University of Virginia Library

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.