University of Virginia Library

Scene II.

Clench. Medlay. Scriben. Pan. Puppy.
Cle.
Why, 'tis thirty yeare, eene as this day now:
Zin Valentines day, of all dayes cursin'd, looke you;
And the zame day o'the moneth, as this Zin Valentine,
Or I am vowly deceiv'd.

Med.
That our High Constable,
Mr. Tobias Turfe, and his Dame were married.
I thinke you are right. But what was that Zin Valentine?
Did you ever know 'um, Good-man Clench?

Cle.
Zin Valentine,
Hee was a deadly Zin, and dwelt at High-gate,
As I have heard, but 'twas avore my time:
Hee was a Cooper too, as you are. Medlay,
An' In-an-In: A woundy, brag young vellow:
As th'port went o'hun, then, and i'those dayes.

Scri.
Did he not write his name, Sim Valentine?
Vor I have met no Sin in Finsbury bookes;
And yet I have writ 'hem sixe or seven times over.

Pan.
O' you mun looke for the nine deadly Sims,
I' the Church bookes, Doge'; not the' high Constables;
Nor i' the Counties: Zure, that same Zin Valentine,
Hee was a stately Zin: an' hee were a Zin,
And kept 'brave house.

Cle.
At the Cock and Hen, in High-gate,
You ha' 'fresh'd my rememory well in't! neighbour Pan:
He had a place, in last King Harrie's time,
Of sorting all the young couples; joyning 'hem;
And putting 'hem together; which is, yet,
Praform'd, as on his day—Zin Valentine;
As being the Zin o' the shire, or the whole Countie:
I am old Rivet still, and beare a braine,
The Clench, the Varrier, and true Leach of Hamsted.

Pan.
You are a shrewd antiquity, neighbour Clench!
And a great Guide to all the Parishes!
The very Bel-wether of the Hundred, here,
As I may zay. Mr. Tobias Turfe,
High Constable, would not misse you, for a' score thus,
When he doe' scourse of the great Charty to us.

Pup.
What's that, a Horse? Can scourse nought but a Horse?
I neere read o' hun, and that in Smith-veld Chartie:
I' the old Fabians Chronicles: nor I thinke
In any new. He may be a Giant there,
For I ought I know.

Scri.
You should doe well to study
Records, Fellow Ball, both Law and Poetry.

Pup.
Why, all's but writing, and reading, is it Scriben?
An't be any more, it's meere cheating zure.
Vlat cheating: all your Law, and Poets too.

Pan.
Mr. High Constable comes.

Pup.
Ile zay't avore 'hun.