University of Virginia Library

secaena 4

enter Sir Petronel Flash; Sir Rancefort Bloteface, Mr Scatterbraine, & Quillet.
Sir Petronell Flash.
Yes by this light, shall yee;

Sir Rancefort.
noe. by your favour, Sir.

Sir Pet.
I say you shall, by Venus: not you bound?
and one of our fraternity? a trifle!
'tis we, that beare you out. could you
partake a Taverne dinner; drink briske wine;
take off a neates tounge; wash your throate with claret;
and see the Stilyard, once a week without us?
besides your Hackney coach, your brace of Tumblers.
These cost us nothing, doe they? your poore wife,
(That pukes on the composition of a ruine cheese
& puts the stone, & mother with spaw water
into an honest flight:) shall heare your humour,
humour
you'l not be bound Sir, will yee?

Rancef.
noe; not by any meanes, were not the loadstone,
In your disposall, which doth draw mee to 'ot:
youl see mee all dischargd: I shall not absolve
your Taverne bills, & reckonings; & be cast
into the lonely counter for mulld sack.
I hope I shall not: whilst I live conceal'd
and goe to Hollands leauguer, or the Burse.

Scatterb.
pray never fear us: we are principall
and have estates to answer it: were we poore?
your banqueront cast of gallants, that scarce reckon
within 3 years with Tailours or with silkeman!
who have their bills extended every quarter
for want of paiment to a subtile use,
then might your gumm'd gols tremble: but for us,
or our engadgements, once to make a question
dearely deserves the profer of a duell
and of a city friend, an enemy.
enter Quillet
what? are you ready gentlemen?

all.
yes, are the bonds, drawne?

Quillet.
drawne, hangd, and almost quartered into
labells, ful 2 houres synce! will Sir Rancefoot
stand bound in the triple obligation.

Sir Petro.
alls right my lad; commend me to thy master.

Quill.
'tis done already sir.

Exit.
Scatterb.
Away, away, to scrivener Tristrams house,
the mans, whose name is sorrow; yet he beareth
mirth in a bagge about him, tyde with whipcoard,
& seald in calves skin, with bees excrement.
let us arrest his plenty; dreine his ditches,
digge up his mines: & knaw with our Indentures
like petty rats, his vermine baggs asunder.
& let the zechines, & the dollors drop,
peaces of eight; ould gold; & spanish faces
with french Conundrums, & your Holland chinke.

Sir Pet.
gather now Scatterbraine; your wits are lost,
& now looke to'ot: twill be a monney harvest
but not a word to him.

Sir Ranc.
come; will yee goe?

Sir Pet.
on; in the comique stile
goe & Ile follow. I prethe sequor, ladde.