 | A Tale of a Tub |  |
Scene I.
Sir Hugh. Tub. Hilts.Hug.
Now o' my faith, old Bishop Valentine,
You' ha' brought us nipping weather: Februere
Doth cut and sheare; your day, and diocesse
Are very cold. All your Parishioners;
As well your Layicks, as your Quiristers,
Had need to keepe to their warme Fether-beds,
If they be sped of loves: this is no season,
To seeke new Makes in; though Sir Hugh of Pancrace,
Be hither come to Totten, on intelligence,
To the young Lord o'the Mannor, Squire Tripoly,
On such an errand as a Mistris is.
What, Squire! I say?
Tub.
I should call him too:
Sir Peter Tub was his father, a Salt-peeter-man;
Who left his Mother, Lady Tub of Totten-
Court, here, to revell, and keepe open house in;
With the young Squire her sonne, and's Governour Basket-
Hilts, both by sword, and dagger: Domine,
Armiger Tub, Squire Tripoly, Expergiscere.
I dare not call aloud, lest she should heare me;
And thinke I conjur'd up the spirither, sonne,
In Priests-lack-latine: O shee is jealous
Of all man-kind for him.
Tub.
Chanon, i'st you?
At the Windoe.
Hug.
The Vicar of Pancrace, Squire Tub! wa' hoh!
Tub.
I come, I stoop unto the call; Sir Hugh!
He comes downe in his night Gowne.
Hug.
He knowes my lure is from his Love: faire Awdrey,
Th'high Constables Daughter of Kentish Towne, here Mr.
Tobias Turfe.
Tub.
What newes of him?
Hug.
He has wak'd me,
An houre before I would, Sir. And my duty,
To the young worship of Totten-Court, Squire Tripoly;
Who hath my heart, as I have his: your Mrs.
Is to be made away from you, this morning,
Saint Valentines day: there are a knot of Clownes,
The Counsell of Finsbury, so they are y-styl'd,
Met at her Fathers; all the wise o'th' hundred;
Old Basi' Clench of Hamsted, petty Constable;
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And Headborough; with lowd To-Pan the Tinker,
Or Mettall-man of Belsise, the Third-borough:
And D'ogenes Scriben, the great Writer of Chalcot.
Tub.
And why all these?
Hug.
Sir to conclude in Counsell,
A Husband, or a Make for Mrs. Awdrey;
Whom they have nam'd, and prick'd downe, Clay of Kilborne,
A tough young fellow, and a Tile-maker.
Tub.
And what must he doe?
Hugh.
Cover her, they say:
And keepe her warme Sir: Mrs. Awdrey Turfe,
Last night did draw him for her Valentine;
Which chance, it hath so taken her Father, and Mother,
(Because themselves drew so, on Valentine's Eve
Was thirty yeare) as they will have her married
To day by any meanes; they have sent a Messenger
To Kilborne, post, for Clay; which when I knew,
I posted with the like to worshipfull Tripoly,
The Squire of Totten: and my advise to crosse it.
Tub.
What is't Sir Hugh?
Hugh.
Where is your Governour Hilts?
Basquet must doe it.
Tub.
Basquet shall be call'd:
Hilts, can you see to rise?
Hil.
Cham not blind Sir
With too much light.
Tub.
Open your tother eye,
And view if it be day.
Hil.
Che can spy that
At's little a hole, as another, through a Milstone.
Tub.
Hee will ha' the last word, though he talke Bilke for't.
Hugh.
Bilke? what's that?
Tub.
Why nothing, a word signifying
Nothing; and borrow'd here to expresse nothing.
Hugh.
A fine device!
Tub.
Yes, till we heare a finer.
What's your device now, Chanon Hugh?
Hugh.
In private.
Lend it your eare; I will not trust the ayre with it;
Or scarce my Shirt; my Cassock sha' not know it;
If I thought it did, Ile burne it.
Tub.
That's the way,
You ha' thought to get a new one,
Hugh:
Is't worth it?
They whisper. Hilts enters, and walkes by, making himselfe ready.
Let's heare it first.
Hugh.
Then hearken, and receive it.
This 'tis Sir, doe you relish it?
Tub.
If Hilts
Be close enough to carry it; there's all.
Hil.
It i'no sand? nor Butter-milke? If't be,
Ich'am no zive or watring pot, to draw
Knots i' your 'casions. If you trust me, zo:
If not, praforme it your zelves. 'Cham no mans wife,
But resolute Hilts: you'll vind me i'the Buttry.
Tub.
A testie Clowne: but a tender Clowne, as wooll:
And melting as the Weather in a Thaw:
Hee'll weepe you, like all Aprill: But he'ull roare you
Like middle March afore: He will be as mellow,
And tipsie too, as October: And as grave,
And bound up like a frost (with the new yeare)
In Ianuary; as rigid, as he is rusticke.
Hug.
You know his nature, and describe it well;
Ile leave him to your fashioning.
Tub.
Stay, Sir Hugh;
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And let this guard you home-ward, as the blessing,
To our devise.
Hug.
I thanke you Squires-worship,
Most humbly (for the next, for this I am sure of.)
The Squire goes off.
O for a Quire of these voices, now,
To chime in a mans pocket, and cry chinke!
One doth not chirpe: it makes no harmony.
Grave Justice Bramble, next must contribute;
His charity must offer at this wedding:
Ile bid more to the Bason, and the Bride-ale;
Although but one can beare away the Bride.
I smile to thinke how like a Lottery
These Weddings are. Clay hath her in possession;
The Squire he hopes to circumvent the Tile-Kill:
And now, if Justice Bramble doe come off,
'Tis two to one but Tub may loose his botome.
| A Tale of a Tub | |