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 de-

uice! 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 Arch-

deacons 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-suc-

kers 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.

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, Pimlico 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 mo-

ther 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 Melicotton.

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 Licencc 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

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 madneffe a right course?

I say nothing, but I winke vpon Win. You haue a friend,

one (Master Quarlous) comes here sometimes?

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 appre-

hend 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 good do 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 for-

tune, and doe ensure her, shee shall neuer haue happy houre; vn-

lesse 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 pra-

ctice 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 mad-

der, 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 mo-

ther, or Win, are faine to fetch it againe with Malmesey, or Aqua

cælestis.

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,

and that she had little lesse then committed abominations' in marry-

ing 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.

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. Mr 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, ProctorIohn?

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 drinke, 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

winke at you, where's your wise? come hither Win. (He kisseth her.

Why, Iohn! doe you see this, Iohn? locke you! helpe

me, Iohn.

O Win, sie, 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 Win-wifes 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

Mr. Quarlous, Win; you must not quarrell with Master Quarlous,

Win.

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 his brand of life for, to be still raking 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

legs of a Spinner, and voice of a Cricket. Afore 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 e'en desire of Fate, I

might dwell in a Drumme, and take in my fustenance, with an old

broken Tobacco-pipe and a Straw! Dost thou euer thinke to

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, assem-

bled together, put to 'hem by the Matron, your Spouse; who mo-

derates 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-ha-

hum? 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 Ban-

burians when I was in Oxford.

Master Little-wit can tell vs.

Sir! good Win, 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 Bri-

dales, 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

Winne-the-fight, you thought her name had beene Winnifred,

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;

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?

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 Mr Numpes, doe you shew discretion,

though he bee exorbitant, (as Mr 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? Whetston 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 foole-

ries, 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

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 ob-

scure 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 me-

lancholy 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 head, now, should meet finer sights

then any are i'the Fayre; and make a finer voyage on't; to see it

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 con-

tumacious.

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 hu-

mours. If he goe to the Fayre, he will buy of euery thing, to a Ba-

by 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 hea-

uen I bring him off with one stone! And then he is such a Rauener

after fruite! you will not belecue 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 ha-

zards, 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 ambiti-

on 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

cannot this hot season, but engender vs excellent creeping sport.

A man that has but a spoone full of braine, would think

so. Farewell, Iohn.

Win, you see, 'tis in fashion, to goe to the Fayre, Win: we

must to the Fayre too, you, and I, Win. I haue an affaire i'the Fayre,

Win, a Puppet-play of mine owne making, say nothing, that I writ

for the motion man, which you must see, Win.

I would I might Iohn, but my mother will neuer con-

sent 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' so mewhat o'the mother in me, you shall see, fetch her, fetch

her, ah, ah.

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 vn-

cleane 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 loase 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 conse-

quently 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, Mr

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 other-

wise.

Surely, it may be otherwise, but it is subiect, to constru-

ction, subiect, and hath a face of offence, with the weake, a great

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 con-

solation.

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 comsort to the weake, I will goe, and eat.

I will cate 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 excee

dingly.

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.

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 Linceus

now, that Eagles eye, that peircing Epi-

daurian 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 ma-

ny 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 in-

to 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-singer; then would he send for 'hem, home; giue the pud-

dings 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 Watch-

man, 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 be-

leeve him. As a while agone, they made mee, yea me, to mis-

take 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 ho-

nour 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.

THe Fayre's pestlence dead, mee thinkes; people come not a-

broad, to day, what euer the matter is. Doe you heare, Sister

Trash, Lady o'the Basket? sit farther with your ginger-bread-pro-

geny 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

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 wor-

ship, when thou dar'st: and though I be a little crooked o'my bo-

dy, I'll be found as vpright in my dealing, as any woman in Smith-

field, 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? Fid-

dles o'th finest?

Buy any ginger-bread, guilt ginger-bread!

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

fire, 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 Se-

cretary.

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

When he comes, bid him stay: I'll be backe againe pre-

sently.

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 cor

ner 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 no-

thing 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, be-

fore 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, fix pence more. if she be a great

bellied wife, and long for't, fix 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 fatnessc 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

thy pretty Nephew here, goe search and see.

What new Roarer is this?

O Lord! doe you not know him, Mistris, 'tis mad. Ar-

thur 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.

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 vd-

ders!

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 rem-

nant 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'discre-

tion.

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.

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.

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 mo-

ney 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 ap-

parant. 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 con-

ueyance, bring hither to Vrsla's presently. Heere we will meet at

night in her lodge, and share. Looke you choose good places, for

your standing i'the Fayre, when you sing, Nightingale.

I, neere the fullest paflages; 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 re-

scue 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, Iamq; opus exegi, quod nec Iouis ira, nec ignis, amp;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 va-

pour.

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.

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 ex-

cellent 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 froth.

A good vapour! will you fit downe, Sir? this is old

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 affure

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 cre-

dit, that I spoke.

Why? would my Booth ha' broake, if they had fal'ne

out in't? Sir? or would their heate ha' fir'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-stuffe!

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 foft 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 vp-

right, and a greene feather, like fennell i'the Ioll on't.

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

Is shee your quagmire, 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

finke 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 play-

house 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: aud will so grate 'hem with their hips, & shoul-

ders, 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 out-

sides, 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 yonr 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,

Mrs Commodity, that's the Liuory you weare, 'twill be out at the el-

bows, 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 hi-

ther 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, 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' scal-

ded 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-pee-

ring, 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 curry-

ing 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 ven-

tur'd.)

Not a whit, these fellowes were too fine to carry mo-

ney.

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 to-

ther 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 direc-

tions, and shine Vrsa maior.

THese are the fruites of bottle-ale, and tabacco! the fome 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 af-

ter 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 be-

come 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 Li-

cence, or some what 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

late writers affirnie; 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 fine 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: fee 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 Ouerdoo, mee thinkes, bro-

ther.

So mee thought, Sister, very much of my brother Ouer-

doo: 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

the Nouices pay. Thirty pound a weeke in bottle-ale! forty in to-

bacco! 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 slaue-

reth, and the tabacco stinketh!

Heart of a mad-man! are you rooted heere? well you

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 enrertaine

him, make your Will, and you say the word, and him your

heyre! heart, I neuer knew one taken with a mouth of a pecke, a-

fore. 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

fee! 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 saine 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 Mr 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.

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.

Murther, murther, murther.

NAy, tish all gone, now! dish tish, phen

tou vilt not be phitin call, Master Offi-

sher, 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 to Vrsla's, indeede; but then you met the man with the mon-

sters, and I could not get you from him. An old foole, not leaue

feeing yet?

Why, who would ha' thought any body would ha' quar-

rell'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 bushi-

nesse 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 himshelse, or

te Iack 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.

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 Fayrc, 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, vorship-

full Vin vife? I vill helpe tee to her, heere, be an't be, in te pig-

quarter, gi'mety 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 hasht 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

is with 'hem?

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

So, walke on in the middle way, fore-right, turne ney-

ther 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?

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 foule, shee has had a Sringhalt, the Maryhin

chco: 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 fine, 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 Rose-

mary 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 satisfi-

ed.

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 ædifying 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 with

all, 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 a-

mongst '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 hypo-

crites! 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 ne-

uer 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 she went out of Smithfield. Or she should

carry me, which were the fitter sight, I confesse. But you are a mo-

dest 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.

I will make no more orations, shall draw on these tragicall con-

clusions. And I begin now to thinke, that by a spice of collate-

rall 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, Mr Humphrey Wasp's choler quite out of counte-

nance. When, sitting at the vpper end o'my Table, as I vse, & drink-

ing to my brother Cokes, and Mrs. Alice Ouerdoo, as I wil, my wife, for

their good affectiõ 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 cut-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 Ta-

ble. I had thought once, at one speciall blow he ga' me, to haue re-

uealed 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 vn-

thankful 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 par-

uis 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 imprison-

ment, 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.

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 mis-

take: 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 sit your selfe with a fine easy-going street-nag, for your sad-

dle 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 hob-

byhorses? why the meazills, should you stand heere, with your

traine, cheaping of Dogges, Birds, and Babies? you ha' no chil-

dren 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 imper-

tinent?

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

and comfort him.

Would I had beene set i'the gronnd, 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 Hal-

berts—and (le'me see) that sine 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'

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 mariage,

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 qua-

lities?

Yes, good-man angry-man, you shall finde he has qua-

lities, 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 fine

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 cuer baitcd 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 in-

uentions: 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 Little-

wit'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 her

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 ha' 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 pur-

chase?

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!

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: if

hee goe to't in Rime, once.

Yonder he is buying o'Ginger-bread: set in quickly, be-

fore he part with too much on his money.

My masters and friends, and good people, draw neere, amp;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, here-

after? 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 sitted 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 Dæmon, your Cutpurse,

you talke of, that delicate handed Diuell; they say he walkes here-

about; I would see him walke, now. Looke you sister, here, here,

let him come, sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, do's any cutpur-

ses 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

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 Nur-

sery-chimney at home o' my owne pasting vp, there be braue pi-

ctures. 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 se-

quell, 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 ap-

peare: looke here, here's for him, handy-dandy, which hand will he

haue? On, I pray thee, 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 curpurse 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 ædified 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 ga-

thers vp to

him, marke.

Good, 'i

faith! ô he has

lighted on the

wrōg pocket.

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 mis-

taking, 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 benefic'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 a-

broad in euery corner; your foolish hauing of money, makes 'hem.

An' there were no wiser then I, Sir, the trade shoud 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 tra-

uell any more, call me Coriat; with all 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 Gentle-

man here, and I, saw you, nor doe we meane to detect you (though

we can sufficiently informe our selues, toward the danger of con-

cealing 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.

We are no Catchpoles nor Constables. That you are to vndertake,

is this; you saw the old fellow, with the blacke boxe, here?

The little old Gouernour, Sir?

That same: I see, you haue flowne him to a marke al-

ready. 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 Ouerdoo, who is answerable to that deseription, 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 wife Gentle-

man, 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 en-

dure '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 man-

ners ha' beene such hitherto, and our language, as will giue

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 wid-

dow be nam'd?

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 Hob-

by-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,

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, deui-

sed 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 upon 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 daugh-

ter 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, left

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 Pub-

lican: 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 bas-

ket 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 fit-

ter 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—

(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 ene-

my. 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 liber-

ty? 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 Ior-;

dan to the pig-womans, Win. hee'll helpe vs, or she with a

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 spoyld 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.

MY Masters, I doe make no doubt, but you

are officers.

What then, Sir?

And the Kings louing, and o-

bedient 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 com-

fort 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 Baw-

ler? 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 bet-

ter) 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 knocke

and mocke downe your Bartholmew-abhominations, till you be

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.

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 Costard-

monger?

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 a-

gaine. 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 vn-

der-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