 | A Tale of a Tub |  |
Act II.
Scene I.
Turfe, Clay. Medlay. Clench. To-Pan. Scriben. Puppy.Tur.
Zonne Clay, cheare up, the better leg avore:
This is a veat is once done, and no more.
Cle.
And then 'tis done vor ever, as they say.
Med.
Right! vor a man ha' his houre, and a dog his day.
Tur.
True neighbour Medlay, yo' are still In-and-In.
Med.
I would be Mr. Constable, if' ch' could win.
Pan.
I zay, Iohn Clay, keepe still on his old gate:
Wedding, and hanging, both goe at a rate.
Tur.
Well said To-Pan: you ha' still the hap to hit
The naile o' the head at a close: I thinke there never
Marriage was manag'd with a more avisement,
Then was this mariage, though I say't, that should not;
Especially 'gain' mine owne flesh, and blood;
My wedded Wife. Indeed my Wife would ha' had
All the young Batchelers and Maids, forsooth,
O' the zixe Parishes hereabout: But I
Cry'd none, sweet Sybil: none of that geare, I:
It would lick zalt, I told her, by her leave.
No, three, or voure our wise, choise honest neighbours:
Vpstantiall persons: men that ha' borne office:
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To eate our dinner. What? Deare meate's a theife:
I know it by the Butchers, and the Mercat-volke;
Hum drum I cry. No halfe-Oxe in a Pie:
A man that's bid to Bride-ale, if hee ha' cake,
And drinke enough, hee need not veare his stake.
Cle.
Tis right: he has spoke as true as a Gun; beleeve it.
Tur.
Come Sybil, come: Did not I tell you o' this?
This pride, and muster of women would marre all?
Sixe women to one Daughter, and a Mother!
The Queene (God save her) ha' no more her selfe.
D. Tur.
Why, if you keepe so many, Mr. Turfe,
Why, should not all present our service to her?
Tur.
Your service? good! I thinke you'll write to her shortly,
Your very loving and obedient Mother.
Tur.
Come, send your Maids off, I will have 'hem sent
Home againe wife: I love no traines o' Kent,
Or Christendome, as they say.
Sc.
We will not back,
And leave our Dame.
Mad.
Why should her worship lack
Her taile of Maids, more then you doe of men?
Tur.
What, mutinin Madge?
Io.
Zend back your C'lons agen.
And wee will vollow.
All.
Else wee'll guard our Dame.
Tur.
I ha' zet the nest of waspes all on a flame.
D. Tur.
Come, you are such another Mr. Turfe:
A Clod you should be call'd, of a high Constable:
To let no musicke goe afore your child,
To Church, to cheare her heart up this cold morning.
Tur.
You are for Father Rosin, and his consort
Of fidling Boyes, the great Feates, and the lesse:
Bycause you have entertain'd 'hem all from High-gate.
To shew your pompe, you'ld ha' your Daughter, and Maids
Dance ore the fields like Faies, to Church this frost?
Ile ha' no rondels, I, i' the Queenes pathes;
Let 'un scrape the Gut at home, where they ha' fill'd it
At after-noone.
D. Turfe.
Ile ha' 'hem play at dinner.
Ite.
She is i'th' right, Sir; vor your wedding dinner
Is starv'd without the Musicke.
Med.
If the Pies
Come not in piping hot, you ha' lost that Proverbe.
Tur.
I yield to truth: wife are you sussified?
Pan.
A right good man! when he knowes right, he loves it.
Scri.
And he will know't, and shew't too by his place
Of being high Constable, if no where else.
Scene II.
To them.Hilts bearded, booted and spur'd.
Hil.
Well over-taken, Gentlemen! I pray you,
Which is the Queenes High Constable among you?
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The tallest man: who should be else, doe you thinke?
Hil.
It is no matter what I thinke, young Clowne:
Your answer favours of the Cart.
Pup.
How? Cart?
and Clowne? Doe you know whose teame you speake to?
Hil.
No: nor I care not: Whose Jade may you be?
Pup.
Jade? Cart? and Clowne? O for a lash of whip-cord!
Three-knotted coard!
Hil.
Doe you mutter? Sir, snorle this way;
That I may heare, and answer what you say,
With my schoole-dagger, 'bout your Costard Sir.
Looke to't, young growse: Ile lay it on, and sure;
Take't off who's wull.
Cle.
Nay, pray you Gentleman—.
Hil.
Goe too: I will not bate him an ace on't.
What? Rowle-powle? Maple-face? All fellowes?
Pup.
Doe you heare friend, I wou'd wish you, vor your good,
Tie up your brended Bitch there, your dun rustie
Pannyer-hilt poinard: and not vexe the youth
With shewing the teeth of it. Wee now are going
To Church, in way of matrimony, some on us;
Tha' rung all in a'ready. If it had not,
All the horne beasts are grazing i' this close,
Sould not ha' pull' me hence, till this Ash-plant
Had rung noone o' your pate, Mr. Broome-beard.
Hil.
That would I faine zee, quoth the blind George
Of Holloway: Come Sir.
Awd.
O their naked weapons!
Pan.
For the passion of man, hold Gentleman, and Puppy.
Cla.
Murder, O Murder!
Awd.
O my Father, and Mother!
D. Tur.
Husband, what doe you meane? Sonne Clay for Gods sake—
Tur.
I charge you in the Queenes name, keepe the peace.
Hil.
Tell me o' no Queene, or Keysar: I must have
A legge, or a hanch of him, ere I goe.
Med.
But zir,
You must obey the Queenes high Officers.
Hil.
Why must I, Good-man Must?
Med.
You must, an' you wull.
Tur.
Gentleman, I'am here for fault, high Constable—
Hil.
Are you zo? what then?
Tur.
I pray you Sir put up
Your weapons; doe, at my request: For him,
On my authority, he shall lie by the heeles,
Verbatim continente, an' I live.
D. Tur.
Out on him for a knave, what a dead fright
He has put me into? Come Awdrey, doe not shake.
Awd.
But is not Puppy hurt? nor the tother man?
Cla.
No Bun; but had not I cri'd Murder, I wusse—
Pup.
Sweet Good-man Clench, I pray you revise my Mr.
I may not zit i' the stocks, till the wedding be past
Dame. Mrs. Awdrey: I shall breake the Bride-cake else.
Cle.
Zomething must be, to save authority, Puppy.
D. Tur.
Husband—
Cle.
And Gossip—
Awd.
Father—
Tur.
'Treat mee not.
It is i' vaine. If he lye not by the heeles,
Ile lie there for 'hun. Ile teach the Hine,
To carry a tongue in his head, to his subperiors.
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This's a wise Constable! where keepes he schoole?
Cle.
In Kentish Towne, a very survere man.
Hil.
But as survere as he is; Let me Sir tell him,
He sha' not lay his man by the heeles for this.
This was my quarrell: And by his office leave,
If't carry 'hun for this, it shall carry double;
Vor he shall carry me too.
Tur.
Breach of man!
Hee is my chattell, mine owne hired goods:
An' if you doe abet 'un in this matter,
Ile clap you both by the heeles, ankle to ankle.
Hilt.
You'll clap a dog of waxe as soone, old Blurt?
Come, spare not me, Sir; I am no mans wife:
I care not, I, Sir, not three skips of a Lowse for you,
And you were ten tall Constables, not I.
Tur.
Nay, pray you Sir, be not angry; but content:
My man shall make you, what amends you'll aske 'hun.
Hil.
Let 'hun mend his manners then, and know his betters:
It's all I aske 'hun: and 'twill be his owne;
And's Masters too, another day. Che vore 'hun.
Med.
As right as a Club, still. Zure this angry man
Speakes very neere the marke, when he is pleas'd.
Pup.
I thanke you Sir, an' I meet you at Kentish Towne,
I ha' the courtesie o' hundred for you.
Hil.
Gramercy, good high Constables Hine. But hear you?
Mass: Constable, I have other manner o' matter,
To bring you about, then this. And so it is,
I doe belong to one o' the Queenes Captaines;
A Gent'man o' the Field, one Captaine Thum's:
I know not, whether you know 'hun, or no: It may be
You doe, and't may be you doe not againe.
Tur.
No, I assure you on my Constable-ship,
I doe not know 'hun.
Hil.
Nor I neither i' faith.
It skils not much; my Captaine, and my selfe,
Having occasion to come riding by, here,
This morning, at the corner of Saint Iohn's wood,
Some mile o' this Towne, were set upon
By a sort of countrey fellowes: that not onely
Beat us, but rob'd us, most sufficiently;
And bound us to our behaviour, hand and foot;
And so they left us. Now, Don Constable,
I am to charge you in her Majesties name,
As you will answer it at your apperill,
That forth-with you raise Hue and Cry i' the Hundred,
For all such persons as you can dispect,
By the length and bredth, o' your office: vor I tell you,
The losse is of some value, therefore looke to't.
Tur.
As Fortune mend me, now, or any office
Of a thousand pound, if I know what to zay,
Would I were dead; or vaire hang'd up at Tiburne,
If I doe know what course to take; or how
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My Daughter is to be married: Ile but goe
To Pancridge Church, hard by, and returne instantly,
And all my Neighbour-hood shall goe about it.
Hil.
Tut, Pancridge me no Pancridge, if you let it
Slip, you will answer it, and your Cap be of wooll;
Therefore take heed, you'll feele the smart else, Constable.
Tur.
Nay, good Sir stay. Neighbours! what thinke you o' this?
D. Tur.
Faith, Man—. Odd pretious woman, hold your tongue;
And mind your pigs o' the spit at home; you must
Have Ore in every thing. Pray you Sir, what kind
Of fellowes were they?
Hil.
Theev's kind, I ha' told you.
Tur.
I meane, what kind of men?
Hil.
Men of our make.
Tur.
Nay, but with patience, Sir, we that are Officers
Must 'quire the speciall markes, and all the tokens
Of the despected parties, or perhaps—else,
Be nere the nere of our purpose in 'prehending 'hem.
Can you tell, what 'parrell any of them wore?
Hil.
Troth no: there were so many o' hun, all like
So one another: Now I remember me,
There was one busie fellow, was their Leader;
A blunt squat swad, but lower then your selfe,
He' had on a Lether Doublet, with long points.
And a paire of pin'd-up breech's, like pudding bags:
With yellow stockings, and his hat turn'd up
With a silver Claspe, on his leere side.
D. Tur.
By these
Markes it should be Iohn Clay, now blesse the man!
Tur.
Peace, and be nought: I thinke the woman be phrensick.
Hil.
Iohn Clay? what's he, good Mistris?
Awd.
He that shall be
My husband—
Hil.
How! your husband, pretty one?
Awd.
Yes, I shall anone be married: That's he.
Tur.
Passion o' me, undone!
Pup.
Blesse Masters sonne!
Hil.
O you are well 'prehended: know you me Sir?
Clay.
No's my record: I never zaw you avore.
Hil.
You did not? where were your eyes then? out at washing?
Tur.
What should a man zay? who should he trust
In these dayes? Harke you Iohn Clay, if you have
Done any such thing, tell troth, and shame the Divell.
Cle.
Vaith doe: my Gossip Turfe zaies well to you Iohn.
Med.
Speake man, but doe not convesse, nor be avraid.
Pan.
A man is a man, and a beast's a beast, looke to't.
D. Tur.
I' the name of men, or beasts! what doe you doe?
Hare the poore fellow out on his five wits,
And seven senses? Doe not weepe Iohn Clay.
I sweare the poore wretch is as guilty from it,
As the Child was, was borne this very morning.
Cla.
No, as I am a kyrsin soule, would I were hang'd
If ever I—alasse I! would I were out
Of my life, so I would I were, and in againe—
Pup.
Nay, Mrs. Awdrey will say nay to that.
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How should she doe for a husband? who should fall
Aboord o' her then, Ball? He's a Puppy?
No; Hanniball has no breeding: well! I say little;
But hitherto all goes well, pray it prove no better.
Awd.
Come Father; I would wee were married: I am a cold.
Hil.
Well, Mr. Constable, this your fine Groome here,
Bride-groome, or what Groome else, soere he be,
I charge him with the felonie; and charge you
To carry him back forthwith to Paddington,
Vnto my Captaine, who staies my returne there:
I am to goe to the next Justice of peace,
To get a warrant to raise Huy and Cry,
And bring him, and his fellowes all afore 'hun.
Fare you well Sir, and looke to 'hun I charge you,
As yo'll answer it. Take heed; the busines
If you deferre, may prejudiciall you
More then you thinke-for, zay I told you so.
Hilts goes out
Tur.
Here's a Bride-ale indeed! Ah zonne Iohn, zonne Clay!
I little thought you would ha' prov'd a peece
Of such false mettall.
Cla.
Father, will you beleeve me?
Would I might never stirre i' my new shoes,
If ever I would doe so voule a fact.
Tur.
Well Neighbours, I doe charge you to assist me
With 'hun to Paddington. Be he a true man, so:
The better for 'hun. I will doe mine office,
An' he were my owne begotten a thousand times.
D. Tur.
Why, doe you heare man? Husband? Mr. Turfe!
What shall my Daughter doe? Puppy, stay here.
She followes her husb. and neighbours.
Awd.
Mother, Ile goe with you, and with my Father.
Scene III.
Puppy. Awdrey. Hilts.Pup.
Nay, stay sweet Mrs. Awdrey: here are none
But one friend (as they zay) desires to speake
A word, or two, cold with you: How doe you veele
Your selfe this frosty morning?
Awd.
What ha' you
To doe to aske, I pray you? I am a cold.
Pup.
It seemes you are hot, good Mrs. Awdrey.
Awd.
You lie; I am as cold as Ice is: Feele else.
Pup.
Nay, you ha' coold my courage: I am past it,
I ha' done feeling with you.
Awd.
Done with me?
I doe defie you. So I doe, to say
You ha' done with me: you are a sawcy Puppy.
Pup.
O you mistake! I meant not as you meane.
Awd.
Meant you not knavery, Puppy? No: not I.
Clay meant you all the knavery, it seemes,
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Chose to be wedded to the Gallowes first.
Awd.
I thought he was a dissembler; he would prove
A slippery Merchant i' the frost. Hee might
Have married one first, and have beene hang'd after,
If hee had had a mind to't. But you men,
Fie on you.
Pup.
Mrs. Awdrey, can you vind,
I your heart to fancie Puppy? me poore Ball?
Awd.
You are dispos'd to jeere one, Mr. Hanniball.
Enter Hilts.
Pitty o' me! the angry man with the beard!
Hil.
Put on thy hat, I looke for no despect.
Where's thy Master?
Pup.
Marry, he is gone
With the picture of despaire, to Paddington.
Hil.
Pr'y thee run after 'hun, and tell 'hun he shall
Find out my Captaine, lodg'd at the red-Lyon
In Paddington; that's the Inne. Let 'un aske
Vor Captaine Thum's; And take that for thy paines:
He may seeke long enough else. Hie thee againe.
Pup.
Yes, Sir you'll looke to Mrs. Bride the while?
Hil.
That I will: prethee haste.
Awd.
What Puppy? Puppy?
Hil.
Sweet Mrs. Bride, Hee'll come againe presently.
Here was no subtile device to get a wench.
This Chanon has a brave pate of his owne!
A shaven pate! And a right monger, y' vaith!
This was his plot! I follow Captaine Thum's?
Wee rob'd in Saint Iohn's wood? I' my tother hose!
I laugh, to thinke what a fine fooles finger they have
O this wise Constable, in pricking out
This Captaine Thum's to his neighbours: you shall see
The Tile-man too set fire on his owne Kill,
And leap into it, to save himselfe from hanging.
You talke of a Bride-ale, here was a Bride-ale broke,
I' the nick. Well: I must yet dispatch this Bride,
To mine owne master, the young Squire, and then
My taske is done. Gen'woman! I 'have in sort
Done you some wrong, but now Ile doe you what right
I can: It's true, you are a proper woman;
But to be cast away on such a Clowne-pipe
As Clay; me thinkes, your friends are not so wise
As nature might have made 'hem; well, goe too:
There's better fortune comming toward you,
An' you doe not deject it. Take a voole's
Counsell, and doe not stand i' your owne light.
It may prove better then you thinke for: Looke you.
Awd.
Alas Sir, what is't you would ha' me doe?
I'ld faine doe all for the best, if I knew how.
Hil.
Forsake not a good turne, when 'tis offered you;
Faire Mistris Awdrey, that's your name, I take it.
Awd.
No Mistris, Sir, my name is Awdrey.
Hil.
Well, so it is, there is a bold young Squire,
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Awd.
Squire Tub, you meane? I know him: he knowes me too.
Hil.
He is in love with you: and more, he's mad for you.
Awd.
I, so he told me: in his wits, I thinke.
But hee's too fine for me; and has a Lady
Tub to his Mother. Here he comes himselfe!
Scene IV.
Tub. Hilts. Awdrey.Tub.
O you are a trusty Governour!
Hil.
What ailes you?
You doe not know when yo'are well, I thinke:
You'ld ha' the Calfe with the white face, Sir, would you?
I have her for you here; what would you more?
Tub.
Quietnes, Hilts, and heare no more of it.
Hil.
No more of it, quoth you? I doe not care,
If some on us had not heard so much of't,
I tell you true; A man must carry, and vetch,
Like Bungy's dog for you.
Tub.
What's he?
Hil.
A Spaniel.
And scarce be spit i' the mouth for't. A good Dog
Deserves, Sir, a good bone, of a free Master:
But, an' your turnes be serv'd, the divell a bit
You care for a man after, ere a Lard of you.
Like will to like, y-faith, quoth the scab'd Squire
To th'mangy Knight, when both met in a dish
Of butter'd vish. One bad, there's nere a good;
And not a barrell better Hering among you.
Tub.
Nay Hilts! I pray thee grow not fram pull now.
Turne not the bad Cow, after thy good soape.
Our plot hath hitherto tane good effect:
And should it now be troubled, or stop'd up,
'Twould prove the utter ruine of my hopes.
I pray thee haste to Pancridge, to the Chanon:
And gi' him notice of our good successe;
Will him that all things be in readinesse.
Faire Awdrey, and my selfe, will crosse the fields,
The nearest path. Good Hilts, make thou some haste,
And meet us on the way. Come gentle Awdrey.
Hil.
Vaith, would I had a few more geances on't:
An' you say the word, send me to Iericho.
Out-cept a man were a Post-horse, I ha' not knowne
The like on't; yet, an' he had kind words,
'Twould never irke 'hun. But a man may breake
His heart out i' these dayes, and get a flap
With a fox-taile, when he has done. And there is all.
Tub.
Nay, say not so Hilts: hold thee; there are Crownes—
My love bestowes on thee, for thy reward.
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In bounty thus, to recompence thy merit.
Hil.
Tut, keepe your land, and your gold too Sir: I
Seeke neither—nother of 'hun. Learne to get
More: you will know to spend that zum you have
Early enough: you are assur'd of me.
I love you too too well, to live o' the spoyle:
For your owne sake, were there were no worse then I.
All is not Gold that glisters: Ile to Pancridge.
Tub.
See, how his love doth melt him into Teares!
An honest faithfull servant is a Jewell.
Now th'adventurous Squire hath time, and leisure,
To aske his Awdrey how she do's, and heare
A gratefull answer from her. Shee not speakes:
Hath the proud Tiran, Frost, usurp'd the seate
Of former beauty in my Loves faire cheek;
Staining the roseat tincture of her blood,
With the dull die of blew-congealing cold?
No, sure the weather dares not so presume
To hurt an object of her brightnesse. Yet,
The more I view her, shee but lookes so, so.
Ha? gi' me leave to search this mysterie!
O now I have it: Bride, I know your griefe;
The last nights cold, hath bred in you such horror
Of the assigned Bride-groomes constitution,
The Kilborne Clay-pit; that frost-bitten marle;
That lumpe in courage: melting cake of Ice;
That the conceit thereof hath almost kill'd thee.
But I must doe thee good wench, and refresh thee.
Awd.
You are a merry man, Squire Tub, of Totten!
I have heard much o' your words, but not o' your deeds.
Tub.
Thou sayest true, sweet; I' ha' beene too slack in deeds.
Awd.
Yet, I was never so straight-lac'd to you, Squire.
Tub.
Why, did you ever love me, gentle Awdrey?
Awd.
Love you? I cannot tell: I must hate no body,
My Father sayes.
Tub.
Yes, Clay, and Kilburne; Awdrey,
You must hate them.
Awd.
It shall be for your sake then.
Tub.
And for my sake, shall yield you that gratuitie.
He offers to kisse her. She puts him back.
Awd.
Soft, and faire, Squire, there goe two word's to a bargaine.
Tub.
What are those Awdrey?
Awd.
Nay, I cannot tell.
My Mother said, zure, if you married me,
You'ld make me a Lady the first weeke: and put me
In, I know not what, the very day.
Tub.
What was it?
Speake gentle Awdrey, thou shalt have it yet.
Awd.
A velvet dressing for my head, it is,
They say will make one brave: I will not know
Besse Moale, nor Margery Turne-up: I will looke
Another way upon 'hem, and be proud.
Tub.
Troth I could wish my wench a better wit;
But what she wanteth there, her face supplies.
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Hath shot quite through me, and hath hit my heart:
And thence it is, I first receiv'd the wound,
That ranckles now, which only shee can cure.
Faine would I worke my selfe, from this conceit;
But, being flesh, I cannot. I must love her,
The naked truth is: and I will goe on,
Were it for nothing, but to crosse my Rivall's.
Come Awdrey: I am now resolv'd to ha' thee.
Scene V.
Preamble. Metaphore. Tub. Awdrey.Pre.
Nay, doe it quickly, Miles; why shak'st thou man?
Speake but his name: Ile second thee my selfe.
Met.
What is his name?
Pre.
Squire Tripoly or Tub.
Any thing—
Met.
Squire Tub, I doe arrest you
I' the Queenes Majesties name, and all the Councels.
Tub.
Arrest me, Varlet?
Pre.
Keepe the peace I charge you.
Tub.
Are you there, Justice Bramble? where's your warrant?
Pre.
The warrant is directed here to me,
From the whole table; wherefore I would pray you
Be patient Squire, and make good the peace.
Tub.
Well, at your pleasure, Iustice. I am wrong'd:
Sirrah, what are you have arrested me?
Pre.
He is a Pursy'vant at Armes, Squire Tub.
Met.
I am a Pursy'vant, see, by my Coat else.
Tub.
Well Purs'yvant, goe with me: Ile give you baile.
Pre.
Sir he may take no baile. It is a warrant,
In speciall from the Councell, and commands
Your personall apearance. Sir, your weapon
I must require: And then deliver you
A Prisoner to this officer, Squire Tub.
I pray you to conceive of me no other,
Then as your friend, and neighbour. Let my person
Be sever'd from my office in the fact,
And I am cleare. Here Purs'yvant, receive him
Into your hands; And use him like a Gentleman.
Tub.
I thanke you Sir: But whither must I goe now?
Pre.
Nay, that must not be told you, till you come
Vnto the place assign'd by his instructions.
Ile be the Maidens Convoy to her father,
For this time, Squire.
Tub.
I thanke you Mr. Bramble.
I doubt, or feare, you will make her the ballance
To weigh your Justice in. Pray yee doe me right,
And lead not her, at least out of the way.
Justice is blind, and having a blind Guide,
She may be apt to slip aside.
Pre.
Ile see to her.
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I see my wooing will not thrive. Arrested!
As I had set my rest up, for a wife?
And being so faire for it, as I was.—. Well, fortune,
Thou art a blind Bawd, and a Beggar too,
To crosse me thus; and let my onely Rivall,
To get her from me? That's the spight of spights.
But most I muse at, is, that I, being none
O'th' Court, am sent for thither by the Councell!
My heart is not so light, as't was i' the morning.
Scene VI.
Hilts. Tub. Metaphor.Hil.
You meane to make a Hoiden, or a Hare
O me, t'hunt Counter thus, and makes these doubles:
And you meane no such thing, as you send about?
Where's your sweet-heart now, I marle?
Tub.
Oh Hilts!
Hil.
I know you of old! nere halt afore a Criple.
Will you have a Cawdle? where's your griefe, Sir? speake?
Met.
Doe you heare friend? Doe you serve this Gentleman?
Hil.
How then, Sir? what if I doe? peradventure yea:
Peraventure nay, what's that to you Sir? Say.
Met.
Nay, pray you Sir, I meant no harme in truth:
But this good Gentleman is arrested.
Hil.
How?
Say me that againe.
Tub.
Nay Basket, never storme;
I am arrested here, upon command
From the Queenes Councell; and I must obey.
Met.
You say Sir very true, you must obey.
An honest Gentleman, in faith!
Hil.
He must?
Tub.
But that which most tormenteth me, is this
That Justice Bramble hath goe hence my Awdrey.
Hil.
How? how? stand by a little, sirrah, you
With the badge o' your brest. Let's know Sir what you are?
Met.
I am Sir (pray you doe not looke so terribly)
A Purs'yvant.
Hil.
A Purs'yvant? your name Sir?
Met.
My name Sir—
Hil.
What is't? speake?
Met.
Miles Metaphor;
And Justice Preambles Clarke.
Tub.
What sayes he?
Hil.
Pray you,
Let us alone. You are a Purs'yvant?
Met.
No faith, Sir, would I might never stirre from you,
I' is made a Purs'yvant against my will.
Hil.
Ha! and who made you one? tell true, or my will
Shall make you nothing, instantly.
Met.
Put up
Your frightfull Blade; and your dead-doing looke,
And I shall tell you all.
Hil.
Speake then the truth,
And the whole truth, and nothing but the truth.
Met.
My Master, Justice Bramble, hearing your Master,
The Squire Tub, was comming on this way,
With Mrs. Awdrey, the high Constables Daughter;
Made me a Purs'yvant: and gave me warrant
79
With whom he is gone to Pancridge, to the Vicar,
Not to her Fathers. This was the device,
Which I beseek you, doe not tell my Master.
Tub.
O wonderfull! well Basket, let him rise:
And for my free escape, forge some excuse.
Ile post to Paddington, t'acquaint old Turfe,
With the whole busines, and so stop the mariage.
Hil.
Well, blesse thee: I doe with thee grace, to keepe
Thy Masters secrets, better, or be hang'd.
Met.
I thanke you, for your gentle admonition.
Pray you, let me call you God-father hereafter.
And as your God-sonne Metaphore I promise,
To keepe my Masters privities, seald up
I' the vallies o' my trust, lock'd close for ever,
Or let me be truss'd up at Tiburne shortly.
Hil.
Thine owne wish, save, or choake thee; Come away.
| A Tale of a Tub | |