University of Virginia Library

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.