University of Virginia Library

Act III.

Scene I.

Turfe. Clench. Medlay. To-Pan. Scriben. Clay.
Tur.
Passion of me, was ever man thus cross'd?
All things run Arsie-Varsie; upside downe.
High Constable! Now by our Lady o'Walsingham.
I had rather be mark'd out Tom Scavinger:
And with a shovell make cleane the high wayes,
Then have this office of a Constable,
And a high Constable! The higher charge
It brings more trouble, more vexation with it.
Neighbours, good neighbours, 'vize me what to doe:
How wee shall beare us in this Huy and Cry.
We cannot find the Captaine; no such man
Lodg'd at the Lion, nor came thither hurt.
The morning wee ha' spent in privie search;
And by that meanes the Bride-ale is differr'd;
The Bride, shee's left alone in Puppie's charge;
The Bride-groome goes under a paire of sureties;
And held of all as a respected person.
How should we bussle forward? Gi' some counsell,
How to bestirre our stumps i' these crosse wayes.

Cle.
Faith Gossip Turfe, you have, you say, Remission,
To comprehend all such, as are dispected:
Now, would I make another privie search
Through this Towne, and then you have zearch'd two towns.

Med.
Masters, take heed, let's not vind too many:
One's enough to stay the Hang-mans stomack.
There is Iohn Clay, who is yvound already;
A proper man: A Tile-man by his trade:
A man as one would zay, moulded in clay:
As spruce as any neighbours child among you:
And he (you zee) is taken on conspition,
And two, or three (they zay) what call you 'hem?
Zuch as the Justices of Coram nobis
Grant—(I forget their names, you ha' many on 'hem,
Mr. High Constable they come to you.)
I ha' it at my tongues end—Cunni-borroughes,
To bring him straight avore the zessions house.

Tur.
O you meane warrens, neighbour, doe you not?

Med.
I, I, thick same! you know 'un well enough.

Tur.
Too well, too well; wou'd I had never knowne 'hem.
Wee good Vree-holders cannot live in quiet,
But every houre new purcepts, Huy's and Cry's,
Put us to requisitions night and day:
What shud a man zay, shud we leave the zearch?
I am in danger, to reburse as much
As he was rob'd on; I, and pay his hurts,
If I should vollow it, all the good cheare
That was provided; for the wedding dinner
Is spoil'd, and lost. Oh there are two vat pigs,
A zindging by the vier: Now by Saint Tomy,
Too good to eate, but on a wedding day;
And then, a Goose will bid you all, Come cut me.
Zun Clay, zun Clay (for I must call thee so)
Be of good comfort; take my Muckinder;
And dry thine eyes. If thou beest true, and honest;
And if thou find'st thy conscience cleare vrom it,
Pluck up a good heart, wee'll doe well enough.
If not, confesse a truths name. But in faith
I durst be sworne upon all holy bookes,
Iohn Clay would nere commit a Robberie
On his owne head.

Cla.
No; Truth is my rightfull Judge:
I have kept my hands, here hence, fro' evill speaking,
Lying, and slandering; and my tongue from stealing.
He doe not live this day can say, Iohn Clay
I ha' zeene thee, but in the way of honesty.

Pan.
Faith neighbour Medlay, I durst be his burrough,
He would not looke a true man in the vace.

Cla.
I take the towne to concord, where I dwell,
All Kilburne be my witnesse; If I were not
Begot in bashfulnesse, brought up in shamefac'tnesse:
Let 'un bring a dog, but to my vace, that can
Zay, I ha' beat 'hun, and without a vault;
Or but a cat, will sweare upon a booke,
I have as much as zet a vier her taile;
And Ile give him, or her a crowne for 'mends.
But to give out, and zay, I have rob'd a Captaine!
Receive me at the latter day, if I
Ere thought of any such matter; or could mind it—.

Med.
No Iohn, you are come of too good personage;
I thinke my Gossip Clench, and Mr. Turfe
Both thinke, you would ra'tempt no such voule matter.

Tur.
But how unhappily it comes to passe!
Just on the wedding day! I cry me mercy:
I had almost forgot the Huy and Cry:
Good neighbour Pan, you are the Third-burrow,
And D'ogenes Scriben, you my learned Writer,
Make out a new purcept—Lord, for thy goodnesse,
I had forgot my Daughter, all this while;
The idle knave hath brought no newes from her.
Here comes the sneaking Puppy; What's the newes?
My heart! my heart! I feare all is not well,
Some things mishap'd , that he is come without her.

Scene II.

To them.
Puppy. Da: Turfe.
Pup.
Oh, where's my Master? my Master? my Master?

D. Tur.
Thy Master? what would'st with thy Master, man?
There's thy Mr. Tur. What's the matter Puppy?

Pup.
Oh Master! oh Dame! oh Dame! oh Master!

D. Tur.
What sai'st thou to thy Master, or thy Dame?

Pup.
Oh Iohn Clay! Iohn Clay! Iohn Clay!

Tur.
What of Iohn Clay?

Med.
Luck grant he bring not newes he shall be hang'd.

Cle.
The world forfend, I hope, it is not so well.

Cla.
Oh Lord! oh me! what shall I doe? poore Iohn!

Pup.
Oh Iohn Clay! Iohn Clay! Iohn Clay!

Cla.
Alas,
That ever I was borne! I will not stay by't,
For all the Tiles in Kilburne.

D. Tur.
What of Clay?
Speake Puppy, what of him?

Pup.
He hath lost, he hath lost.

Tur.
For luck sake speake, Puppy, what hath he lost?

Pup.
Oh Awdrey, Awdrey, Awdrey!

D. Tur.
What of my daughter
Awdrey?

Pup.
I tell you Awdrey—doe you understand me?
Awdrey, sweet Master! Awdrey, my deare Dame—

Tur.
Where is she? what's become of her, I pray thee?

Pup.
Oh the serving-man! the serving-man! the serving-man!

Tur.
What talk'st thou of the serving-man? where's Awdrey?

Pup.
Gone with the serving-man, gone with the serving-man.

D. Tur.
Good Puppy, whither is she gone with him?

Pup.
I cannot tell, he bad me bring you word,
The Captaine lay at the Lion, and before
I came againe, Awdrey was gone with the serving-man;
I tell you, Awdrey's run away with the serving-man.

Tur.
'Od'socks! my woman, what shall we doe now?

D. Tur.
Now, so you helpe not, man, I know not, I.

Tur.
This was your pompe of Maids. I told you on't.
Sixe Maids to vollow you, and not leave one
To wait upo' your Daughter: I zaid, Pride
Would be paid one day, her old vi'pence, wife.

Med.
What of Iohn Clay, Ball Puppy?

Pup.
He hath lost—

Med.
His life for velonie?

Pup.
No, his wife by villanie.

Tur.
Now, villaines both! oh that same Huy and Cry!
Oh neighbours! oh that cursed serving-man!
Clay's first mist.
O maids! O wife! But Iohn Clay, where's he?
How! fled for veare, zay yee? will he slip us now?
Wee that are sureties, must require 'hun out.
How shall wee doe to find the serving-man?
Cocks bodikins! wee must not lose Iohn Clay:
Awdrey, my daughter Awdrey too! let us zend
To all the townes, and zeeke her; but alas,
The Huy and Cry, that must be look'd unto.

Scene III.

To them.
Tub.
Tub.
What, in a passion Turfe?

Tur.
I good Squire Tub.
Were never honest Varmers thus perplext.

Tub.
Turfe, I am privie to thy deepe unrest:
The ground of which, springs from an idle plot,
Cast by a Suitor, to your daughter Awdrey—
And thus much, Turfe, let me advertise you;
Your daughter Awdrey, met I on the way,
With Justice Bramble in her company:
Who meanes to marry her at Pancridge Church.
And there is Chanon Hugh, to meet them ready:
Which to prevent you must not trust delay;
But winged speed must crosse their slie intent:
Then hie thee. Turfe, haste to forbid the Banes.

Tur.
Hath Justice Bramble got my daughter Awdrey?
A little while, shall he enjoy her, zure.
But O the Huy and Cry! that hinders me:
I must prusue that, or neglect my journey:
Ile ene leave all: and with the patient Asse,
The over-laden Asse, throw off my burden,
And cast mine office; pluck in my large eares
Betimes, lest some dis-judge 'hem to be hornes:
I'll leave to beat it on the broken hoofe,
And ease my pasternes. Ile no more High Constables.

Tub.
I cannot choose, but smile, to see thee troubled
With such a bald, halfe-hatched circumstance!
The Captaine was not rob'd, as is reported;
That trick the Justice craftily deviz'd,
To breake the mariage with the Tile-man Clay.
The Huy, and Cry, was meerely counterfeit:
The rather may you judge it to be such,
Because the Bride-groome, was describ'd to be
One of the theeves, first i' the velonie.
Which, how farre 'tis from him, your selves may guesse:
'Twas Justice Bramble's vetch, to get the wench.

Tur.
And is this true Squire Tub?

Tub.
Beleeve me Turfe,
As I am a Squire: or lesse, a Gentleman.

Tur.
I take my office back: and my authority,
Vpon your worships words. Neighbours, I am
High Constable againe: where's my zonne Clay?
He shall be zonne, yet, wife, your meat by leasure:
Draw back the spits.

D. Tur.
That's done already man.

Tur.
Ile breake this mariage off: and afterward,
She shall be given to her first betroth'd.
Looke to the meate, wife: looke well to the rost.

Tub.
Ile follow him aloofe, to see the event.

Pup.
Dame, Mistris, though I doe not turne the spit;
I hope yet the Pigs-head.

D. Tur.
Come up, Jack-sauce:
It shall be serv'd in to you.

Pup.
No, no service,
But a reward for service.

D. Tur.
I still tooke you
For an unmannerly Puppy: will you come,
And vetch more wood to the vier, Mr. Ball?

Pup.
I wood to the vier? I shall pisse it out first:
You thinke to make me ene your oxe, or asse;
Or any thing. Though I cannot right my selfe
On you; Ile sure revenge me on your meat.

Scene IV.

La: Tub. Pol-Marten. Wispe. Puppy.
Pol.
Madam, to Kentish Towne, wee are got at length;
But, by the way wee cannot meet the Squire:
Nor by inquiry can we heare of him.
Here is Turfe's house, the father of the Maid.

Lad.
Pol-Marten, see, the streets are strew'd with herbes,
And here hath beene a wedding, Wispe, it seemes!
Pray heaven, this Bridall be not for my sonne!
Good Marten, knock: knock quickly: Aske for Turfe.
My thoughts misgive me, I am in such a doubt—

Pol.
Who keepes the house here?

Pup.
Why the doore, and wals
Doe keepe the house.

Pol.
I aske then, who's within?

Pup.
Not you that are without.

Pol.
Looke forth, and speake
Into the street, here. Come before my Lady.

Pup.
Before my Lady? Lord have mercy upon me:
If I doe come before her, shee will see
The hand-som'st man in all the Towne, pardee!
Now stand I vore her, what zaith velvet she?

Lad.
Sirrah, whose man are you?

Pup.
Madam, my Masters.

Lad.
And who's thy Master?

Pup.
What you tread on, Madam.

Lad.
I tread on an old Turfe.

Pup.
That Turfe's my Master.

Lad.
A merry fellow! what's thy name?

Pup.
Ball Puppy
They call me at home: abroad, Hanniball Puppy.

Lad.
Come hither, I must kisse thee, Valentine Puppy.
Wispe! ha' you got you a Valentine?

Wis.
None, Madam;
He's the first stranger that I saw.

Lad.
To me
Hee is so, and such. Let's share him equally.

Pup.
Helpe, helpe good Dame. A reskue, and in time.
In stead of Bils, with Colstaves come; in stead of Speares, with Spits;
Your slices serve for slicing swords, to save me, and my wits:
A Lady, and her woman here, their Huisher eke by side,
(But he stands mute) have plotted how your Puppy to divide.

Scene V.

To them.
D. Turfe. Maids.
D. Turfe.
How now? what noise is this with you, Ball Puppy?

Pup.
Oh Dame! And fellowes o'the Kitchin! Arme,
Arme, for my safety; if you love your Ball:
Here is a strange thing, call'd a Lady, a Mad-dame:
And a device of hers, yclept her woman;
Have plotted on me, in the Kings high-way,
To steale me from my selfe, and cut me in halfes,
To make one Valentine to serve 'hem both;
This for my right-side, that my left-hand love.

D. Tur.
So sawcy, Puppy? to use no more reverence
Vnto my Lady, and her velvet Gowne?

Lad.
Turfe's wife, rebuke him not: Your man doth please me
With his conceit. Hold: there are ten old nobles,
To make thee merrier yet, halfe-Valentine.

Pup.
I thanke you right-side: could my left as much,
'Twould make me a man of marke: young Hanniball!

Lad.
Dido, shall make that good; or I will for her.
Here Dido Wispe, there's for your Hanniball:
He is your Countrey-man, as well as Valentine.

Wis.
Here Mr. Hanniball: my Ladies bounty
For her poore woman, Wispe.

Pup.
Brave Carthage Queene!
And such was Dido: I will ever be
Champion to her, who Iuno is to thee.

D. Tur.
Your Ladiship is very welcome here.
Please you, good Madam, to goe nere the house.

Lad.
Turfe's wife, I come thus farre to seeke thy husband,
Having some busines to impart unto him.
Is he at home?

D. Tur.
O no, and't shall please you:
He is posted hence to Pancridge with a witnesse.
Young Justice Bramble has kept levell coyle
Here in our Quarters, stole away our Daughter,
And Mr. Turfe's run after, as he can,
To stop the marriage, if it will be stop'd.

Pol.
Madam, these tydings are not much amisse!
For if the Justice have the Maid in keepe,
You need not feare the mariage of your sonne.

Lad.
That somewhat easeth my suspitious brest.
Tell me, Turfe's wife, when was my sonne with Awdrey?
How long is't, since you saw him at your house?

Pup.
Dame, let me take this rump out of your mouth.

D. Tur.
What meane you by that Sir?

Pup.
Rumpe, and taile's all one.
But I would use a reverence for my Lady:
I would not zay surreverence, the tale
Out o' your mouth, but rather take the rumpe.

D. Tur.
A well bred youth! and vull of favour you are:

Pup.
What might they zay, when I were gone, if I
Not weigh'd my wordz? This Puppy is a voole!
Great Hanniball's an Asse; he had no breeding:
No Lady gay, you shall not zay,
That your Val. Puppy, was so unlucky,
In speech to faile, as t'name a taile,
Be as be may be, 'vore a faire Lady.

Lad.
Leave jesting, tell us, when you saw our sonne.

Pup.
Marry, it is two houres agoe.

Lad.
Sin' you saw him?

Pup.
You might have seene him too, if you had look'd up.
For it shind, as bright as day.

Lad.
Meane my sonne.

Pup.
Your sunne, and our sunne are they not all one?

Lad.
Foole, thou mistak'st; I ask'd thee, for my sonne.

Pup.
I had thought there had beene no more sunnes, then one.
I know not what you Ladies have, or may have.

Pol.
Did'st thou nere heare, my Lady had a sonne?

Pup.
She may have twenty; but for a sonne, unlesse
She meane precisely, Squire Tub, her zonne,
He was here now; and brought my Mr. word
That Justice Bramble had got Mrs. Awdrey.
But whither he be gone, here's none can tell.

Lad.
Marten, I wonder at this strange discourse:
The foole it seemes tels true; my sonne the Squire
Was doubtlesse here this morning. For the match,
Ile smother what I thinke, and staying here,
Attend the sequell of this strange beginning,
Turfe's wife; my people, and I will trouble thee:
Vntill we heare some tidings of thy husband.
The rather, for my partie Valentine.

Scene VI.

Turfe. Awdrey. Clench. Med-lay. Pan. Scriben.
Tur.
Well, I have carried it, and will triumph
Over this Justice, as becomes a Constable;
And a high Constable: next our Saint George,
Who rescued the Kings Daughter, I will ride;
Above Prince Arthur.

Cle.
Or our Shore-ditch Duke.

Med.
Or Pancridge Earle.

Pan:
Or Bevis, or Sir Guy.
Who were high Constables both.

Cle.
One of Southhampton—.

Med.
The tother of Warwick-Castle.

Tur.
You shall worke it
Into a storie for me, neighbour Medlay,
Over my Chimney.

Scri.
I can give you Sir,
A Roman storie of a petty-Constable,
That had a Daughter, that was call'd Virginia,
Like Mrs. Awdrey, and as young as she;
And how her Father bare him in the busines,
'Gainst Justice Appius, a Decemvir in Rome,
And Justice of Assise.

Tur.
That, that good D'ogenes!
A learned man is a Chronikell!

Scri.
I can tell you
A thousand, of great Pompei, Cæsar, Trajan,
All the high Constables there.

Tur.
That was their place:
They were no more.

Scr.
Dictator, and high Constable
Were both the same.

Med.
High Constable was more, tho'!
He laid Dick: Tator by the heeles.

Pan.
Dick: Toter!
H' was one o' the Waights o' the Citie: I ha' read o' hun:
He was a fellow would be drunke, debauch'd—
And he did zet un i' the stocks indeed:
His name Vadian, and a cunning Toter.

Awd.
Was ever silly Maid thus posted off?
That should have had three husbands in one day;
Yet (by bad fortune) am possest of none?
I went to Church to have beene wed to Clay;
Then Squire Tub he seiz'd me on the way,
And thought to ha' had me: but he mist his aime;
And Justice Bramble (nearest of the three)
Was well nigh married to me; when by chance,
In rush'd my Father, and broke off that dance.

Tur.
I, Girle, there's nere a Justice on 'hem all,
Shall teach the Constable to guard his owne:
Let's back to Kentish-Towne, and there make merry;
These newes will be glad tidings to my wife:
Thou shalt have Clay, my wench. That word shall stand.
Hee's found by this time, sure, or else hee's drown'd:
The wedding dinner will be spoil'd: make haste.

Awd.
Husbands, they say, grow thick; but thin are sowne,
I care not who it be, so I have one.

Tur.
I? zay you zo? Perhaps you shall ha' none, for that.

Awd.
Now out on me! what shall I doe then?

Med.
Sleepe Mistris Awdrey, dreame on proper men.

Scene VII.

Hugh. Preamble. Metaphore.
Hugh.
O bone Deus! have you seene the like?
Here was, Hodge hold thine eare, faire, whilst I strike.
Body o' me, how came this geare about?

Pre.
I know not, Chanon, but it fals out crosse.
Nor can I make conjecture by the circumstance
Of these events; it was impossible,
Being so close, and politickly carried,
To come so quickly to the eares of Turfe.
O Priest, had but thy slow delivery
Beene nimble, and thy lazie Latine tongue,
But run the formes ore, with that swift dispatch,
As had beene requisite, all had beene well!

Hug.
What should have beene, that never lov'd the Friar;
But thus you see th'old Adage verified,
Multa cadunt inter—you can ghesse the rest.
Many things fall betweene the cup, and lip:
And though they touch, you are not sure to drinke.
You lack'd good fortune, wee had done our parts:
Give a man fortune, throw him i' the Sea.
The properer man, the worse luck: Stay a time;
Tempus edax—In time the stately Oxe, &c.
Good counsels lightly never come too late.

Pre.
You Sir will run your counsels out of breath.

Hug.
Spurre a free horse, hee'll run himselfe to death.
Sancti Evangelistæ! Here comes Miles!

Pre.
What newes man, with our new made Purs'yvant?

Met.
A Pursuyvant? would I were, or more pursie,
And had more store of money; or lesse pursie,
And had more store of breath: you call me Pursyvant!
But, I could never vant of any purse
I had, sin' yo'were my God-fathers, and God-mothers,
And ga' me that nick-name.

Pre.
What, now's the matter?

Met.
Nay, 'tis no matter. I ha' beene simply beaten.

Hugh.
What is become o' the Squire, and thy Prisoner?

Met.
The lines of blood, ran streaming from my head,
Can speake what rule the Squire hath kept with me.

Pre.
I pray thee Miles relate the manner, how?

Met.
Be't knowne unto you, by these presents, then,
That I Miles Metaphore, your worships Clarke:
Have ene beene beaten, to an Allegory,
By multitude of hands. Had they beene but
Some five or sixe, I' had whip'd 'hem all, like tops
In Lent, and hurl'd 'hem into Hoblers-hole;
Or the next ditch: I had crack'd all their costards,
As nimbly as a Squirrell will crack nuts:
And flourished like to Hercules, the Porter
Among the Pages. But, when they came on
Like Bees about a Hive, Crowes about carrion,
Flies about sweet meats; nay, like water-men
About a Fare: then was poore Metaphore
Glad to give up the honour of the day,
To quit his charge to them, and run away
To save his life, onely to tell this newes.

Hug.
How indirectly all things have falne out!
I cannot choose but wonder what they were
Reskued your rivall from the keepe of Miles:
But most of all I cannot well digest,
The manner how our purpose came to Turfe.

Pre.
Miles, I will see that all thy hurts be drest.
As for the Squires escape, it matters not:
Wee have by this meanes disappointed him;
And that was all the maine I aimed at.
But Chanon Hugh, now muster up thy wits,
And call thy thoughts into the Consistory.
Search all the secret corners of thy cap,
To find another queint devised drift,
To disappoint her mariage with this Clay;
Doe that, and Ile reward thee jovially.

Hug.
Well said Magister Justice. If I fit you not
With such a new, and well-laid stratagem,
As never yet your eares did heare a finer,
Call me, with Lilly, Bos, Fur, Sus, atq; Sacerdos.

Pre.
I heare, there's comfort in thy words yet, Chanon.
Ile trust thy regulars, and say no more.

Met.
Ile follow too. And if the dapper Priest
Be but as cunning, point in his devise,
As I was in my lie: my Master Preamble
Will stalke, as led by the nose with these new promises,
And fatted with supposes of fine hopes.

Scene VIII.

Turfe. D. Turfe. L. Tub. Pol-mart. Awd. Pup.
Tur.
Well Madam, I may thanke the Squire your sonne:
For, but for him, I had beene over-reach'd.

D. Tur.
Now heavens blessing light upon his heart:
Wee are beholden to him, indeed Madam.

Lad.
But can you not resolve me where he is?
Nor about what his purposes were bent?

Tur.
Madam, they no whit were concerning me:
And therefore was I lesse inquisitive.

Lad.
Faire maid, in faith, speake truth, and not dissemble:
Do's hee not often come, and visit you?

Awd.
His worship now, and then, please you, takes paines
To see my Father, and Mother: But for me,
I know my selfe too meane for his high thoughts
To stoop at, more then asking a light question,
To make him merry, or to passe his time.

Lad.
A sober Maid! call for my woman Marten.

Pol.
The maids, and her halfe-Valentine have pli'd her
With court'sie of the Bride-Cake, and the Bowle,
As she is laid awhile.

Lad.
O let her rest!
We will crosse ore to Canterbury, in the interim;
And so make home. Farewell good Turfe, and thy wife.
I wish your daughter joy.

Tur.
Thankes to your Ladiship;
Where is Iohn Clay now? have you seene him yet?

D. Tur.
No, he has hid himselfe out of the way,
For feare o' the Huy and Cry.

Tur.
What, walkes that shadow
Avore 'un still? Puppy goe seeke 'un out,
Search all the corners that he haunts unto,
And call 'un forth. Wee'll once more to the Church,
And try our vortunes. Luck, sonne Valentine:
Where are the wise-men all of Finzbury?

Pup.
Where wise-men should be; at the Ale, and Bride-cake.
I would this couple had their destinie,
Or to be hang'd, or married out o' the way:
Man cannot get the mount'nance of an Egge-shell,
Enter the neighbours to Turfe.
To stay his stomack. Vaith, vor mine owne part,
I have zup'd up so much broth, as would have cover'd
A legge o' Beefe, ore head and eares, i' the porredge pot:
And yet I cannot sussifie wild nature.
Would they were once dispatch'd, we might to dinner.
I am with child of a huge stomack, and long;
Till by some honest Midwife-peice of Beefe,
I be deliver'd of it: I must goe now,
And hunt out for this Kilburne Calfe, Iohn Clay:
Whom where to find, I know not, nor which way.

Scene IX.

To them.
Chanon Hugh, like Captaine Thumbs.
Hug.
Thus as a begger in a Kings disguise,
Or an old Crosse well sided with a May-pole.
Comes Chanon Hugh, accoutred as you see
Disguis'd Soldado like: marke his devise:
The Chanon, is that Captaine Thum's, was rob'd:
These bloody scars upon my face are wounds;
This scarfe upon mine arme shewes my late hurts.
And thus am I to gull the Constable.
Now have among you, for a man at armes:
Friends by your leave, which of you is one Turfe?

Tur.
Sir, I am Turfe, if you would speake with me.

Hug.
With thee Turfe, if thou beest High Constable.

Tur.
I am both Turfe, Sir, and High Constable.

Hug.
Then Turfe, or Scurfe, high, or low Constable:
Know, I was once a Captaine at Saint Quintins,
And passing crosse the wayes over the countrey,
This morning betwixt this and Hamsted-Heath,
Was by a crue of Clownes rob'd, bob'd, and hurt.
No sooner had I got my wounds bound up,
But with much paine, I went to the next Justice,
One Mr. Bramble here, at Maribone:
And here a warrant is, which he hath directed
For you one Turfe; if your name be Tobie Turfe;
Who have let fall (they say) the Huy, and Cry:
And you shall answer it afore the Justice.

Tur.
Heaven, and Hell, Dogges, Divels, what is this?
Neighbours, was ever Constable thus cross'd?
What shall we doe?

Med.
Faith, all goe hang our selves:
I know no other way to scape the Law.

Pup.
Newes, newes, O newes—

Tur.
What, hast thou found out Clay?

Pup.
No Sir, the newes is that I cannot find him.

Hug.
Why doe you dally, you damn'd russet coat,
You Peasant, nay you Clowne, you Constable;
See that you bring forth the suspected partie,
Or by mine honour (which I won in field)
Ile make you pay for it, afore the Justice.

Tur.
Fie, fie; O wife, I'am now in a fine pickle.
He that was most suspected is not found;
And which now makes me thinke, he did the deed,
He thus absents him, and dares not be seene.
Captaine, my innocence will plead for me.
Wife, I must goe, needs, whom the Divell drives:
Pray for me wife, and daughter; pray for me.

Hug.
Ile lead the way: Thus is the match put off,
And if my plot succeed, as I have laid it,
My Captaine-ship shall cost him many a crowne.

They goe out.
D. Tur.
So, wee have brought our egges to a faire Market.
Out on that villaine Clay: would he doe a robbery?
Ile nere trust smooth-fac'd Tile-man for his sake.

They goe out.
Awd.
Mother, the still Sow eates up all the draffe.

Pup.
Thus is my Master, Toby Turfe, the patterne
Of all the painefull a'ventures, now in print.
I never could hope better of this match:
This Bride-ale: For the night before to day,
(Which is within mans memory, I take it)
At the report of it, an Oxe did speake;
Who dy'd soone after: A Cow lost her Calfe:
The Belwether was flead for't: A fat Hog
Was sing'd, and wash'd, and shaven all over; to
Looke ugly 'gainst this day: The Ducks they quak'd;
The Hens too cackled: at the noise whereof,
A Drake was seene to dance a headlesse round:
The Goose was cut i' the head, to heare it too:
Brave Chant-it-cleare, his noble heart was done;
His combe was cut: And two or three o' his wives,
Or fairest Concubines, had their necks broke,
Ere they would zee this day: To marke the verven
Heart of a beast, the very Pig, the Pig,
This very mornin, as hee was a rosting
Cry'd out his eyes, and made a show as hee would
Ha' bit in two the spit, as he would say;
There shall no rost-meat be this dismall day.
And zure, I thinke, If I had not got his tongue
Betweene my teeth, and eate it, he had spoke it.
Well, I will in, and cry too; never leave
Crying, untill our maids may drive a Buck
With my salt teares at the next washing day.