction of the two Houses with Sol. The Sea of Rome will be at so low a Tide, that it shall not come up to Labeth. There will be also great Thundrings among great Ones,m and that will cause great Lightnings among the Subjects, which will clear the Air mightily.—This Year also, Lords will have but one Lady; Ladies but one Face; Doctors will preach twice a Day, and their Curats eat Roast-meat; Scholars will be all of one Opinion; Eng­land of one Religion; Birds all of a Colour, and Shrove-Tues­day will fall upon a Munday.—But these things will not be seen of us in this Kingdom.—There will be also strange Apparitions—Two Phoenix's—Three blew Beans in a blew Bladder. Four silent Women— Six true Taylors. Ten Maids at One and Twenty. Twelve Honest Men of a Jury. Lawyers will plead for Nothing. Poets will purchase Land, because Sack will be at a Penny a Gallon. Courtiers will pay their Debts. May Day will fall on the 12th of August.—Come—Will no Body buy my Almanacks?

Alas, poor Scholar! He shall take some Mony of me. Hear you, Friend, What is the price of that Book?

But two pence, Sir.

Sack, at a penny a Gallon, say'st thou?

Yes.

If this be true, 'Faith I'le quaff burnt Sack.

And if it be not true, 'Faith burn my Almanack.

There's Six pence for thee; give me the rest in Books.— Hast thou not pretty Knacks?

Yes, here's a Cobler's Sermon, (I have but one of them of thirty left since morning) And Father Phillips philip'd too—New come out.

Well said; give me them.

—Almanacks, Almanacks, Almanacks, New—Let me see. It's cold; I'le go spend my two-pence at the Ale house, and hear what News, and come again.

— God save me; Here comes Fantastes of our Colledg: A pritty Scholar, yet a meer Animal.—He comes for the Living too. Faith, I'le sit down a little while and see the Issue.

[Alas! here comes another Aristotle in a black Cover. —Ha, ha, ha, his Boots are of two several Opinions, or else of two several Vniversities; The one of Cambridg, the other of Oxford.—God bless him; what a fatal Cap he hath on! It looks as if it had served an Apprentiship at the Gallows, to teach those that are hang'd Blind-man's Buff.]

Let me see my Colledg-Letters? —Oh, safe—My Orders? Oh, safe.—My Petition—Oh! —Come, I'le read it over once more.—First, I must premise two Legs (that's the least)—But how if there should be Gentlewomen? I never kist any Body in a black Bag in my Life.

[What? Man? Set a good Face on't. You are not the first Scholar that kiss'd a Lady.]

They say, they'l turn their Cheeks—And then I'le do, Quic­quid in Buccam Venerit ▪—I do not remember any thing in Aristo­stle concerning Kissing.

[Unless in his Posteriorum.]

'Faith, I'le turn and blow my Nose, if any come by, as if I did not see them. And for my Hat—Here, thus—Or rather thus—Nay, better thus:

There's Rhetorick in every word, I'me sure.

[In troth, I hope some body will take him for a Conjurer, and beat him soundly; or else throw him into Goal for Coining false English, and then he will be Incarcerated indeed.]

I fear nothing but that I come too late. These Livings, they are like Herrings. They are Novelty, but they will not keep long.

[I fear your's will be a Shotten one.]

These scurvy Boots,— How shall I make them both of a Colour?— I'll black them with the inside of my Coat.

Now verily and indeed, I am glad that I am called out of New-England: The Brethren there do multiply too fast, and the Sisters are not plentiful in their Benevolence towards us, so as they be here.— And then many of them do Back-slide from what I did there deliver to them.— Truly I will quite leave my Basket-making, unless now and then a Cradle for some Elect Babe.— Sure if I do not get this Living (as Marchurch, by report, is a Carnal Man) I can by my Short-hand, and Repeti­tion, get a Competency.—

[This Fellow hath the Living's fresh scent in his Nose, too.]

How now? Who's this? Nay, as long as he is not in Black I care not.— It may be he is some Servant in the House. —God save you, Sir.

God save you? Ha!— Truly Popery at the very first word. These Vniversity Men are all in some measure cor­rupted with it. For tho I know I shall be saved, yet he knows not what I am. He might have said the same to some Reprobate Hell-hound, and to him it is Popery.— I will not answer so vain a Word.

Do you live here I pray you?

Truly, this Arminian's business is revealed unto me. He comes about the Living as well as I; and being wicked [Page 42] as he is, I ought to deceive him for the Churches good. I will Lye unto him.— Yes, Sir, I do Inhabit here.

Inhabit here!— Nay, if you can vary the Phrase, have at you.— Is the Regulator of the Domicil segregated from his Negotiations, I pray you, Sir?

Ah Sir! these Popish words become you not.— They edifie not.— If I were to write you a Sermon, I have not a Character for such words. I pray you speak teachably and plainly.

Is the Gentleman of the House at home, can you tell me?

No indeed, he is not at Home; he is newly rid Abroad.

When will he return again?

Not this Week I believe. What's your Business, I pray you, with him?

Is his Living void, can you tell me?

Ha!— I thought so.— Yea, truly it is void; but it is in vain for such as you are, to look after it.

Why so?

Why truly, you are prophane Men, and Idolatrous, and can do nothing but with Study and Popish Books.— I wonder what you should do at a Colledg so long.— No good I war­rant you.

What! We read Philosophy, Logick, Divinity.— We learn the Tongues—Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, to fit us for the Church; and all little enough.

Ah!— I thought that would be your Answer.— Does not the Pope the like? I dare my self Preach with you for the Li­ving; and he that gives over first, shall lose it.

What Trade are you, Sir?— You talk madly.— Ah! such as you are have undone us all.

Nay, you vile Priest, such as you are.— And I intend to get this Living.— If such Wretches as you are get it, you must be Parson and have Tithes.— No, no.— I'll at Composi­tion and stand to their Benevolence.

O, Domine, is't come to this!

[I'll set them together by th'Ears.]— Come— Who buys a Ballad?

God prosper long our Noble King, &c.—

Who buys a new Ballad?

Do you hear, Sir Scholar? You Black-Coats can be any thing, and Temporizers. I'll buy it of him.— Honest Man, pray let me have that Ballad.— Have you any thing against Bishops?

Yes, Sir.— There is Little Laud in Limbo, and Lam­beth Fair, and Rome for a Corner'd Cap, and the Character of a Bishop.

I shall think the better of you Ballad-men hereafter.— The price of them?

Two Groats.

Very cheap.— If I get the Living, I'll have thee my Clark.

Hang you Rascal.— I'll venture in▪— I'll serve your Turn.

Nay, Sir, I'll give them a Character of you, you Pope­ling, I'll be there as soon as you, I warrant you.

These are brave Times!— I'll lay Ten Pound the Basket-maker carries it away.

Come, come, Have you any Work for a Tinker?— Have you any Bellows or Bowls to mend? Any Dishes, Kettles or Skillets, or old Frying-Pans to mend?— Come, come, I can mend Platter-Faces, or Crack'd Maiden-Heads, or Tipt Cuckold's-Horns. Who will buy a brave Candlestick?— My Wares are all sound, but I must crack of them, to make them sell the better. He that useth this Candlestick shall do more with a Week, than ano­ther with a Quarter; and he that tells his Gold by this Candle­stick, without ever a Candle in't, shall not find it Light.— I'll warrant, this was the Candlestick Diogenes sought for an Ho­nest Man with.— I was offer'd Moneys enough for it two Years ago by an old Blade, to set upon an Altar in his Chancel: But now Conformity burns and stinks in the Socket, and Wax-Can­dles wax dim, and are like to go out in a Snuff; yet it serves a Papist to light him to Rome. For the Pope's Fire begins to burn Blew, and it's thought he wants a pair of Tongs to turn up his Purgatory-bottom-Cake.— Come, who buys it? That the Tin­ker may have some better Mettal to melt into Ale. He that will chaffer, shall have this Prolonger into the Bargain.— O brave Prolonger!— If Patents and Monopolies had had Pro­longers, they had not gone out yet.— You that are the Lights of the Church have Extinguishers enow, but your two Steeples like double-wick'd-Candles, wont Prolongers.— Ship-Money, Star Chamber, High-Commission, Michaelmas Term,— all want [Page 45] Prolongers.— But I shall prolong the time, and take nothing.— But who comes here?— Another Black Coat.— Sure here is some Carrion here-abouts, I see so many Crows stirring!— Have you any Work for a Tinker?

This is as brave as can be.— I'll set him on Work now. Jovial Tinker! Where's the best Liquor?— Ha?

God bless your Learning, Master.

Master will you set a poor Tinker on Work?

Alas! What Work should Scholars have for Tinkers?

What?— Master, will you give me leave,— You are but Tinkers your selves, many of you.

As how prithee!

How?— Why you keep such a Hammering of a poor Text, before you can hit the right Nail on the head;— and then in stopping one Hole, you oftentimes make two.—

Thou'rt a mad Blade.

Nay, and none but Scholars and Tinkers carry all their Tools about them, to mend this Brass and Iron Age.

Hark thee, Tom, canst Fight lustily?

Ay Faith, therein we differ.— You Black Coats are Co­wards, and we are not.— Yes, I can play at Quarter-staff a little.

Wilt thou be true to me?

Will I not Bully? Hector, try me.

Why, Sirrah, here is a Living void here in Town, and I am come to try my Fortune for it. Here, even now, I met with a Roguish Sniveling New-English Basket-maker, that [Page 46] does abuse me and all Scholars as past— Wouldst thou think that he is gone in here to get the Living from us all

Does he snivle in the Nose, Master?

Ay, Tom, that he does.

By Iove, I'll sell him a pair of Snuffers.

Stand here and watch for him, and search his Pockets▪ and thou shalt see what Authors he reads.— Look you— There's Twelve-pence for thee, and meet me half an Hour hence at the Ale-House, and whether thou speedest or not, I'll give thee half a dozen of Ale, and we'll Laugh and be Merry.

Hark you Master, I'll make him down on his Knees, and pray for Bishops e're I have done with him.— Let me alone.

Be sure you Pay him soundly.— Spare him not.

This is Handsome!— A Basket-maker get a Living!— He had best bring a pair of Hilts with him.— I'll have a bout at Wastrels with him.— I'll teach him how to baste a Pulpit.— Here he comes.— I'll listen awhile what Tune his Nose is in, that I may mend it.

Ah, as very a wicked Man as ever I came near, a very Reprobate, not any good word came from him.— But he must have Money, Money.— 'Tis a thousand pitties that such good Men as we, should be put aside by such Carnal and Unsanctify'd Patrons.

Have you any Work for a Tinker?— Yo— Friend,— Will you set a poor Tinker on Work?

Away, away for Banbury.— I have no Work for such Fellows as you are.

Yea, but Sirrah, Rascal.— I'll Work for nothing.—

Oh,— Murder,— Murder.— Will you kill me?

Sirrah, It is revealed unto me that you have a mind to [Page 47] Preach, and to leave your Trade.— Thus and thus— and then thus, you must thump the Cushion.—

— Come on you Knave.— You told never a Lye to day for the good of the Church, did you?

Yea indeed, but I'll do so no more.— Pray spare my Bife.

Sirrah, Will you lead me to a Cup of good Ale?

Ay, ay.

And to a pritty Wench?

Ay, so it may be private.

And will you love good Scholars?

Ay, indeed.

And pray for Bishops?

Ay, and Arch-Bishops too.

Nay, now I see you are a dissembling Knave. I'll have you Silenc'd i'Faith.— You gaped for a Benefice.— Now gape,

so now let me see what is in your Pockets.

Awe, awe, awe▪—

Ay, I'll keep you in awe.— How now, what's here? A Book of Characters! O Sirrah, you write Characters do you? I'll pay you in Words at length.— Here's good Gear indeed.— Come on.— Now get up▪— So— let me see.—

Come, I'll give you Induction, you have your Orders about you.— Come, Sirrah, or I'll choak thee.

Au, au, au.—

Oh, the blessed'st days that ever came! I think, when I was Born, all ill Fortune was lull'd asleep, and the fatal Planets were in a Swoon.— I never saw that wrinkled Brow of For­tune. Her clearer Face hath always shined upon my Days.— Nay,— Now,— just now▪ — When I look'd to have been Branded for ever, for this same Vrsely, I think there was a Mask [Page 48] or Vizard drawn over the Eyes of the World.— My Servants and People, all from Home.— And Vrsely had no sooner spawn'd, but there comes a Gypsie Beggar-woman to my Door, who for Twenty Shillings took away the Bastard with her. I made her a sufficient Pass to carry her far enough. In troth Vrsely's was an excellent Plot to keep my Nephew in Aw.— If it be possi­ble, I'll Marry her off with this Living.— One, two, three, four, five Black Coats, but not a Penny among them all.— I wonder what's become of Hob!— He hath paid Homily sound­ly, they say.—

— Here's a Letter. Good News; I hope, some Chapman for the Living.—

Cud's Noun's, Sir Homily.— Here's my Master.

Peace, peace. You must not call me Homily, but Iack.

Why then, Iack Homily.

Nay, that's worst of all. Call me plain Iack.

Why then Plain Iack.— Come, stand close.— Fifteen Years old am I say'st thou?

Pish.— I say Fifty.

Fifty.— How many Twenties is that?

It's twenty to one, you'll spoyl all.

Now, now.— Come stand close by me good Homily.— O, Iack I would say.— You,— Hear,— Ho, Honest Man.— Hark ye me.— Hear.— Does not Mr. Marchurch live here, I'se pray?

O, that's well done.

Cud's duds— He'll know me.

Lawye now!— Here's another, that makes Six.— Marry he hath a Man waits on him.— Yes Sir, Mr.Marchurch does dwell here: Would you speak with him?

Yea, marry would I.— I'se come forty Miles to speak with him.— God speed Plough.

I am the Man, Sir, Marchurch is my Name.

Iack, Iack, must I ask him, Who gave him that Name?

No, no.— Tell him, you are a Suitor to him for the Living.

Why, Sir,— Goodine to your Worship.— I'se hear you have a Living in your Gift. I'se a poor Minister, Sir, and shall be bound to pray for your Worship, and you shall give it me. I'll live like an Honest Man among you.

Alas, Sir, you are a meer Stranger to me, but by your Language, you seem to be a Northern Man.

Yea Sir, I was Born in Cumberland, and had a good Li­ving in the North (tho I say it) but when the Scots came last Year, I was fain to fly, and make Money of what I had.

Nay, if you have Money, have at you, as errand a Clown as you are.

Why, Sir, a Cumberland Man, say you? I have a Tenant here in Town, your Country-man; his name is Hob,— an Honest Man.

Cuds duds, cuds duds, cuds duds,— Iack. —

Sir, I pray you speak louder, my Master is some­what Deaf.— He hears you not.

God-a-mercy, Iack.— Why Sir, Hob say you is his Name? There is a famous Cudgel-player of his Name.

I pray you, Sir, what may be your Name?

What's my Name?— My Name,— my Name is— Richmond. My Father was a good Gentleman, I'se sure.

That Skil's not worth what your Father was; your own Parsonage shews you to be a Man sufficient.

Yea, Sir, but your Parsonage would do it better.

Why, Sir, I must needs confess, there is a pritty Living in my Hands.

Yea, Sir.— There's something in my Hand too.—

Why, I hope that you and I shall shake Hands pre­sently. What University are you of?

Oxford.

Have you taken your Degrees there, Sir?

Degrees?— I have spent an Hundred Pounds there by Degrees.

Was you ever Fellow of any House?

Yea, marry, now and then, Fellow of an Ale-House.

The Canon doth not require any thing, but that you be able to speak a piece of Latin.

Latin!— yea, that I can, Twenty pieces of better Mettal than Latin. — Hang Latin, it is good for nothing but Dripping-pans.

You say right.— There is a great deal of Popery in it.— You have no Living as yet, Sir, I pray you?

No, indeed, Sir,— you are my first Chapman.— I have not bidden a Penny to any Man but your Worship. Pray use me well, and you shall have more of my Custom.

Marry, and I have another Commodity for thee, if thou be'st not Marry'd.—

How Old are you, Sir, I pray?

Why, Sir,— Ise two Twenties and Ten.— Fifteen.

That's nothing, you Parsons live long.

Coff, and make your self Sick.—

Alas, Sir, I am Old and Crazy. Ho, ho, ho,— Hold my Head, Iack.— Oh, Sick.

O, admirably well done.—

Oh, ho, ho,— I am so troubled with the Coughing of the Lungs, it will e'en kill me.

I hope it will, e're long.—

— Alas, Sir, I am sorry to see you so Sickly. —

Here, Sir,— I pray you drink a little of this.— I never go without my Bottle.

Oh, ho, ho,— God thank your Worship.— It will even fall again into your hands before seven Years come to an end.

Why, Sir, because I see you are so Sickly, and likely to be an Honest Man among us; hark you.— Whispers him.

Fifty Pieces! Marry, God bless us, you had need lend me your Aquavitae-bottle again; this gangs cold to my Heart. Fifty Pieces!

Ay, Twenty down now, and I'll take your word for the rest.

Offer him Twenty, offer him Twenty.— Do, do.—

Why will Twenty fetch it down now upon the Stubs? Here it is in good Gold. If I live tway Years more, I'se give you Ten Pounds more if I like my Bargain. What, Sir, Livings are fallen now.

In truth, I thought mine would never have fallen. Ha, ha, ha.— These are dangerous Times.— I shall have some Chaplain or other come with the King's Title and cozen me, or some Mischief, if I keep it in my Hands.—

— Are you a Married Man, Sir?

No marry not I, Sir.

If I use you well, I hope you'll not speak on't.

No, no, I'se be as Mum as a Lawyer without his Fee.

I hope you'll live Peaceably among us, and not go to Law, or present any Man?

Yea marry, I'se present your Worship with a Tith-Pig, or so.

You say well for that.— But hark you, Sir, you shall allow me two or three Quarters of Wheat every Christmas.

No, no, Sir.— You shall not catch old Birds with Chaff. —Is it a Bargain? Here's my Money, will you strike me Luck on't?

Come, give me your hand, Mr. Parson.— It's done. —Your Name is Mr. Richmond, you say.

Yea, Sir, that's my Name.

Well, Sir, God give you Joy▪— I will go write your Presentation, and about two Hours hence I will expect you.

Very well. Our Horses are at yonder Ale-House; We'll come to you anon.

You shall be Welcome.

Iack, Iack,— What's the Latin thing?

Why, Gratias ago Domine.—

Gratias ago Homily ▪—

Ha, ha, ha,— How bravely have I taken my old Black Jack by the Ear, and drained him! What an interest have I got in this Verb Impersonal.— If I should have made an Hue and Cry from In Speech to For the due joyning, I should not have found such a Participle in Rus.— Well, let him be what he will, (as I think he is not guilty of much Learning) let him be Pulpit-Monger, Desk-Thumper, and Sermon-Braker (as I think he hath as few new ones, as any here) if he be able to set out a Stave in a Psalm right (as he is Old enough) I care not.— I'll humour him till he is safe, and then, may-hap, I may pin Vrsely on his Back.

[Nay, rather pin him upon her Belly. But if you geld him so as you begin, he'll be able to do nothing; you have taken away his Gold now, and his pretious Stones will be next.] How­ever I am glad, I have crack'd the Flea Homily.— I'll in, and expect my Animal.

ACT the Fifth.

A Carter get a Living!— I'll put a spoke in his Wheel.— (If it were Carter upon Seton, it would have been another matter)— Who of both, he had better have bought the Schoolmasters Place, and then all would have been but a Whipping still; but now he will never be able to set out a Psalm right without Whisling; or say Grace without Rhymes for's heart.— But see where he comes.— How now, Drunk!— He hath been Preaching over a Black Pot already.— I marvel what's become of his Man Homily! He is not his own Man I'me sure.— Well, I'll to my Kennel once more, and mark the Catastrophe.]

Cuds duds— Curis Tobacco!— Room there for Par­son Hob.— Mr. Marpudding can be hang'd e're he can do thus.

[Page 56]Whoop, Ha.— Well sung Parson Hob.— Sirrah, Boy, drive your Cart that way.

[Thou'lt overthrow presently; thou hast thy Load.— Whoist.]

I'll have my Frock dy'd Black, and it will make a good Cassock.—

— I must learn to Read against Sunday.— G—r—a—c—e.— Grace.— B—e—f—o—r—e,— Before.— M—e—a—t,— Meat.— Grace before Meat.— O brave Doctor Hobs!— Pease-Porridg hot, Pease-Porridg cold.— Pease Porridg nine days old,— spell That with four Letters.— First begin with the Horn-book, the Horn-book, the Horn-book.

Why— where's my Man Homily?— How Letcherous are these Black Breeches the Rogue lent me!—

[Ay— your Pride will have a fall presently.]

You— Sexton— Whip the Dog out of the Parson's Pew there.—

I'se Parson of the Parish; I think the Clark is mad.— The Sexton Chimes all-in.— Fy, fy— What a lean Tith Pig is this?—

[What, cannot you be contented to Fall, but you must fall asleep too?— It's hard Rising for a Church-man, when he's once down. Thou had'st need, I'me sure, sleep soundly; thy Coat hath not had a Nap this seven Years.

Did ever any Man serve such a Master?— A Parson too?— Ha, ha, ha,— Parson Hob!— After we went down from old Marchurch, even now Hob for joy, would needs have me to the Ale-House; where after a while Tipling on't soundly, I put a Pouder into his Drink to Fox him, and to make him Sleep securely. He steals away from me.— I know he is so far gone, that he cannot be gone far.—

— Ha, ha, ha, Have I found thee?— Malus Pastor dormit sapinus!— But it's no Talking.— Now if ever, good Fortune stand to me! — This is the time that Marchurch ex­pects him to come for the Presentation.— As long as I have been in Town, they know not my Name. They call me Sir Homily, but my Name is Richmond; and that I gave him for his false Name.— His Cloak and his false Beard, I'll make bold withal, to Disfigure me.— Above half the Money he hath paid, and the other shall never be paid; for he knows (and shall do better if I speed) what Symony is.— I'll try if I can Act him, and get it.— And if thou hast not hang'd thy self before I come again, I'll wrangle it out well enough with thee, I'll warrant thee.—

I wonder what's become of my Tinker?— This will make us good Sport.— Here's Twenty Shillings to Bous and Ken this Christmas.— I hope his Gold is not so Light as his Whore.— Ha, ha, ha.— Here's a Pass too that will carry us all England over, in spight of Stocks, and Whipping-Posts.—

[Not thine own?— I hope it's no Bodies in this Company.— I'll lay my Life, It's a Chip of the old Block; Marchurch supra Vrsely, newly Printed.]

Ho yes.— If any Man or Woman, in Town or Country, will buy a Barn.—

—How now? Who's this?— 'Tis a Scholar.

[Ay marry, if all that went in Black were Scholars, there would be a great many more than there are.]

A Scholar, as I live.— If I had not taken this from the old Letcher now, I should have sworn that it had been thine.— However I'll look no farther for a Father.—

— Ha!— He's fast asleep.— By the complexion of his Clothes, he should have no Money.— But I fear no Colours; I'll search him.—

— Oh,— Rich, Rich— very Rich.— Surely he hath had two Livings, and sold one of them.— Well, I'll take your Money, but I'll leave you a sufficient Pawn here.—

— Ha!— I have no Shooes to hang on my Feet; what if I should take his Boots?— I have known Women wear the Breeches, why not the Boots too?— But stay, let me smell at him.— Hang him he smells of Drink.— He's full enough.— I'll off with them.—

— Nay, a right Scholar, he wears them but for want of Stockins.— I'll e'ne change with him.— He'll make Legs better by half in my Shooes than in his Boots.— Come, hang't—he shall have the Skin too.— I'll cover him with this Sheet.

[An incomparable good Plot!— God-a-mercy little Comaedia!— If the Basket-maker were here, he might now make a Cradle.]

I'll not stay to put them on here, till I have got fur­ther.—

—Look you Gentlemen, if any of you have such a Commodity to put off; Twenty Shillings is my Price; but I'll use you kindly.— This is the last time of asking.—

Oh— oh— Come Hostes, what's to pay?—

— Oh my Boots!— Where the Dule have I been Bare-foot and Bare-leg'd.— Oh—my Beard's gone!— My false Beard hath deceived me,— Ha!— what's— what's— a Child! Oh— I'me undone—undone,—undone.—Sure I'me brought a Bed!— I wonder'd my Belly did so ake—and I was with Child.— Oh—what an He Whore am I!— Is this the Living I stood for so long!— Oh, oh,— It's mine.— I have heard them say, that Parsons have commonly first a Child, and then a Living afterwards.— And 'tis so indeed; for I remem­ber my Breeches were Leacherous.— Let me see.— Surely it cannot be mine.— Oh, oh—yes.— It is mine,— now it is mine.— They say when they have a Child they Travel with it; and I warrant I travel'd all Night with it, and that hath worn my Boots to a pair of Shoes.—I remember I said to Homily, that I was with Child till I had got the Living.— It's so in­deed. — Oh, it's mine, I doubt—I did so dream of a Christning to Night.

[Why then I pray you, Name the Child ▪]

Stay,— How can it be mine?— Can a Man be with Child?— Unless it should come with Drinking. Ay, ay— It was that— It was that.— Too much Drinking will make a Man Big belly'd.— I warrant, I spued it up.— Oh what a Drunken Whore am I!—

— [Page 60] Oh—Mad—Mad—Undone—Undone—My Money, My Money—Why,—I'me not only deliver'd of my Child, but of my Purse too—O—this Rogue Homily!—What shall I do?—Would the Steeple were in his Belly.—O—hang his lousy Cloaths—

—My Master will see me hang'd e're he will give me my Mo­ny again.—And then this Bastard of mine too. —Stay, I am Constable!—May I not command my self to hang my self? —I should have in these Breeches an Halter, and there's a Beam will fit my turn.—Here's a Sheet. I'le do Pennance in it, as I hang, for my Whoredom.—Oh what a drunken Whore am I!—Come on—Is this all the Bell-ropes I must have?

Our Landlord, and Mr. Marpudding will think I am run away, if I bring not my Christmass Capons. I would the Bones were in one of their Bellies, and the Feathers in the other.

[Nay, would he himself were a Capon—Alas! poor Hob, how hard is he at his Devotion!

O Neigbour Dungo, we are undone, if Mr. Mar­church be here before us—Come, come, yonder is at the Ale-house, Gypsies, Tinkers, and Ballad-singers, roaring; and the Constable Hob, the Clown, is drunk himself some-where— Come, come—Let's go rout 'em.

Say ye me so? — I may venture my Basket here till I return—Come on.—

Ah—I confess I deserve this Death—I have been a Drun­kard, and covetous Churl, and would have cheated my Master [Page 61] of his Living. Besides, I once kiss'd a Wench behind the Sta­ble-door; and now I am a Whore.—Ah Hob, thou art a Whore! —I did not think thou wouldst have come to this.—

So, Policy hath got that which Prayers could not.— I have it here—But stay—what have we here—A Basket? —

—Two fat Capons and some Beef for this old Marchurch—I hear a whispering in the Town of a Bastard of Vrsleys; It must needs be his or Marpudding's; and if it be so,—I'le keep him in awe.—But stay,—Who owns this?— He is not far off here—

How now!—Parson Hob doing Service in his Sunplice already! —Why Hob—Hob, Mr. Hob.

I am a little busy,—I pray leave me.

Nay—but Master—do you not know me?

No Gentleman—Poor Parson Hob now—

a Dule on thee, is it thee? I pray let me alone.—You will co­zen me of this Preferment too presently.

Nay—Pish—Hob!—Why did you steal from me at the Ale-house?—For this?—Where have you been?

Where?—Why, committing Fornication with a Jug of Ale I-trow. Look you here—

— I am a Whore,—I fell asleep, and when I was awaked, I found my self delivered of this Bastard—My Boots are gone—and my Mony all gone—and this Sheet left me for a Winding-sheet.— This was your Plot.—You would make me a Parson and be hang'd.—Will you be my Curat, and do this for me?

What—hang my self? No indeed, nor you shall not neither.—Come, come.

Do you see that?

I'le lay my Life this is Marchurch's Bastard, however it came here.—Away Fool—Your Child? — If it be, I will keep it.

Will you?

Ay, that I will, and set all right and streight again if I can,—Help you to your Mony again, and take this Child.— Will you be a Parson, or a Plowman.

—Parson!—No—Zuckers—They shall have an hundred Livings a piece first. —Would I had my Gold again.

Why then, Hark you.—Did you fall asleep here?

—Ay, Drunk, —like a Rogue as I was.

Why, you would needs go to the Ale-house; It was not my doings.—And what, when thou wakedst, thou found'st this Child, and thy Pockets pick'd, and thy Boots gone?

—Yea marry did I.—And what of all this?

What?—I smell a Rat—This Bastard, Sirrah, is Vrsleys.—I'le venture a Wager thy Master got it.

How's that!—Cuds duds, she was main saucy with him as ever I saw.

Nay, it is so I warrant thee.—Hear but me.—Will you be but contented to let me have the Living, if I rid you of it, and get you your Mony again?

—Will I not?—Yea, and love thee all the days of my Life for it.

Why then to tell the truth, I have got it.—I found thee here asleep, and took thy Cloak and thy Beard from thee, and went in thy Name, and sped well.—There I heard a whis­pering of this Bastard; and Vrsley could not be seen. 'Tis so, I'le warrant thee.—I'le give thee good Bonds for thy Mony, and something beside.

—Yea.—But I must be hang'd, now or never, for I have confess'd my Sins.

What dost do with that Primmer; was it thine?

—Ay, 'tis mine. I got it to learn to read my Letters a­gainst I should be Parson.

And what, —thou wouldst have made a long Letter of thy self?—Come—look you here; This Basket some Body hath left—

There are two Capons a going in it to your Master. Wee'l put this Chicken too under the Capons, and leave it.

Ha!—I think thoul't prove an honest Man.

Ay, ay,—Come—pull your Block-head out of the Noose.—

—So—Shall I live?

Ay, and richly.

Why then I will un-confess all my Sins again.—I never was a Drunkard, nor Covetous, nor Parson, nor kiss'd any Body behind the Stable-door—Not I.

Come now look you here Sir.—

—Ha, ha, ha—These Black-Coats can put off Children to other Men—Ha, ha, ha—How I shall laugh anon, when I am Hob again, to see Marchurch have an Heir—Marpudding [Page 64] will knock it ith' Head within's two days, if it offer to eat any thing.—And will you give me your Bond for my Mony too?

Ay, that I will.

—Come on Sirrah Hob—Your are a Rogue—But I will let you live a while longer.

Go thou into my House, and put on my Boots; by that time I'le come.—But I'le scout here a while to see what this Basket will do.

I'le go—But stay—If you give me Bond, I must have Witnesses.—I'le go no further.—

— Pray, Gentlemen, set your Hands to it.—Methinks this is better than making out of hand with my self by half.—

What a Fool was this!—If Men should hang them­selves when they are cheated of their Mony, what dangling would there be this Christmass?—No sooner Parson but suspen­ded.—I will be honest. The Clown shall have all his Mony again.—But this Primmer shall go in to teach the Baby too.— But whist—Here comes Dungo.—'Tis as I said.—I'le scout and listen.

Oh—That's well.—My Basket is safe.—Ha, ha, ha. Yonder is a Gipsy-woman at the Ale-house—A pritty Wo­man indeed; and two Scholars which have been here for the Living, they do so smooth her up.—She's a Fortune-teller too. —She call'd me Gentleman, besworn.—Yet she said I should have some ill Luck come unto me.—I was afraid of nothing but my Capons, and they (I see) are safe enough.—Now tru­ly they are very fat. How heavy they be!—However I'le away.—

So that Cure is cur'd.—I never met with such a Clown in all my Life as my new Parson. He's gone to the Bi­shop.—'Tis well the Times are as they are, he would be stay'd else for a Dunce. Let him look to his Flock, but I'le fleece him I'le warrant him.

Good'ine to your Worship.

How now Neighbour, What have you there?— Ha?

A couple of Christmass-Capons for your Worship—I love to keep touch.

Why, it is honestly done.—Are they Fat?

Fine fed Fowls—if it please you.

[Yet not better fed than taught. There's a Primmer among them, will bring you to your Psalms of Mercy.]

Here's one, a good tender Bird, of your Worship's own breed, your Worship may do well to keep it.

Ay, and so I will.—My People, Neighbour, are not at Home to bid you drink,—But here's a couple of Pence for you.— Give me the Basket.

I thank your Worship. I hope they will prove well, and give you Content.—By your leave.

Farewel, farewel.—Oh, I love this young Flesh at my Heart.—My Nephew, since the Keys were gone, and he in danger to be a Father, is grown very kind. I'le in, and Vrsley is pritty hearty, she shall dress one of them and we will be merry.—

Gramarcy Invention, This is even as I would have it.

This is sweet Revenge!—I'le now to Horse, and [Page 66] away to the Bishop.—When I return, if his two Capons be a­live, I'le pluck a Feather with him. I'le have an Order of Pen­nance for him, and make him pay Hob his Mony again for Si­mony:—But I hope he'l prevent all, and hang himself—

Why so,—Is not this better than a Dialogue, or some stew'd Prunes?—I'le in, and Fox little Comaedia's Nose for this, and send you out an Epilogue.—