ACTVS PRIMVS.

OH, that euer I was borne, that euer I was borne!

Nay good Sister, deare sister, sweete sister, bee of good comfort, shew yourselfe a woman, now or neuer.

Oh, I haue lost the deerest man. I haue buried the swee­test [...]usba [...]d [...]hat euer lay by woman.

Nay giue him his due hee was indeed an honest, vertuous, discreet wis [...]-man,—hee was my Brother, as right, as right.

O, I shall neuer forget him, neuer forget him, hee was a man so well giuen to a woman—oh:

Nay but kinde Sister, I could weepe as much as any woman, but alas our [...]eares cannot call him againe: me thinkes you are well read Sister, and know that death is as common as Homo a common name to all men;—a man shall bee taken when hee's making water,—Nay, did not the learned Parson Maister Pigman tell vs een now, that all Flesh is fraile, wee are borne to dye, Man ha's but a time: with such like deepe and profound perswasions, as hee is a rare fellow you know and an excellent Reader: and for example, (as there are examples aboundance,) did not Sir Humfrey Bubble dye tother day there's a lustie Widdow, why shee cryed no [...] aboue halfe an houe-for shame, for shame: then followed him old Maister Fulsome the Vsurer, there's a wise Widdow, why shee cryed nere a whitte at all.

O rancke no [...] mee with those wicked women, I had a Husband out-shinde 'e [...] all.

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I that he [...]id I [...]aith, [...]e out-shind 'em all.

Doost thou stand there and see vs all weepe, and not once shed a teare for thy fathers death? oh thou vngracious sonne and heyre thou:

Troth Mother I should not weepe I'me sure; I am past a childe I hope, to make all my old Schoole fellowes laughe at me; I should bee mockt, so I should; Pray let one of my Sisters weepe for mee, Ile laughe as much for her ano­ther time?

Oh thou past-Grace thou, out of my sight, thou grace­lesse impe, thou grieuest mee more then the death of thy Fa­ther? o [...] thou stubborne onely sonne? hadst thou such an ho­nest man to thy Father—that would deceaue all the world to get riches for thee, and canst thou not afforde a little sa't wa­ter? he that so wisely did quite ouer-throw the right heyre of those lands, whi [...]h now you respect not vp euery morning be­twixt foure and fiue so duely at Westminster Hall euery Tearme-Time, with all his Cardes and writings, for thee thou wicked Absolon—oh deare husband!

Weep? quotha? I protest I am glad hee's Churched? for now hee's gone I shall spend in quiet?

Oh such a deere knight! such a sweete husband haue I lost, haue I lost?—if Blessed bee the coarse the raine raynes vpon, he had it powring downe?

Sister? be of good cheere, wee are all mortall our selues, I come vppon you freshly, I neare speake without com­fort, heere me what I shall say;—my brother ha's left you well­thy, y'are rich.

Oh!

I say y'ar rich? you are also faire.

Oh!

Goe too y'are faire you cannot smother it, beauty will come to light; nor are your yeares so farre enterd with you; but that you will bee sought after; and may very well answere another husband; the world is full of fine Gallants, [Page] choyse enow Sister,—for what should wee doe with all ou [...] Knights I pray? but to mar [...]y riche widdowes, wealthy Citti­zens widdowes; [...]usty faire—browd Ladies; go too, bee of good comfort I say [...] snobb [...]g and weeping—yet my Brother was a kinde he [...]ed man—I would not haue the Elfe see mee now?—come pluck vp a womans heart—here stands your Daughters, who be well estated, and at matu­rity will also bee enq [...]ir'd after with good husbands, so all these teares shall bee soone d [...]yed vp and a better v [...]o [...]ld then euer—what? Woman? you must not weepe still? hee's dead hee's buried—yet I cannot chuse but weepe for him!

Oh, out of a million of millions, I should nere finde such a husband, hee was vnmatchable,—vnmatchable? nothing was [...]o hot, nor to deere for mee, I could not speake of that one thing that I had not, beside I had keyes of all, kept all, re­ceiu'd all, had money in my purse, spent what I would, went abroad when I would, came home when I would, and did all what I would? Oh—my sweete husband; I shall neuer haue the like?

Sister? nere say so; hee was an honest brother of mine, and so, and you may light vpon one as honest againe, or one, as honest againe may light vpon you, that's the prope­rer phrase indeed?

Sister—

My deere father?

Heres a puling indeede! I thinke my Mother weepes for all the women that euer buried husbands: for if from time to time all the Widdowers teares in England had beene bottled vp, I do not thinke all would haue fild a three-halfe-penny Bot­tle; Alasse a small matter bucks a hand-kercher,—and som­times the spittle stands to nie Saint Thomas a Watrings; well, I can mourne in good sober sort as well as another? but where I spend one teare for a dead Father, I could giue twenty kisses for a quick husband.

Well, go thy waies old Sir Godfrey, and thou maist be proud on't, thou hast a kinde louing sister-in-lawe; how con­stant? how passionate? how ful of Aprill the poore soules eyes are; well, I would my Brother knew on't, he should then know what a kinde wife hee had left behinde him; truth and twere not for shame that the Neighbours at th next garden should heare me▪ betweene ioye and g [...]iefe, I should e'en cry out-right!

So, a faire riddance, my fathers [...]ayde in dust his Cof­fin and he is like a whole-meate-pye, and the wormes will cut him vp shortlie; farewell old Dad, farewe'l. Ile be curb'd in no more, I perceiue a some and heire may quickly be made [Page] a foole and he will be one, but Ile take another order;—Now she would haue me weepe for him for-sooth, and why? because he cozn'd the right heire beeing a foole, and bestow'd those Lands vpon me his eldest Son; and therefore I must weepe for him ha, ha; Why al the world knowes as long as twas his plea­sure to get me, twas his duety to get for me: I know the law in that point no Atturney can gull me; Well, my Vncle [...] an olde Asse, and an [...] Cockscombe, Ile rule the Roast my selfe, Ile be kept vnder [...]o more, I know what I may do well inough by my Fathers Copy: the Lawe's in mine owne hands now: nay now I know my strength, Ile be strong inough for my Mo­ther I warrant you?

What's to be done now? old Lad of War; thou that we [...]t wont to be as hot as a turn-spit, as nimble as a fencer, & as low­zy as a schoole-maister; now thou art put to silence like a Sec­tarie? —War sitts now like a Iustice of peace, and does nothing, where be your Muskets, Caleiuers and Hotshots? in Long-lane, at Pawne, at Pawne;—Now keies, are your onely Guns, Key-guns, Key-guns, & Bawdes the Gunners,—who are your cen­tinells in peace, and stand ready charg'd to giue warning; with hems, hums, & pockey-coffs; only your Chambers are licenc'st to play vpon you, and Drabs enow to giue fire to 'em.

Well, I cannot tell, but I am sure it goes wrong with me, for since the cessure of the wars, I haue spent aboue a hundred crownes out a purse: I haue beene a souldier any time this for­ty yeares, and now I perceiue an olde souldier, and an olde Courtier haue both one destinie, and in the end turne both in­to hob-nayles.

Prety mistery for a begger, for indeed a hob-naile is the true embleme of a beggers shoo-soale;

I will not say but that warre is a bloud-sucker, and so; but in my conscience, (as there is no souldier but has a p [...]ice of one, tho it bee full of holes like a shot Antient, no matter, twill serue to sweare by) in [...]y conscience, I thinke some kinde of [Page] Peace, ha's more hidden oppressions, and violent heady sinnes, (th [...] looking of a gentle nature) then a profest warre.

Troth, and for mine owne part, I am a poore Gentleman, & a Scholler, I haue beene matriculated in the Vniuersitie, wore [...]ut [...]ixe Gownes there, seene some fooles, and some Schollers, some of the Citty, and some of the Countrie, kept order, went bare-headed ouer the Quadrangle, eate my Commons with a good stomacke, and Battled with Discretion; at last, hauing done many slights and trickes to maintaine my witte in vse (as my braine would neuer endure mee to bee idle,) I was expeld the Vniuersitie, onely for stealing a Cheese out of Iesus Colledge.

Ist possible?

Oh! there was one Welshman (God forgiue him) pur­sued it hard; and neuer left, till I rnmde my staffe toward London, where when I came, all my friends were pitt-hold, gone to Graues, (as indeed there was but a few left before) then was I turnde to my wittes, to shift in the world, to towre among Sonnes and Heyres, and Fooles, and Gulls, and Ladyes eldest Sonnes, to worke vpon nothing, to feede out of Flint, and euer since has my belly beene much beholding to my braine: But now to returne to you old [...]kirmish. I say as you say, and for my part wish a Turbulency in the world, for I haue nothing to loose but my wittes, and I thinke they are as mad as they will be: and to strengthen your Argument the more, I say an honest warte, is better then a bawdy peace: as touching my profession; The multiplicitie of Schollers, hatcht, and nou­risht, in the idle Calmes of peace, makes 'em like Fishes one de­uoure another; and the communitie of Learning ha's so plaide vpon affections, and thereby almost Religion is come about to Phantasie, and discredited by being too much spoken off—in so many & meane mouths, I my selfe being a Scholler and a Gradu­ate, haue no other comfort by my learning, but the Affliction of my words, to know how Scholler-like to name what I want, & can call my selfe a Begger both in Grecke and Lattin, and ther­fore not to cogg with Peace, Ile not be afraide to say, 'tis a great Breeder, but a barren Nourisher: a great-getter of Children, which must either be Theeues or Rich-men, Knaues or Beggers.

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Well, would I had beene borne a Knaue then, when I was borne a Begger, for if the truth were knowne, I thinke I was begot when my Father had [...]euer a penny in his purse.

[...]uh, faint not old Skirmish, let this warrant thee, Facilis Descensus Auer [...]i, 'tis an easie iourney to a Knaue, thou maist bee a Knaue when thou wilt; and Peace is a good Madam to all other professions, and an arrant Drabbe to vs, let vs han­dle her accordingly, and by our wittes thriue in despight of her; for since the lawe liues by quarrelis, the Courtier by smooth God-morrowes, and euery profession makes it selfe greater by imperfections, why not wee then by shiftes, wiles, and forgeries? and seeing our braines are ou [...] onely Patrimo­nies, let's spe [...]d with iudgment, not like a desperate sonne and heire, but like a sober and discreete Templer,—one that will neuer marche beyond the bounds of his allowance, and for our thriuing meanes, thus, I my selfe will put on the Deceit of a Fortune-teller, a Fortune-teller.

Very proper.

And you of a figure-caster, or a Coniurer.

A Coniurer.

Let me alone, Ile instruct you, and teach you to deceiue all eyes, but the Diuels.

Oh I, for I would not deceiue him and I could choose, of all others.

Feare not I warrant you; and so by those meanes wee shall helpe one another to Patients, as the condition of the age affoords creatures enow for cunning to worke vpon.

Oh wondrous new fooles and fresh Asses.

Oh, fit, fit, excellent.

What in the name of Coniuring?

My memorie greetes mee happily with an admi­rable subiect to graze vpon. The Lady-Widdow, who of late I sawe weeping in her Garden for the death of her Hus­band, sure she as but a watrish soule, and hal [...]e on't by this time is dropt out of her Lyes: deuice well managde may doe good vppon her: it stands firme, my first practi [...]e shall bee there?

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You haue my voyce George?

Sh'as a gray Gall to her Brother, a foole to her onely sonne, and an Ape to her yongest Daughter;—I ouer­heard 'em seuerally, and from their words Ile deriue my deuice; and thou old Peter Skirmish shall be my second in all slights.

Nere doubt mee George Pye-boord.—onely you must [...]each me to coniure.

Captaine Idle.

Apprehended for some fellonious act or other, hee has started out, h'as made a Night on't, lackt siluer; I cannot but commend his resolution, he would not pawne his Buffe-Ierkin, I would eyther some of vs were employde, or might pitch our Tents at Vsurers doores, to kill the slaues as they peepe out at the Wicket.

Indeed those are our ancient Enimies; they keepe our money in their hands, and make vs to bee hangd for robbing of 'em, but come letts follow after to the Prison, and know the Nature of his offence, and what we can steed him in, hee shall be sure of; and Ile vphold it still, that a charitable Knaue, is better then a soothing Puritaine.

What Corporall Oth? I am sorry we haue met with you [...]ext our hearts; you are the man that we are forbidden to keepe company withall, wee must not sweare I can tell you, and you haue the name for swearing.

I, Corporall Oth, I would you would do so much as for­sake vs sir, we cannot abide you, wee must not be seene in your company.

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There is none of vs I can tell you, but shall be soundly whipt for swearing.

Why how now? we three? Putitanicall Scrape-shoes, Flesh a good Fridayes? a hand.

Oh.

Why Nich [...]las Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint Mary Oue­ries, ha's the De'ele possest you, that you sweare no better, you halfe-Christned Katomites, you vngod-motherd Varlets, do's the first lesson teach you to bee proud, and the second to bee Cocks-combes; proud Cocks-combes? not once to doe dutie to a man of Marke.

A man of Marke, quatha, I doe not thinke he can shew a Beggers Noble.

A Corporall, a Commander, one of spirit; that is able to blowe you vp all drye with your Bookes at your Girdles.

Wee are not taught to beleeue that sir, for we know the breath of man is weake?

[...]oh, you lie Nicholas; for here's one strong inough; blowe vs vp quatha, hee may well blow me aboue twelue-score off an him? I warrant if the winde stood right, a man might smell him from the top of Newgate, to the Leades of Ludgate?

Sirrah, thou Hollow-Booke of Waxe-candle.

I, you may say what you will, so you sweare not.

I sweare by the—

Hold, hold, good Corporall Oth; for if you sweare once, wee shall all fall downe in a sowne presently.

I must and will sweare: you quiuering Cocks-combes, my Captaine is imprisoned, and by Uulcans Lether Cod-piece point—

O Simon, what an oth was there.

If hee should chance to breake it, the poore mans Breeches would fall downe about his heeles, for Venus allowes him but one point to his hose?

With these my Bullye-Feete, I will thumpe ope the Prison doores, and braine the Keeper with the begging Boxe, but Ile set my honest sweete Captaine Idle at libertie.

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How, Captaine Ydle, my olde Aunts sonne, my deere Kinsman in Capadochio.

I, thou Church-peeling, thou Holy-pa [...]ing, religious out­side thou? if thou hadst any grace in thee, thou would'st visit him, releiue him, sweare to get him out?

Assure you Corporall indeed-la, tis the first time I heard on't,

Why do 't now then, Marmaset? bring forth thy yearly-wages, let not a Commander perish!

But, if hee bee one of the wicked, hee shall pe­rish.

Well Corporall, Ile e'en along with you, to visit my Kinsman, if I can do him any good, I will,—but I haue nothing for him, Simon Saint Mary Oueris and Fraylty, pray make a lie for me to the Knight my Maister, old Sit Godfrey.

A lie? may you lie then?

O I, we may lie, but me must not sweare.

True, wee may lie with our Neighbors wife, but wee must not sweare we did so;

Oh, an excellent Tag of religion?

Oh Simon, I haue thought vpon a sound excuse, it will go currant, say that I am gon to a Fast;

To a Fast, very good?

I, to a Fast say, with Maister Ful-bellie the Minister.

Maister Ful-bellie? an honest man: he feedes the flock w [...]ll, for he's an excellent feeder?

O I, I haue seene him eate vp a whole Pigge, and after­ward falls to the pettitoes?

Pray turne the key.

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Turne the key I pray?

Who should those be, I almost know their [...]oy [...]es? O my friends?

Ya're welcome to a smelling Roome here? you newly tooke leaue of the ayre ist not a strange sauour?

By my troth George I thanke thee; but pish,—what must be, must bee.

Captaine, what doe you lie in for? ist great? what's your offence?

Faith, my offence is ordinarie,—common? A Hie-waye, and I feare mee my penaltie will be ordinarie and common too, a halter.

Whether I liue or die, th [...] art an honest George [...] tell you—siluer stou'd not with [...]ee, as it had done, (for now the tide runnes to Bawdes and flatterers) I had a start out, and by chaunce set vpon a fat steward, thinking his purse had beene as pursey as his bodie; and the slaue had about him but the poore purchase of tenne groates: notwithstanding beeing des­cryed, pursued, and taken, I know the Law is so grim: in respect of many desprate-vnsetled souldiours, that I feare mee I shall daunce after their pipe for't.

I am twice sory for you Captaine: first that your purchase was so small, and now that your danger is so great.

Push, the worst is [...] death,—ha you a pipe of Tobacc [...] about you?

I thinke, I haue there abouts about me!

Her's a cleane Gentleman too, to receiue?

Keeper? let the key be turn'dl

I, I pray Maister keeper giues a cast of your office?

How now [...] more Visitants?—what Corporall Oth?

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Corporal?

In prison honest Captalne? this must not be?

How do you Captaine Kinsman?

Good Cocks-combe? what makes that pure—starch'd foole here?

You see Kinsman I am som-what bould to call in, and see how you do, I heard you were safe inough, and I was very glad on't that it was no worse;

Fie, what vaine breath you spend! hee supply? Ile sooner expect mercy from a Vsurer when my bonds forfetted, sooner kindnesse from a Lawier when my mony's spent: nay sooner charity from the deuill, then good from a Puritaine? Ile looke for releife from him, when I [...]cifer is restor'd to his bloud, and in Heauen againe!

I warrant my Kinsman's talking of me, for my left eare burnes most tyrannically?

Captaine Ydle? what's he there? hee looke; like a Mon­key vpward; and a Crane downe-ward.

Pshaw; a foolish Cozen of nine; I must thanke God for him.

Why the better subiect to worke a scape vpon; thou shalt e'en change clothes with him, and leaue him here, and so;

Push, I publish't him e'en now to my Corporall, hee will be damn'd, ere hee do me so much good; why I know a more proper, a more handsome deuice then that, if the slaue would be sociable—now goodman Fleere-face?

Oh, my Cozen begins to speake to me now, I shall bee acquainted with him againe I hope,

Looke what ridiculous Raptures take hold of his wrinckles,

Then what say you to this deuice, a happy one Captaine?

Speake lovve George; Prison Rattes haue vvider eares then those in Malt-lof [...]s.

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Cozen, if it lay in my power, as they say? — to — do;

Twould do me a [...] exceeding pleasure indeed that, but [...] ere talke fo [...]der on't, the foole will be hang'd, ere he do't.

Pax, Ile thump 'em to't.

Why doe but trie the Fopster, and breake it to him bluntly.

And so my disgrace will dwell in his Iawes, and the slaue slauer out our purpose to his Maister, for would I were but as sure on't as I am sure he will deny to do't.

I would bee heartily glad Cozen, if any of my friend­ships, as they say, might—stand, ah,

Why, you see he offers his friend-ship foolishly to you al­readie?

I, that's the [...] on't, I would hee would offer it wisely?

Verily, and indeed la, Couzen?—

I haue tooke note of thy steeres a good while, if thou art minded to do mee good? as thou gapst vpon me comfortably, and giu'st me charitable faces? which indeede is but a fashion in you all that are Pu [...]itaines? wilt soone at night steale me thy Maisters chaine?

Oh, I shall sowne!

Corporal, he starts already!

I know it to be worth three hundred Crownes, & with the halfe of that, I can buy my life at a Brokers, at second hand, which now lies in pawne to 'th Lawe, if this thou re [...]suse to do, being easie and nothing dangerous, in that thou art held in good opinion of thy M [...]ster, why tis a palpable Argument thou holdst my life at no price, and these thy broken & vnioyn­ted offers, are but only created in thy lip, now borne, and now buried, foolish breath onlie? what; woult do't? shall I looke for happinesse in thy answere?

Steale my Maisters chane quo 'the? no, it shal nere bee sayd that Nicholas Saint Tantlings committed Bird-lime!

Nay, I told you as much; did I not; tho he be a Puritaine yet he will be a true man?

Why Co [...]zen? you know tis written, thou shalt not steale?

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Why, and foole, thou shalt loue thy Neighbour, and helpe him in extremities?

Masse I thinke it bee indeede, in what Chapter's that Couzen?

Why in the first of Charity, the 2. verse.

The first of Charity, qua tha, that's a good iest, there's no such Chapter in my booke!

No, I knew twas torne out of thy Booke, & that makes so little in thy heart.

Come, let me tell you, ya're too vnkinde a Kinsman yfaith; the Captaine louing you so deerely, I, like the Pomwater of his eye, and you to be so vncomfortable, fie, fie.

Pray do not wish me to bee hangd, any thing else that I can do, had it beene to rob, I would ha don't, but I must not steale, that's the word the literall, thou shalt not steale, and would you wish me to steale then?

No faith, that were to much, to speake truth: why woult thou nim it from him.

That I will?

Why ynough bulhe; hee shall bee content with that, or he shall ha none; let mee alone with him now! Captaine, I ha dealt with your Kins-man in a Corner; a good—kinde—na­turde fellow, mee thinkes: goe too, you shall not haue all your owne asking, you shall bate somewhat on [...]he is not contented absolutely as you would say to steale the chaine from him,— but to do you a pleasure he will nim it from him.

I, that I will, Couzen.

Well seeing he will doe no more, as far as I see I must bee contented with that.

Here's no notable gullery?

Nay Ile come neerer to you Gentleman? because weele haue onely but a helpe and a mirth on't, the knight shall not loose his chaine neither, but be only laide out of the way some one or two daies?

I, that would be good indeed? Kinsman?

For I haue a farder reach to profit vs better by the missing on't onelie, then if wee had it out-right, as my discourse shall make it knowne too you?—when thou hast the chaine, do but [Page] conuay it out at back-dore into the Garden, and there hang it close in the Rosemary banck, but for a small season; and by that harmlesse deuise, I know how to winde Captaine Ydle, out of prison, the Knight thy Maister shall get his pardon and release him, & he satisfie thy Maister with his own chaine & wondrous thankes on both hands.

That were rare indeed la [...]pray let me know how?

Nay tis very necessary thou shouldst know, because thou must be imploide as an Actor?

An Actor? O no, that's a Plaier? and our Parson railes againe Plaiers mightily I can tell you, because they brought him drunck vpp'oth Stage once,—as hee will bee horribly druncke.

Masse I cannot blame him then, poore Church-spout?

Why as an Intermedler then?

I that, that.

Giue me Audience then? when the old Knight thy Mais­ter has radge his fill for the losse of the chaine, tell him thou hast a Kinsman in prison, of such exquisit Art, that the diuill himselfe is french Lackey to him, and runnes bare-headed by his horse—bellie (when hee has one) whome hee will cause with most Yrish Dexterity to fetch his chaine, tho twere hid vn­der a mine of sea-cole, and nere make Spade or Picka [...]e his instruments, tell him but this with farder instructions thou shalt receiue from mee, and thou shoust thy selfe a Kins­man indeed.

A dainty Bullie.

An honest—Booke-keeper.

And my three times thrice hunnie Couzen.

Nay grace of God Ile robbe him on't suddainlie? and hang it in the Rosemary banck, but I beare that minde Cou­zen I would not steale any thing mee thinkes for mine owne Father.

He beares a good minde in that Captaine!

Why well sayde, he begins to be an honest fellow faith.

In t [...]oth he does.

You see Couzen, I am willing to do you any kindnesse, alwaies sauing my selfe harmelesse?

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Why I thanke thee, fare thee well, I shall re­quite it.

Twill bee good for thee Captaine, that thou hast such an egregious Asse to thy Coozen.

Who I? Kerrie merry Buffe-Ierkin?

Oh, I am happy in more slights, and one will knit strong in another—Corporall Oth?

Hoh Bully?

And thou old Peter Skirmish, I haue a necessary taske for you both.

Lay't vpon George Pye-boord.

What ere it bee, weele manage it.

And out of that false fire, I doubt not but to raise strange be­leefe —and Captaine to countenance my deuice the better, and grace my words to the Widdow, I haue a good plaine Sattin sute, that I had of a yong Reueller t'other night, for words passe not regarded now a dayes vnlesse they come from a good suite of cloaths, which the Fates and my wittes haue bestowed vpon me. Well Captaine Idle, if I did not highly loue thee, I would [Page] nere bee seene within twelue score of a pris [...], for I protest at this instant, I walke in great danger of small debts [...]owe mo­ney to seuerall Hostisses, and you know such lill [...] [...] be vpon a mans Iack.

True George?

Fare thee well Captaine. Come Corporall and Anci­ent? thou shalt heare more newes next time we greete thee?

More newes? I; by you Beare at Bridge-Foote in hea­uen shalt thou.

Not Marry: forsweare Marriage? why all women know 'tis as honorable a thing as to lye with a man; and I to spight my Sisters vowe the more, haue entertainde a suter al­ready▪ a fine gallant Knight of the last Fether, hee sayes he will Coach mee too, and well appoint mee, allow mee money to Dice with-all, and many such pleasing protestations hee sticks vpon my lips; indeed his short-winded Father ith' Countrie is wondrous wealthy, a most abhominable Farmer, and therefore hee may doo [...]e in time: troth Ile venture vpon him; women are not without wayes [...]now to helpe them-selues▪ if he proue wise and good as his word, why I shall loue him, and vse him kindly: and if hee prooue an Asse, why in a quarter of an houres warning I can transforme him into an Oxe;—there comes in my Reliefe agen.

O Mistresse Moll, Mistresse Moll.

How now? what's the newes?

The Knight your [...]uter, sir Iohn Penny-Dub.

Sir Iohn Penny-Dub? where? where?

Hee's walking in the Gallerie.

Ha's my Mother seene him yet.

O no, shee's—spitting in the Kitchin.

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Direct him hether softly, good Frailtie,—Ile meete him halfe way.

That's iust like running a Tilt; but I hope heele breake nothing this time.

I thanke you faith,—Nay you must stand mee, till I kisse you: 'tis the fashion euery where I-faith, and I came from Court enow?

Nay the Fates forsend that I should anger the fashion?

Then not forgetting the sweete of new ceremonies, I first fall back, then recouering my selfe; make my honour to your lip thus: and then accost it.

Nay Sister, let Reason rule you, doe not play the foole, stand not in your owne light, you haue wealthy offers, large tendrings, doe not with-stand your good fortune: who comes a wooing to you I pray? no small foole, a rich Knight ath Citty, Sir Oliuer Muck-hill, no small foole I can tell you: and furthermore as I heard late by your Maide-seruants, (as your Maide-seruants will say to mee any thing I thanke `em) both your Daughters are not without Suters, I, and worthy ones too? one a Briske Cou [...]tier, Sir Andrew Tip-staffe; suter a farre off to your eldest Daughter, and the third a huge-wel­thie Farmers sonne, a fine young Countrie Knight, they call him Sir Iohn Penny-Dab, a good name marry, hee may haue it coynde when hee lackes money: what blessings are these Sister?

Tempt me not Satan.

Satan? doe I looke like Satan? I hope the Deuill's not so old as I, I tro.

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Ve [...]ily Madame, hee is at vaine Exercise, dripping in he Tennis-court.

At Tennis-court? oh, now his father's gon, I shall haue no rule with him; oh wicked Edmond, I might well compare this with the Prophecie in the Chronicle, tho farte inferior, as Harry of Monmouth woone all, and Harry of Windsor lost all, so Edmund of Brist [...] that was the Father, got all, and Edmond of London that's his sonne now, will spend all?

Peace Sister, weele haue hem reformd, there's hope on him yet, tho it be but a little.

Forsooth Madam? there are two or three Archers at doore, would very gladly speake with your Ladyship.

Archers?

Your husbands Fletcher I warrant.

Who do you not see 'em before you, are not these Ar­chers, what do you call 'em Shooters: Shooters and Archers are all one I hope.

Out ignorant slaue.

Wee doe.

To you.

And to your Daughters?

O why will you offer mee this Gentlemen? indeed I will not looke vppon you; when the Teares are scarce out of mine Eyes, not yet washt off from my Cheekes, and my deere husbands body scars [...] so colde as the Coffin, what rea­son haue you to offer it? I am not like some of your Wid­dowes that will burie one in the Euening, and bee sure to ano­ther ere morning? pray away, pray, take your answeres good [Page] Knights, and you bee sweete Knights, I haue vow'd neuer to marry;—and so haue my daughters too!

I two of you haue, but the thirds a good wench!

Lady, a shrewde answere many; the best is, tis but the first, and hee's a blunt wooer, that will leaue for one sharpe answere.

Where bee your daughters Lady, I hope theile giue vs better encouragements?

Indeed theyle answere you so, tak't a my word theile giue you the very same answere Verbat [...]m cruely la;

Mum: Molls a good wench still, I know what shee'le doo?

Well, Lady, for this time weele take our leaues, ho­ping for better comfort.

O neuer, neuer? and I liue these thousand yeares; and you bee good Knights doe not hope; twiil bee all Vaine, Vayne,—looke you, put off all yours suites, and you come to me againe.

Put off all their suites qua tha? I, that's the best wooing of a Widdow indeed, when a man's Nonsuted, that is, when he's a bed with her.

Sir Godfrey? here's twenty Angells more worke hard for me; there's life int yet.

Fea [...]e not Sir Oliuer Muckhill, Ile stick close for you, leaue all with me.

By your leaue Ladie Widdow.

What another suiter now?

Say you so Sir, then you're the better welcome sir.

Nay Heauen blesse mee from a Widdow, vnlesse I were sure to bury her speedily!

Good bluntnesse: well your businesse sit?

Very needfull; if you were in priuate once?

Needfull? brother pray leaue vs; and you sit?

I should laugh now, if this blunt fellow should put 'em [Page] all by side the sti [...]rop, and vault into the saddle himselfe, I haue seene as mad a trick.

Now Sir?—here's none but we—Daughters forbeare.

O no, pray let 'em stay, for what I haue to speake impor­teth equally to them as to you?

Then you may stay.

Feare?

Widdowe? I haue beene a meere stranger for these parts that you liue in, nor did I euer know the Husband of you, and Fa­ther of them, but I truly know by certaine spirituall Intelli­gence, that he is in Putgatorie?

Purgatorie? tuh; that word deserues to bee spit vpon; I wonder that a man of sober toung as you seeme to be, should haue the folly to beleeue there's such a place.

Well Lady, in cold bloud I speake it, I assure you that there is a Purgatory, in which place I know your husband to recide and wherein he is like to remaine, till the dissolution of the world, till the last generall Bon-fire: when all the earth shall melt into nothing. And the Seas scalde their finnie labourers: so long is his abidance, vnlesse you alter the propertie of your purpose, together with each of your Daughters theirs, that is, the purpose of single life in your selfe and your eldest Daugh­ter, and the speedie determination of marriage in your youngest.

How knowes hee that, what, h'as some Deuill told him?

You see she tels you I, for shee sayes nothing. Nay giue me credit as you please, I am a stranger to you, and and yet you see I know your determinations, which must come to mee Metaphisically, and by a super-naturall intelligence.

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This puts Amazement on me?

Know our seacrets.

But sir, my husband, was too hon [...]st a dealing man to be now in any purgatories—

This is most strange of all, how knowes he that?

I groane to speake on't, the though't makes me shudder?—shudder?

It quakes me too, now I thinke on't—sir, I am much gr [...]eu'd, that you a stranger should so deeply wrong my dead husband!

Oh?

A man that would keepe Church so du [...]y; rise early, be­fore his seruants, and e'en fo [...] Religious hast, go vngarterd, vn­b [...]ttend, nay sir Reuerence vntrust, to Morning Prayer?

Oh vff;

Dine quickly vpon hie-dayes, and when I had g [...]eat guesse, would e'en shame me and rize from the Table, to get a good seate at an after-noone Sermon?

There's the diuill, there's the diuill, true, hee thought it Sanctity ynough, if he had kild a ma [...], so [...] tad beene done in a Pue, or vndon his Neighour, so ta'd beene nere y [...]ough to'th Preacher, Oh;—a Sermon's a fine short cloake of an houre long, and wil hide the vpper-part of a dissembler,—Church, I, he seem [...]d al Church, & his cōscience was as hard as the Pulpit!

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I can no more endure this.

Is this all your businesse with me?

And if your conscience would leap vp to your tongue, your selfe would affirme it, and that you shall perceiue I knowe of things to come; as well as I doe of what is present, a Brother of your husbands shall shortly haue a losse!

A losse, marry heauen for-fend, Sir Godfrey, my brother!

Nay keepe in your wonders, till I haue told you the for­tunes of you all; which are more fearefull, if not happily pre­uented—for your part & your daughters, if there be not once this day some bloud-shed befo [...]e your dore, wheerof the hu­maine creature dies? two of you the elder shall run mad?

Oh.

That's not I yet!

And with most impudent prostitution show your na­ked bodies to the veiw of all beholders!

Our naked bodies? sie for shame:

Attend mee: and your yonger daughter bee s [...]rocken dumbe?

Dumbe? out alasse: tis the worst paine of all for a Wo­man, Ide rather bee madde, or runne naked, or any thing: dumbe?

Giue eare? ere the euening fall vpon, Hill Bogge, and Meadow, this my speech shal haue past probation, and then shal I be belieued accordingly.

If this bee true, wee are all sham'de, all vn­don?

Dumbe? Ile speake as much as euer I can possible be­fore euening?

But if it so come to passe (as for your faire sakes I wish it may) that this presage of your strange fortūes be preuēted by that accidēt of death & bloud-shedding which I before told you off: take heed vpō your liues; that two of you which haue vow'd ne [...]er to marry, seeke you out husbands with all present speede [Page] and you the third that haue such a desire to out-strip chastitie, looke you meddle not with a husband.

A double torment.

The breach of this keepes your father in Purgatorie, and the punishments that shall follow you in this world, would with horror kill the Eare should heare 'e [...] related.

Marry? why I vowd neuer to marry.

And so did I.

And I vowde neuer to be such an Asse, but to marry. what a crosse Fortune's this?

Ladies, tho I bee a Fortune-teller, I cannot better For­tunes, you haue 'em frō me as they are reueald to me: I would they were to your tempers, and fellowes with your blouds, that's all the bitternesse I would you.

Oh 'tis a iust vengeance, for my husbands hard pur­chases.

I wish you to be-thinke your selues, and leauem.

Ile to Sir Godfrey my Brother, and acquaint him with these fearefull presages.

For Mother they portend losses to him.

So all this comes well about yet, I play the Fortune-teller, as well as if I had had a Witch to my Grannam: for by good happinesse, being in my Hostisses Garden, which neigh­bours the Orchard of the Widdow, I laid the hole of mine eare to a hole in the wall, and heard 'em make these vowes, & speake those words vpon which I wrought these aduantages; and to encourage my forgerie the more, I may now perceiue in 'em a na [...]urall simplicitie which will easily swallow an abuse, if any co­uering be ouer it: and to confirme my former presage to the Widdow, I haue aduizde old Peter Skirmis [...] the Souldier, to hurt Corporall Oth vpon the Leg, and in that hurry Ile rush amongst [Page] 'em, and in stead of giuing the Corporal some Cordiall to com­fort him, Ile power into his mouth a potion of a sleepy Nature, to make him seeme as dead; for the which the old souldier bee­ing apprehended, and ready to bee borne to execution, Ile step in, & take vpon me the cure of the dead man, vpon paine of dy­ing the condemneds death: the Corporall will wake at his mi­nute, when the sleepy force has wrought it selfe, and so shall I get my selfe into a most admired opinion, and vnder the pretext of that cunning, beguile as I see oc [...]asion: and if that foolish Nicholas Saint Tantlings keepe true time with the chaine, my plot wil be found; the Captaine deliuered, and my wits applau­ded among schollers and souldiers for euer.

Oh I haue foūd an excellent aduantage to take a way the chaine, my Maister put it off e'en now to say on a new Doub [...]et, and I sneak't it away by little & little most Puritanically! wee shall haue good sport a non when ha's mist it, about my Cozen the Coniurer▪ the world shall see I'me an honest man of my word for now I'me going to hang it betweene Heauen & Earth among the Rosemary branches.

Actus 3.

Si [...]rah [...] Saint? my Mistris sends a­way a [...]l her suiters and puts [...]eas [...] eares?

Frailty? she dos like an honest chast, and vertuous womā? for widdowes ought not to wallow in the puddle of iniquity.

Yet Simon, many widdowes wil do't, what so comes on't.

True Frailtie, their filthy flesh desires a Coniunction Co­pulatiue what strangers a [...]e within, Frailty?

Ther's none [...] but Maister Pilfer the Tailer: he's a­boue with Sir Godfreie pra [...]ing of a Doublet: and I must trudge anon to fetch Maister Suds the Barber!

How now creatures? whats a clock.

Why do you take vs to be Iacke at'h Clock-house?

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I say agen to you what's a clocke?

Truly la, wee goe by the clocke of our conscience, all worldly Clockes we know goe false, and are set by drunken Sextons.

Then what's a clock in your conscience?—oh, I must breake off, here comes the corporall—hum, hum!—what's a clock?

A clock? why past seuenteene.

Past seuenteene? nay ha's met with his match now, Corporall Oth will fit him.

Thou doost not bawke or baffle me, doost thou [...] I am a Souldier—pa [...]t seuenteene.

I, thou art not angry with the figures art thou? I will prooue it vnto thee, 12. and 1. is thirteene [...] hope, 2. foureteene, 3. fifteene, 4 sixteene, and 5. seauenteene, then past seauenteene, I will take the Dyals part in a iust cause.

I say 'tis but past fiue then.

Ile sweare 'tis past seauenteene then [...] doost thou not know numbers, canst thou not cast?

Cast? dost thou speake of my casting ith' street? Dr [...].

I, and in the Market place.

Clubs, clubs, clubs.

I, I knew by their shuffling Clubs would be Trumpe; masse here's the Knaue, and hee can doe any good vppon 'em: Clubs, clubs, clubs?

O villaine, thou hast opend a vaine in my leg.

How now, for shame, for shame, put vp, put vp.

By yon blew Welkin, 'twas out of my part George to bee hurt on the leg.

Oh peace now—I haue a Cordiall here to comfort thee.

Downe with 'em, downe with em, lay hands vpon the villaine.

Lay hands on me?.

Ile not be seene among em now.

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To prison, where's George.

Away with hem.

Madam, hee was carryed to the superiour, but if he had no money when hee came there, I warrant hee's dead by this time.

Sure that man is a rare fortune-te [...]ler, neuer lookt vpon our hands, nor vpon any marke about vs, a wondrous fel­low surelie.

I am glad, I haue the vse of my tongue yet: tho of no­thing else, I shall finde the way to marry too, I hope shortly.

O where's my Brother sir Godfrey, I would hee were here, that I might relate to him how prophetically, the cunning Gentleman spoke in all things.

O my Chaine, my Chaine, I haue lost my Chaine, where be these Villains, Varlets?

Oh; has lost his Chaine.

My Chaine, my chaine.

Brother bee patient, heare mee speake, you know [Page] I told you that a cunning man told me, that you should haue a losse, and he has prophicied so true.

Out he's a villaine, to prophe [...]y of the losse of my chaine, twas worth aboue three hundred C [...]ownes,—besides twas my Fathers, my fathers fathers, my Grand-fathers huge grand-fathers? I had as liue ha lost my Neck, as the chaine that hung about it; O my chaine, my chaine.

Oh brother, who can be against a misfortune, tis happy twas no more.

No, more! O goodly godly sister, would you had me lost more? my best gowne too, with the cloth of gold-lace? my holiday Gascoines, and my Ierkin set with pearle; no more?

Oh, Brother! you can reade.—

But I cannot reade where my chaine is,—what strangers haue beene here? you let in strangers! The eues, and Catch-poles; how comes it gonne? there was none aboue with mee but my Taylor; and my Taylor will not—steale I hope?

No he's afrayde of a chaine!

How now sirrah, the newes?

O Mistres, he may well be cald a Corporall now, for his corpes are as dead as a cold Capons?

More happinesse.

Sirrah, what's this to my chaine? where's my chaine knaue?

Your chaine sir?

My chaine is lost villaine.

I would hee were hang'd in chaines that has it then for me? Alasse sir, I saw none of your chaine, since you were hung with it your selfe?

Had it so sir: sure it cannot be lost then; Ile put you in that comfort.

Why why?

Why if your chaine had so many Lincks, it cannot [Page] chuse but come to light.

Delusion? now long Nicholas wheres my chaine.

Why about your Neck, ist not sir.

Nay Brother show your selfe a man:

I if it be lost or stole, if he would be patient Mistres I could bring him to a Cunning Kinsman of mine that would fetcht againe with a Sesar [...]ra.

Canst thou? I will be patient, say where dwells he?

Marry he dwels now Sir, where he would not dwell and he could choose: in the Marshalse [...] sir; but hee's an exlent fel­low if he were out, has trauyld all the world ore, he, and beene in the seauen and twenty Prouinces: why he would make it be fetcht Sir if twere rid a thousand mile out of towne.

An admirable fellow what lies he for.

Why hee did but rob a Steward of ten groats tother Night, as any man would ha done, and there he lies fort.

His Hostesses where he lies will trust him no longer, she has feed me to arest him; and if you will accompany me, because I know not of what Nature the Scholler is, whether desperate or swift, you shall share with me Seriant Rauen-shaw, I haue the good Angell to arrest him.

Troth Ile take part with thee then, Sariant, not for the sake of the mony so much, as for the hate I beare to a Schol­ler: why Seriant tis Naturall in vs you know to hate Scholers: naturall [...], they will publish our imperfections, Knaueryes, and Conuay [...] vpon Scaffolds and Stages.

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I and spightfully to; troth I haue wounderd how the slaues could see into our brests so much, when our doublers are buttond with Pewter.

I and so close without yeelding; oh their parlous fel­lows, they will search more with their wits then a Cunstable with all his officers.

Whist, whist, whist, Yeoman Dogson, Yeoman Dogson.

Ha, what saies Sariant?

Is he in the Pothecaryes shop stil,

I, I.

Haue an eye, eye.

The best is Sariant if he be a true Scholler he weares no weapon I thinke.

No, no, he weares no weapon.

Masse, I am right glad of that: 'tas put me in better heart; nay if I clutch him once, let me alone to dra [...]e him if he be stiff-necked; I haue beene one of the sixe my selfe, that has dragd as tall men of their hands, when their weapons haue bin gone as euer bastinadoed a Sariant—I haue done I can tel you.

Sariant Puttocke, Sariant Puttocke.

Hoh.

Hees comming out single.

Peace, peace bee not to greedy, let him play a little let him play a litle, weele [...]erke him vp of a sudaine, I ha fisht in my time.

I and caught many a foole Seriant.

I arrest you sir.

Oh—I spoke truer then I was a ware, I must to prison indeed.

They say your a scholler, nay sir—Yeoman Dogson, haue [Page] care to his armes—youle rayle againe Sariants, and stage 'em: you, tickle their vices.

Nay vse me like a Gentleman, I'me little lesse.

You a Gentleman? thats a good Iest ifaith; can a Schol­ler be a Gentleman,—when a Gentleman will not be a Schol­ler;—looke vpon your welthy Citizenes sonnes, whether they be Scholers or no, that are Gentlemen by their fathers trades: a Scholler a Gentleman.

Nay let Fortune driue all her stings into me, she can­not hurt that in me, a Gentleman, is Accidens Inseperabile to my bloud.

A rablement, nay you shall haue a bloudy rablement; vpon you I warrant you.

Goe, Yeoman Dogson before, and Enter the Action 'ith Counter.

Pray do not hand me Cruelly, Ile goe,

Whether you please to haue me,

Oh hees tame let him loose seriant.

Pray at whose sute is this?

Why at your Hostisses suite where you lie, Misters Cun­nyburrow for bed and boord, the somme foure pound fiue shil­lings and fiue pence.

Come, come away.

Pray giue me so much time as to knit my garter, and Ile a way with you.

Well we must be paid for this waiting vpon you, this is no paynes to attend thus.

I am now wretched, and miserable, I shall nere recouer of this disease: hot Yron gnaw their fists: they haue strucke a Feuer into my shoulder, which I shall nere shake out agen I feare me, till with a true Habeas Corpus the Sexton remooue me, oh if I take prison once I shall bee prest to death with Actions, but not so happy as speedilie; perhaps I may bee [Page] forty yeare a pressing till I be a thin old man, that looking through the grates, men may looke through me; all my meanes is confounded, what shall I doe? has my wit serued me so long, and now giue me the slippe (like a Traynd seruant) when I haue most need of 'em: no deuice to keepe my poore carcase fro these Puttocks?—yes, happines, haue I a paper about me now? yes too, Ile trie it, it may hit, Extremity is Touch-stone vnto wit, I, I.

Sfoot how many yards are in thy Gatters, that thou art so long a tying on them? come away sir.

Troth Seriant I protest, you could neuer ha tooke me at a worse time, for now at this instant, I haue no lawfull picture about me.

Slid how shall me come by our fees then.

We must haue fees Sirra.

I could ha wisht ifaith, that you had tooke me halfe an hower hence for your owne sake, for I protest if you had not crost me, I was going in great ioy to receiue fiue pound of a Gentleman, for the Deuice of a Maske here, drawne in this pa­per▪ but now, come I must be contented, tis but so much lost, and answerable to the rest of my fortunes.

Why how far hence dwells that Gentleman?

I, well said seriant, tis good to cast about for mony.

Speake, if it be not far—

We are but a little past it, the next street behind vs.

Slid we haue waited vpon you grieuously already▪ if youle say youle be liberall when you ha [...]e, giue vs double [...]ees, and spend vpon's, why weele sho [...] [...] that kindnes, and goe along with you to the Gentleman.

I well said still seriant v [...]ge that.

Troth if it will su [...]ice, it shall be all among you, for my p [...]rt ile not pocket a penny, my hostis [...]e shall haue her foure pound fiue shillings, and bate me the fiue pence, and the other [...]fteene shillings Ile spend vpon you.

Why now thou art a good Scholler.

An excellent Scholler Ifaith; has proceeded very well alate; come, weele along with you.

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Who knocks, whose at doore? we had need of a Porter.

A few friends here?—pray is the Gentleman your mai­ster within.

Yes, is your businesse to him?

I by my troth sir, Pray come neere, Ile in and tell him of you, please you to walke here in the Gallery till he comes.

Wee will attend his worship,—worship I thinke, for so much the Posts at his doore should signifie, and the faire com­ming in, and the wicket, else I neither knew him nor his wor­ship, but 'tis happinesse he is within doores, what so ere he bee, if he be not too much a formall Citizen, hee may doe me good: Seriant and Yeoman, how doe you like this house, ist not most wholsomly plotted?

Troth prisoner, an exceeding fine house.

Yet I wonder how hee should forget me, for hee nere knew mee: No matter, what is forgot in you will bee remem­bred in your Maister.

Oh dog-holes toote,

Dog-holes indeed—I can tell you I haue great hope to haue my Chamber here shortly, nay and dyet too, for hee's the most free-hartedst Gentleman where he takes: you would little thinke it? and what a fine Gallery were here for mee to walke and study, and make verse [...],

O it stand [...] very pleasantly for a Scholler.

Looke what maps, and pictures, and deuices, and things, neatly deli [...]ately? masse here he comes, he should be a Gentle­man, I like his Beard well;—All happinesse to your worship.

You're kindly welcome sir.

A simple [...].

Masse it seemes the Gentleman makes great account of him.

I haue the thing here for you sir.

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I beseech you conceale me sir, Ime vndone else,—I haue [...]he Maske here for you sir, Looke you sir,—I beseech your worship first to pardon my rudenesse, for my extreames makes mee boulder then I would bee; I am a poore Gentleman and a Scholler, and now most vnfortunately falne into the [...]angs of vnmercifull officers, arrested for debt, which tho small, I am not able to compasse, by reason Ime destitute of lands, money, and friends, so that i [...] I fall into the hungrie swallow of the prison, I am like vtterly to perish, and with fees and extortions be pincht cleane to the bone: Now, if euer pitty had interest in the bloud of a Gentleman, I beseech you vouchsafe but to fauour that meanes of my escape, which I haue already thought vpon.

Goe forward.

I warrant he likes it rarely.

In the plundge of my extremities, being giddy, and doubtfull what to doe; at last it was put into my labouring thoughts, to make happy vse of this paper, and to bleare their vnlettered eyes, I told them there was a Deuice for a Maske drawne int', and that (but for their interception,) I was go­ing to a Gentleman to receiue my reward for't: they greedy at this word, and hoping to make purchase of me, offered their attendance, to goe along with mee, 'my hap was to make bolde with your doore Sir, which my thoughts showde mee the most fairest and comfortablest entrance, and I hope I haue happened right vpon vnderstanding, and pitty: may it please your good Worship then, but to vphold my Deuice, which is to let one of your men put me out at back-doore, and I shall bee bound to your worship for euer.

By my troth an excellent deuice.

An excellent deuice hee sayes; hee likes it won­derfully.

A my faith I neuer heard a better.

Harke, hee sweares hee neuer heard a better, Serieant.

O there's no talke on't, hees an excellent Scholler, and especially for a Maske.

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Giue me your Paper, your Deuice; I was neuer better pleasde in all my life: good witte, braue witte, finely rought, come in sir, and receiue your money sir.

Puh, we know hee could not choose but like it: goe thy wayes thou art a witty fine fellow ifaith, thou shalt discourse it to vs at Tauerne anon wilt thou?

I, I, that I will,—looke Seriants here are Maps, and prit­tie toyes, be dooing in the meane time, I shall quickly haue told out the money, you know.

Goe, goe little villaine, fetch thy chinck, I begin to loue thee, Ile be drunke to night in thy company.

Sir [...]ah Seriant, these Mappes are prittie painted things, but I could nere fancie 'em yet, [...]mee thinkes they're too busie, and full of Circles and Coniurations, they say all the world's in one of them, but I could nere finde the Counter in the Poultrie.

I thinke so: how could you finde it? for you know it stands behind the houses.

Masse thats true, then we must looke ath' back-side fort; Sfoote here's nothing, all's ba [...]e.

I warrant thee that stands for the Counter, for you know theres a company of bare fellowes there.

Faith like enough Seriant? I neuer markt so much be­fore? Sirran Seriant, and Yeoman, I should loue these Maps out a crye now, i [...] wee could see [...] peepe out of doore in em, oh wee might haue em in a morning to our Breake-fast so finely, and nere kn [...]ke our heeles to the ground a whole day for em.

[Page] I haue a trick worth all, you two shall beare him to 'th Tauerne, whilst I goe close with his Hostisse, and worke out of her, I know shee would bee glad of the summe to finger money; be­cause shee knowes tis but a desperat debt, and full of hazard, what will you say if I bring it to passe that the Hostisse shall bee contented with one halfe for all; and wee to share tother; fift-shillings bullies.

Why I would call thee King of Seriants, and thou shouldst be Chronicled in the Counter booke for euer.

Well put it to me, weele make a Night on't faith.

Sfoote I thinke he receiues more money he staies so long.

Hee tarries long indeed, may be I can tell you vpon the good liking ont the Gentleman may proue more bountifull.

That would be rare, weele search him.

Nay be sure of it weele search him! and make him light ynough.

Oh here comes the Gentleman; by your leaue sir.

God you god den sirs,—would you speake with me;

No, not with your worship sir, only wee are bould to stay for a friend of ours that went in with your worship.

Who? notthe scholler?

Yes e'en he and it please your worship?

Did he make you stay for him? hee did you wrong then why, I can assure you hees gon aboue an houre agoe.

How? sir?

I payd him his money, and my man told me he went out at back-dore.

Back-dore?

Why, whats the matter.

He was our prisoner sir, we did arrest him.

Vengeance dog him with't.

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Sfoote has he guld vs so.

Where shall wee sup now Serieants?

Well, wee cannot impute it to any lacke of good-will in your Worship,—you did but as another would haue done, twas our hard fortunes to misse the purchase, but if ere wee clutch him againe, the Counter shall charme him.

The hole shall rotte him.

Amen.

How now, whose that? what are you?

The same that I should be Captaine.

George Pye- boord, honest George? why camst thou i [...] halfe fac [...] d. mu [...]ed so?

Oh Captaine, I thought we should nere ha laught agen, neuer spent frolick houre agen.

Why? why?

Arrested George.

Arrested, gesse, gesse, how many Dogges doe you thinke Ide vpon me?

Dogs, I say? I know not.

How didst thou shake 'em of then?

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Coniure: sfoote George you know the deuill a coniu­ring [...] can coniure.

The Deuill of coniuring nay by my fay, Ide not haue thee do so much Captaine as the Deuill a coniuring: looke here, I ha brought thee a circle ready characterd and all.

Sfoote George, art in thy right wittes, doost know what thou saist? why doost talke to a Captaine, a coniuring, didst thou euer heare of a Captaine coniure in thy life, doost cal't a Circle, tis too wide a thing my thinkes: had it beene a lesser Circle, then I knew what to haue done.

Why euery foole knowes that Captaine: nay then Ile not cogge with you Captaine, if youle stay and hang the next Seffi­ons you may.

No by my faith George, come, come, lets to coniurring, lets to coniuing.

But if you looke to be releasd, as my wittes haue tooke paine to worke it, and all meanes wrought to farther it, besides to put crownes in your purse, to make you a man of better hopes, and where as before you were a Captaine or poore Souldier, to make you now a Commander of rich fooles, (which is truly the onely best purchase peace can allow you) safer then Hig-wayes, Heath, or Cunny-groues, and yet a farre better bootie; for your greatest theeues are neuer hangd, neuer hangd, for why they're wise, and cheate within doores, and wee geld fooles of more money in one night, then your false tailde Gelding will pur­chase in a twelue-moneths running, which confirmes the olde Beldams saying, hee's wisest, that keepes himselfe warmest, that is, hee that robs by a good fire.

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Well opened yfaith George, thou hast puld that saying out of the huske.

Captaine Idle, tis no time now to delude or delay, the old Knight will be here suddenly, Ile perfect you, direct you, till you the trick on't: tis nothing.

Sfoote George, I know not what to say toot, coniure? I shall be hangd ere I coniute.

Nay tell not me of that Captaine, youle nere coniure after your hangd, I warrant you looke you [...]ir, a parlous matter? sure, first to spred your circle vpon the ground, then with a little con­iuring ceremonie, as Ile haue an Hackney-mans wand siluerd ore a purpose for you, then a [...]riuing in the circle, with a huge word, and a great t [...]mple as for instance: haue you neuer seene a stal­king-stamping Player, that will raise a tempest with his toung, and thunder with his heeles?

O yes, yes, yes: often, often.

Why be like such a one, for any thing will blea [...]e the old Knights eyes, for you must note that heele nere dare to venture into the roome, onely perhaps peepe fearefully through the Key hole, to see how the Play goes forward.

Well I may goe about it when I will, but marke the end o [...]t, I shall but shame my selfe ifaith George, speake big words, and stampe and stare and he looke in at Key-hole, why the very thought of that would make me laugh out-right, and spoile all, nay Ile tell thee George, when I apprehend a thing once, I am of such a laxatiue laughter, that if the Deuill him-selfe stood by, I should laugh in his face.

Puh, thats but the babe of a man, and may easily bee husht, as to thinke vpon some disaster, some sad misfortune, as the death of thy Father ithe Country!

Sfoote that would be the more to driue me into such an extasie, that I should nere lin laughing.

Why then thinke vpon going to hanging else.

Masse that's well remembred, now ile do well I warrant thee, nere feare me now: but how shall I do George for boyste­rous words, and horrible names.

Puh, any fustian inuocations Captaine will serue as well as the best, so you rant them out well, or you may goe to a Po­thecaries shop, and take all the words from the Boxes.

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Troth and you say true George, there's strange words enow to raise a hundred Quack-saluers; tho they be nere so poore when they begin? but here lyes the feare on't, how in this false coniuration a true Deuill should pop vp indeed.

A true Deuill, Captaine, why there was nere such a one, nay faith hee that has this place, is as false a Knaue as our last Church-warden.

Then hees false inough a conscience ifaith George.

Hees come, hees come.

Maister, thats my Kinsman younder in the Buff-Ierkin— Kinsman, thats my Maister yonder ith' Taffetie Hatt—pray sa­lute him intirely?

Now my friend.

May I pertake your name sir.

My name is Maister [...]dm [...]d.

Maister Edmond—are you not a Welchman sir?

A Welshman, why?

Because Maister is your Christen name, and Edmond your sir name?

O no; I haue more names at home, Maister Edmund Pius, is my full name at length.

O crie you mercy [...]?

I vnderstand that you are my Kinsmans good Maister, and in regard of that, the best of my skill is at your seruice: but had you fortunde a [...]eere stranger, and made no meanes to me by acquaintance, I should haue vtterly denyed to haue beene the man; both by reason of the Act past in Parliament against Coniurers and Witches, as also, because I would not haue my Arte vulgar, trite, and common.

I much commend your care therein good Captaine Coniurer, and that I will be sure to haue it priuate enough, you shall doote in my Sisters house,—mine owne house I may call it, for both our charges therein are proportiond.

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Very good sir—what may I call your losse sir?

O you may call't a great losse sir, a grieuous losse sir, as goodly a Chaine of gold, tho I say it, that wore it: how saiest thou Nichol [...]s?

O 'twas as delicious a Chaine a Gold, Kinsman you know, —

You know? did you know't Captaine?

Trust a foole with secrets? — Sir hee may say I know: his meaning is, because my Arte is such, that by it I may gather a knowledge of all things.—

I very true.

A pax of all fooles—the excuse stucke vpon my toung like Ship-pitch vpon [...] Mariners gowne, not to come off in hast—ber-lady Knight to loose such a faire Chaine a gold, were a soule losse; Well, I can put you in this good comfort on't, if it bee betweene Heauen and Earth Knight, Ile ha't for you?

A wonderfull Coniuter,—O I, tis betweene hea­uen and earth I warrant you, it cannot goe out of the realme,— I know tis some-where aboue the earth?

I nigher the earth then thou worst on.

For first my Chaine was rich, and no rich thing shall enter into heauen you know?

And as for the Deuill Maister, he has no need on't, for you know he ha's a great chaine of his owne?

Thou saiest true Nicholas, but hee has put off that now, that lyes by him.

Faith Knight in few wordes, I presume so much vpon the power of my Art; that I could warrant your Chaine againe.

O da [...]ntie Captaine?

Marry it will cost me much sweat [...]e, I were better goe to sixteene whot-houses.

I good man, I warrant thee.

Beside great vexation of Kidney and Liuer.

O twill tickle you here [...]abouts Coozen, because you haue not beene vsde toot.

No, haue you not beene vsd too't Captaine?

Plague of all [...]—indeed Knight I haue [...] [Page] vsde it a good while, and therefore twill strai [...]e me so much the more you know.

On it will, it will.

What plunges hee puts me to, were not this Knight a foole, I had beene twice spoyld now; that Captay [...]es wo [...]se then accurst that has an asse to his Kinsman—Sfoote I feare hee will driuell't out before I come toote.—Now sir—to come to the poynt in deede—you see I sticke here in the iawe of the Marshalsea, and cannot doo't.

Tut tur I now thy meaning, thou wouldst say thou'rt a prisoner, I tell thee thou'rt none.

How none? why is not this the Marshialsea?

woult heare me speake, I hard of thy rare cuniuring My chayne was lost, I sweate for thy release, As thou shalt doe the like at home for me, Keeper.

Sir.

Speake is not this man free?

Yes at his pleasure sir, the fee's dischargd;

Goe, goe, Ile discharge them I.

I thanke your worship

Now trust me yar a deere Knight kindnes vnexpected, oh theirs nothing to a free Gentle man.—I will cuniute for you sir till Froath come through my Buffe-ierkin?

Nay then thou shalt not passe with so little a boun­ty, for at the first sight of my chaine agen,—Forty fine Angells shall appeare vnto thee.

Twill be a glorious showe, ifaith Knight a very fine show, but are all these of your owne house? are you sure of that fir?

I, I, no, no, whats he younder? talking with my wild Nephew, pray heauen, he giue him good counsell;

Who he hee's a rare friend of mine, an admirable fellow Knight, the finest fortune-teller.

Oh tis he indeed that came to my Lady sister, & fore­told the losse of my chaine, I am not angry with him now, for I see twas my fortune to loose it; by your leaue M. Fortune-teller, I had a glimps on you at home at my Sisters the Widdowes, there you prouisied of the losse of a chaine, — simply tho I stand [Page] here I was he that lost it.

Was it you sir?

A my troth Nunckle, hee's the rarest fellow, has told me my fortune so right; I find it so right to my nature.

What ist? God send it a good one?

O tis a passing good one, Nuncle: for he sayes I shall proue such an excelent gamster in my time, that I shall spend al faster then my father got it,

T'here [...]s a fortune in deed,

Nay it hits my humour so pat.

I that will be the end ont. will the Curse of the beg­gar preuaile so much, that the sonne shall consume that foolish­lie, which the father got, craftilie, I, I, I, twill, twill, twill.

Stay, stay, stay

turne ouer George.

[...] Iutie, here Iulie thats this month, Sunday thirteene, yester day forteene, to day fifteene.

Looke quickly for the fifteene day,—if within the com­passe of these two dayes there would be some Boystrous storme or other, it would be the best, Ide defer him off till then, some tempest and it be thy will?

Heres the fifteene day—hot and fayre.

Puh, would t'ad beene hot and foule.

The sixteene day, thats to morrow, the morning for the most part faire and pleasant.

No lucke.

But about hye-none-lighning and thunder.

Lighning and thunder, admirable, best of all, Ile coniure to morrow iust at hie none George.

Happen but true to morrow Almanack, and ile giue thee leaue to lie all the yeare after.

sir I must craue your patience, to bestowe this day vpon me, that I may furnish my selfe strongly,—I sent a spirit into Lanck [...]shire tother day, to fetch backe a knaue Drouer, and I looke for his returne this euening—to morrow morning my friend here and I will come and breake-fast with you.

Oh you shall be both most welcome.

And about Noone without fayle, I purpose to coniure.

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Mid noone will be a fine time for you.

Coniuting, do you meane to coniure at our house to morrow sir?

Many do I sir [...]t is my intent yong Gentleman.

[...] troth, Ile loue you while I liue sort, o rare, Nich­olas we sna [...] [...] coniuring, to morrowe,

Puh I, I could ha tould you of that.

Law hee could ha told him of that, foole, cockscombe could yee.

Do you heare me sir, I desire more acquaintance on you, you shall earne some money of me, now I knowe you can con­i [...]re, but can you fetch any that is lost?

Oh any thing thats lost.

Why looke you sir, I tel't you as a frend and a Con­iurer, I should marry a Poticaries daughter and twas told me she lost her maiden head at Stonie-statford; now if youle do but so much as conure fort, and make all whole agen.—

That I will sir.

By my troth I thanke you la,

A litle merry with your sisters sonne sir.

Oh a simple yong man, very simple, come Captaine, and you sir, weele een part with a gallon of wine till to mor­row breake-fast.

Troth agreed sir.

kinsman—Scholler?

Why now thou art a good Knaue, worth a hundred Brownists.

Am I indeed la: I thanke you truely la.

Actus. 4.

But I hope you will not serue a Knight so: Gentlewo­man will you: to casheere him, and cast him off at your pleasure; what do you thinke I was dubd for nothing, no by my faith Ladies daughter.

Pray Sir Iohn Pennydub, let it be deferd awhile, I haue as bigge a heart to marry as you can haue; but as the Fortune­teler tolld me.

I ax a'th Fortune-teller, would Derecke had beene [Page] his fortune seauen yeare agoe, to crosse my loue them: did hee know what case I was in, why this is able to make a man drowne himselfe in's Fathers fish-pond.

And then hee told mee more-ouer Sir Iohn, that the breach of it, kept my Father in Purgatorie.

In Purgatorie? why let him purge out his heart there, what haue we to do with that? there's Phisitions enow there to cast his water, is that any matter to vs: how can hee hinder our loue, why let him bew changd now hee's dead?—Well, haue I rid poste day and night, to bring you merry newes of my fathers death, and now—

Thy Fathers death? is the old Farmer dead?

As dead as his Barne doore Moll.

And you'le keepe your word with mee now, Sir Iohn. that I shall haue my Coach and my Coach-man?

I faith.

And two white Horses with black Fethers to draw it?

Too,

A guarded Lackey to run befor't, and pyed liueries to come trashing after't.

Thou shalt Moll.

And to let me haue money in my purse to go whether I will.

All this.

Then come, what so ere comes on't, weele bee made sure together before the Maides a'the Kitchin.

How now? where's my Brother Sir Godfrey? went hee forth this morning?

O no Madame, hee's aboue at breake-fast, with sir reue­rence a Coniurer.

A Coniurer? what manner a fellow is he?

Oh, a wondrous ra [...]e fellow Mistris, very strongly made vpward, for he goes in a Buff-ierkin: he sayes hee will fetch Sir Godfreys Chaine agen, if it hang betweene heauen and earth.

What he will not? then hee's an exlent fellow I warrant. how happy were that woman to be blest with such a Husband, a man a cunning? how do's hee looke Frailtie: very swartlie I [Page] warrant, with black beard, scorcht cheekes, and smokie eye­browes.

Fooh—hee's neither smoake-dryed, nor scorcht, nor black, nor nothing, I tell you Madame, hee lookes as faire to see to, as one of vs; I do not thinke but if you saw him once, you d [...] take him to be a Christian.

So faire, and yet so cunning, that's to bee wonderd at Mother.

Blesse you sweete Lady.

And you faire Mistrisse.

Coades? what doe you meane Gentlemen? fie, did I not giue you your answeres?

Sweete Lady?

Yes for [...]ooth.

Ime proud of such a fauour.

Truly la, sir Oliuer, y are much to blame to come agen, when you know my minde, so well deliuerd — as a Widdow could deliuer a thing.

But I expect a farther comfort Lady.

Why la you now, did I not desire you to put off your sute quite & cleane, when you came to me againe, how say you did I not▪

But the sincere loue which my heart beares you,

Go to, ile cut you off. & Sir Oliuer to put you in comfort a farre off, my fortune is read me, I must marry againe.

O blest fortune!

But not as long as I can choose;—nay Ile hold out, well.

Yet are my hopes now fairer.

O Madam Madam.

How now, what's the hast?

Faith Mistrisse Francis Ile maintaine you gallantly. Ile bring you to Court, weane you among the faire society of ladies poore Kinswomé of mine in cloth of siluer, beside you shall haue your Monckie, your Parrat, your Muskat, & your pisse, pisse, pisse.

It will do very well.

What dos he meane to coniure here the? how shall I do to [Page] bee tid of these Knights,—please you Gentlemen to walke a while ith Garden, go gather a pinck, or a Iilly-flower.

With all our hearts Lady, and count vs fauourd?

Step in Nicholas, looke, is the coast cleare.

Oh, as cleare as a Cattes eye, sir.

Then enter Captaine Conisurer?—now—how like you your Roome su?

O wonderfull conuenient.

I can tell you Captaine, simplie tho it lies here, tis the fayrest Roome in my Mothers house, as dainty a Roome to Coniute in, mee thinkes,—why you may bidde, I cannot tell how many diuills welcome in't; my Father has had twentie here at once!

What diuills?

Diuills, no Deputies, & the welthiest men he could get.

Nay put by your chattes now, fall to your businesse roundly, the seskewe of the Diall is vpon the Chrisse-crosse of Noone, but oh: heare met Captaine, a qualme comes ore my stomack?

Why, what's the matter sir?

Oh, how if the diuill should proue a knaue, and teare the hangings.

Fuh, I warrant you Sir Godfrey:

I Nuncle, or spit fire vpp'oth feeling!

Very true too, for tis but thin playsterd, and twill quickly take hold a the laths, and if hee chance to spit downe­ward-too, he will burne all the boords.

My life for yours Sir Godfrey?

My Sister is very curious & dainty ore this Roome I can tell and therefore if he must needes spit, I pray desire him to spit ith Chimney.

Why assure you Sir Godfrey, he shall not be brought vp, with so little manners to spit and spaule a'th flower.

Why I thanke you good Captai [...]e, pray haue a care I, fall to your Circle, weele not trouble you I warrant you, come, weele in to the next Roome, & because we [...]le be sure to keepe him out there, weele bar vp the dore with some of the Godlies zealous workes.

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That will bee a fine deuice Nuncle, and because the ground shall be as holy as the doore, Ile teare two or three re­faires in peices, and strew the leaues about the Chamber? oh, the deuill already,—runs in—

Sfoote Captaine speak somwhat for shame; it lightens & thunders before thou wilt begin, why when?

Pray peace George,—thou'lt make mee laugh anon; and spoile all.

Oh now it begins agen, now, now? now? Captaine?

Rumbos-ragdayon, pur, pur, colucundrion, Hois—Plois.

Oh admirable Coniurer? has fetcht Thunder already:

Harke harke agen Captaine?

Beniamino,—gaspois—kay — gosgothoteron—umbrois.

Oh, I would the deuill would come away quicklie, he has no conscience to put a man to such paine?

Agen!

Flowste—Kakop [...]pos—dragone—Leloomenos—hodge—podge.

Well sayd Captaine.

So long a comming? oh would I had ner [...] begun't now, for I feare mee these roaring tempests, will destroy all the fruites of the earth, and tread vpon my come—oh, ith Country.

Gog de gog, hobgoblin, huncks, houseslow, hockley te coome parke.

O brother, brother, what a tempests ith, Garden, sure there's some coniuration abroad.

Tis at home sister!

By and by, Ile step in? Captaine?

Nunck—Nunck—Rip—Gascoynes, Ipis, Drip—Dropite.

Hee drippes and droppes poore man? alasse, alasse.

Now I come?

O Sulphure Scoteface—

Arch-coniurer, what wouldst thou with me?

So, so, so, Ile release thee, ynough Captaine, ynough, [Page] allowe vs some time to laughe a little, they're shuddering and shaking by this time, as if an Earth-quake were in their kid­neyes.

Sirrah George, how wast, how wast, did I doo't well ynough.

woult beleeue mee Captaine, better then any Coniurer, for here was no harme in this, and yet their horrible expectati­on satisffied well, you were much beholding to thunder & light­ning at this time it gra [...]st you well I can tell you?

I must needes say so George? sirrah if wee could ha con­uoide hether cleanly a cracker or a fire-wheele t'ad beene ad­mitable.

Blutt, blutt theirs nothing remaines to put thee to paine now Captaine.

Paine? I protest George my heeles are sorer, then a Whit­son Morris-dancer.

Sir Godfrey? Nicholas, Kinsman-Sfoot they'r fast at it still George, Sir Godfrey?

Oh, is that the diuils voyce? how comes he to know my name.

Feare not Sir Godfrey all's quieted.

What is he layd?

Layde; and has newly dropt, Your chaine ith Garden.

Ith Garden! in our Garden?

Your Garden?

O sweete Coniurer? where abouts there?

Looke-well about a banck of Rosemary.

Sister the Rosemary banck, come, come, ther's my chaine he saies.

Oh happinesse, run, run.

Captaine Coniurer?

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Who? Maister Edmond.

I Maister Edmond may I come in safely, without danger thinke you.

Oh this Roomes mightily hot ifaith, slid my shirt sticks to my Belly already, what a steame the Rogue has left be hind him' foh this roome must be ayrd Gentlemen it sinells horribly of Brimstoone — lets open the windowes.

Faith ma [...]ster Edmond tis but your conceite,

I would you could make me beleeue that ifaith why do you thinke I cannot smell his sauour, from another: yet I take it kindly from you, because you would not put me in a feare ifaith, a my troth I shall loue you for this the lōgest day of my life.

Puh, tis nothing sir, loue me when you see more.

Masse now I remember Ile looke whether he has sin­ged the hangings or no.

Captaine, to entertaine a litle sport till they come; make him bele [...]ue, youle charme him inuisible, hes apt to admire any thing you see let me alone to giue force too'te.

goe, retire, to yonder end then.

I protest you are a rare fellowe, are you not.

O maister Edmond, you know but the least part of me yet, why now at this instant I could but florish my wand thrice ore your head, and charme you inusib'e.

What you could not? make me walke inuisible man; I should laugh at that ifaith, troth ile requite your kindnes and youle doo't good Captaine coniurer.

Nay I should hardly deny you such a small [...]indnesse Master Edmond Plus, why looke you sir tis no more but this and thus and agen and now yar inuisible!

Am I faith, who would thinke it.

You see the fortune-teller yonder at farder end ath cham­ber goe toward him, do what you will with him he shall nere finde you.

Say you so, ile trie that ifaith,—

How now? Captaine, whose that iustled me?

Iustled you? I saw no body.

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Ha, ha, ha,—say twas a spirit,

Shall I [...]—may be some spirit that haunts the circle.

O my nose, agen, pray coniur [...] then Captaine.

Troth this is exlent, I may do any knauery now and ne­uer be seene, and now I remember mee, Sir Godfrey my Vncle abusde me tother day, & told tales of me to my Mother—Troth now Ime inuisible, ile hit him a sound wherrit ath' eare, when he comes out ath' garden,—I may be reuengd on him now finely.

Nephew? I hope you do not know mee Vncle?

Why did you strike your Vncle sir?

Why Captaine am I not inuisible?

Correction, push—no, neither you nor my Mother shall thinke to whip me as you haue done.

Captaine my ioy is such, I know not how to thanke you, let me embrace you, hug you, O my sweete Chaine, Glad­nesse 'een makes mee giddy, rare man: twas as iust ith' Rose­marie bauck, as if one should ha laide it there—oh cunning, cunning!

Well, seeing my fortune tels mee I must marry; let me marry a man of witte a man of parts, here's a worthy Cap­taine, and 'tis a fine Title truely [...] to bee a Captaines Wife, a Captaines Wife, it goes very finely. beside all the world knows that a worthy Captaine, is a fitte Companion to any Lord, [Page] then why not a sweete bed-fellow for any Lady.—Ile haue it so—

O Mistris, Gentlemen, there's the brauest sight com­ming along this way.

What braue sight?

Oh, one going to burying, & another going to hanging.

A ruefull sight.

Sfoot Captaine, Ile pawne my life the Corporals coffind, and old Skirmish the souldier going to execution, & 'tis now full about the time of his walking; hold out a little longer sleepie potion, and we shall haue exlent admiration; for Ile take vpon me the cure of him.

Oh here they come, here they come!

Now must I close secretly with the Souldier, preuent his impatience, or else all's discouered?

O lamentable seeing, these were those Brothers, that sought and bled before our doore.

What they were not Sister?

George, looke toote, Ile peach at Tyburne else.

Mum,—Gentles all, vouchsafe mee audience, and you especially Maister S [...]iffe:

True, true, he shall haue the law,—and I know the law?

But vnder [...]auour Maister Sheriffe, if this man had beene cured and safe agen, he should haue been releasde then?

Why make you question of that Sir?

Then I release him freely, and will take vpon mee the death that he should dye, if within a little season, I do not cure him to his proper health agen.

Sweete Sir, I loue you deerely, and could wish my best part yours, — oh do not vndertake such an impossible venture.

Bearers set downe the Coffln,—this were wonderfull, and worthy Stoes Chronicle.

I pray bestow the freedome of the ayre, vpon our whol­some Arte, — masse, his cheekes begin to receiue naturall warmth: nay good Corporall wake betime, or I shall haue a longer sleepe then you,—Sfoote if he should proue dead indeed now, he were fully reuengd vpon me for making a property on him, yet I had rather run vpon the Ropes, then haue the Rope like a Tetter run vpon mee, oh—he stirs—hee stirs agen—looke Gentlemen, he recouers, he starts, he rises.

Oh, oh, defend vs—out alasse.

Nay pray be still; youle make him more giddy else, — he knowes no body yet.

Zounes: who am I? couerd with Snow? I maruaile?

Nay I knew hee would sweare the first thing hee did, as soone as euer he came to his life agen.

Sfoote Hostesse—some hotte Porridge,—oh, oh, lay on a dozen of Fagots in the Moone parler, there.

Lady, you must needs take a little pitty of him yfaith, and send him in to your Kitchin fire.

Oh, with all my heart sir, Nicholas and Frailtie, he'pe to beare him in.

Beare him in, qua tha, pray call out the Maides, I shall nere haue the heart to doo't indeed la.

Not I neither, I cannot abide to handle a Ghost of all me.

Shloud, let me see, where was I drunke last night, heh—

Oh, shall I bid you once agen take him away.

Why, we're as fearefull as you I warrant you—oh—

Away villaines, bid the Maides make him a Cawdle p [...]e­sently to settle his braine,—or a Posset of Sack, quickly, quickly.

Sir, what so ere you are, I do more then admire you.

O I, if you knew all Maister Shiriffe, as you shall doe, you would say then, that here were two of the rarest men within the walls of Christendome

Two of'em, O wonderfull: Officers I discharge you, set him free all's in tune.

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I and a banquet ready by this time Maister Sheriffe, to which I most cheerefully enuite you, and your late prisoner there? see you this goodly chaine sir, mun, no more words, twas lost, a dis found againe; come my inestimable bullies, weele talke of your noble Acts in sparkling Charnico, and in stead of a Iester, weele ha the ghost ith white sheete sit at vpper end a'th Table.

Exlent merry man yfaith.

Actus 5. Scen. 1.

This is the marriage morning for my mother & my sister.

O me Maister Edmund we shall ha rare doings.

Nay go Frayltie runne to the Sexton, you know my mo­ther wilbe married at Saint Antlings, hie thee, tis past fiue, bid them open the Church dore, my sister is almost ready.

What al ready Maister Edmond.

Nay go hie thee first run to the Sexton, and runne to the Clarke and then run to Maister Pigman the Parson, and then run to the Millanor, and the [...] run home agen.

Heer's run, run, run—

But harke Frailty:

What more yet?

Has the maides remembred to strew the way to the Church.

Fagh an houre ago I help 'em my selfe.

Away, away, away, away then.

Away, away, away then

I shall haue a simple Father inlawe, a braue Captaine able to beate all our streete: Captaine Idle, now my Ladie Mother wilbe [...]itted for a delicate name, my Ladie Idle, my Lalie Idle, the finest name that can be for a woman, and then the Scholler Maister Pie-boord for my sister Francis, that wilbe [Page] Mistris Francis Pie-bo [...]rd, Mistris Francis Pie-boord, theill keepe a good table I warrant you, Now all the knights noses are put out of ioynt, they may go to a bone setters now.

Harke, harke oh who comes here with two Torches before 'em, my sweete Captaine, and my fine Scholler, oh, how brauely they are shot vp in one night, they looke like fine Brittaines now me thinkes, heres a gallant chaunge ifaith slid they haue hir'd men and all by the clock.

Maister Edmund, kinde, honest, dainty Maister Edmond.

Fogh, sweete Captaine Father inlaw a rare perfume isayth.

What are the Brides stirring? may wee steall vpon 'em thinkst thou Maister Edmond.

Faw, there e'en vpon red dines I can assure you? for they were at there Totch e'en now, by the same token I tumbled downe the staires.

Alas poore Maister Edmond.

O the musitians I prce the Maister Edmond call' em in and licquour 'em a little.

That I will sweete Captaine father in law and make ech of them as drunck as a common fiddeler.

Whewh Mistris Mol, Mistris Mol.

Who's there?

Who Sir Iohn Penidub O you'r an early cocke ifayth, who would haue thought you to be so rare a stirrer.

Pree the Mol let me come vp.

No by my faith Sir Iohn, Ile keepe you downe, for you Knights are very dangerous if once you get aboue.

Ile not stay ifaith.

Ifaith you shall staie, for Sir Iohn you must note the nature of the Climates your Northen wench in her owne Countrie may well hold out till shee bee fifteene, [Page] but if she touch the South once, and vp to London, here the Chimes go presently after twelue.

O th' art a mad wench Moll, but I pree thee make hast, for the Priest is gone before.

Do you follow him, Ile not be long after.

O monstrous vn-heard of forge [...]ie.

Knight, I neuer heard of such villany in our owne coun­trie, in my life.

Why 'tis impossible, dare you maintaine your words?

Dare wee? een to their wezen pipe;, we know all their plots, they cannot squander with vs, they haue knauishly abusd vs, made onely properties on's to aduance their selues vpon our shoulders, but they shall rue their abuses, this morning they are to bee married.

Tis too true, yet if the Widdow be not too much be­sotted on slights and forgeries, the reue'ation of their villanies will make 'em loathsome, and to that end, be it in priuate to you, I sent late last night to an honourable personage, to whom I am much indebted in kindnesse, as he is to me, and therefore pre­sume vpon the paiment of his tongue, and that hee will lay out good words for me, and to speake truth, for such needfull occa­sions, I onely preserue him in bond, and some-times he may doe mee more good here in the Cittie by a free word of his mouth, then if hee had paide one halfe in hand, and tooke Doomes­day for t' other.

In troth Sir, without soothing bee it spoken, you haue publisht much iudgement in these few words.

For you know, what such a man vtters will be thought effectuall and to waighty purpose, and therefore into his mouth weel put the approoued theame of their forgeries.

And Ile maintaine it Knight, if sheele be true.

How now fellow.

May it please you Sir, my Lord is newly lighted from his Coache.

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there meetes them a Noble man, Sir Oliuer Muckil, [...]d Sir Andrew Tip-staffe.

By your leaue Lady.

My Lord your honour is most chastly welcome,

Madam tho I came now from court, I come not to flatter you: vpon whom can I iustly cast this blot, but vpon your owne fore-head, that know not inke from milke such is the blind be­sotting in the state of an vnheaded woman thats a widdow. For it is the property of all you that are widdowes (a hand full ex­cepted) to hate those that honestly and carefully loue you, to the maintenance of credit state and posterity, and strongly to doat on those, that only loue you to vndo you who regard you least are best regarded, who hate you most are best beloued, And if there be but one man amongst tenne thousand millions of men that is accurst disastrous and euilly planeted whome Fortune beates most, whome God hates most, and all Socie­ties esteeme least, that man is suere to be a husband — Such is the peeuish Moone that rules you bloods. An Impudent fellow best woes you, a flattering lip best wins you, or in a mirth who talkes roughliest is most sweetest, nor can you distinguish truth, from forgeries, mistes from Simplisity, witnes those two deceit­full monsters that you haue entertaind for bride-groomes.

Deceitfull.

All will out.

Sfoote who has blabd George? that foolish Nicholas.

For what they haue besotted you easie blood withall, weare nought but forgeries, the fortune telling for husbands, the coniuring for the chaine, Sir Godfrey heard the falshod of al: nothing but meere knauery deceit and eoozenage.

O wonderfull, indeed I wondred that my husband with [Page] all his crast could nor keepe himselfe out of purgatory.

And I more wonder that my chaine should be gon and my Taylor had none of it.

And I wondred most of all that I, should be tyed from marriage hauing such a mind too't, come S. Iohn Pennydub, faire wether on our side the moone has chaingd since yester night.

The Sting of euery euill is with-in mee.

And that you may perceaue I faine not with you, behould their fellow actor in those forgeries who full of Spleene and enuy at their so suddaine aduancements reueled all there plot in anger.

Base Souldier to reueall vs.

Ist possible wee should be blinded so and our eys open

Widdow wil you now beleeue that false, which to soone you beleeued true.

O to my shame I doe.

But vnder fauour my Lord my chaine was truely lost and straingly found againe.

Resolue him of that Souldier,

In few words Knight then, thou wert the arch-gull of all.

God How Sir.

Nay ile proue it: for the chayne was but hid in the rose­mary bancke all this while, and thou gotst him out of pryson to Conture for it who did it admirably fustianly, for indeed what neede any others when he knew where it was.

O vilainty of vilanies, but how came my chaine there

Wheres truly la, in deed la, he that will not sweare, but lie, he that will not steale, But rob: pure Nicholas Saint Antlings.

And now widdow being so neere the Church, twer great pitty, nay vncharity to send you home againe without a husband, [Page] drawe nerer you of true worship, state and credit, that should not stand so farre of from a widdow, and suffer forged shapes to come betweene you, Not that in these, I blemish the trne Title of a Captaine, or blot the faire margent of a Scholler; For I honnor worthy and deserning parts in the one, and cherrish fruitfull Vertues in the other. Come Lady, and you Virgin bestowe your eys and your purest affections, vpon me of esti­mation both in Court and Citry, that hath long woed you, and both with there hearts and wealth sincearly loue you.

Good Sister doe: Sweet little Franke, these are men of reputation, you shalbe welcome at Court: a great creddit for a Cittizen sweet Sister.

Come her scilence doos consent too't.

I know not with what face,

Pah pah why with your owne face they desire no other.

Pardon me worthy Sirs, I and my daughter haue wrongd your lo [...]es.

With all my soule,

And I with all my heart,

And I Sir Iohn with soule, heart, lights and all.

Deus dedit his quo [...] [...]