University of Virginia Library

Scene III.

Lady. Tub. D. Tur. Clay. Puppy. Wispe. Preamble. Turfe.
Lad.
O, here's the Squire! you slip'd us finely sonne!
These manners to your Mother, will commend you;
But in an other age, not this: well Tripoly,
Your Father, good Sir Peter (rest his bones)
Would not ha' done this: where's my Huisher Martin?
And your faire Mrs. Awdrey?

Tub.
I not see 'hem,
No creature, but the foure wise Masters here,
Of Finsbury Hundred, came to cry their Constable,
Who they doe say is lost.

D. Tur.
My husband lost?
And my fond Daughter lost? I feare mee too.
Where is your Gentleman, Madam? Poore Iohn Clay,
Thou hast lost thy Awdrey.

Cla.
I ha' lost my wits,
My little wits, good Mother; I am distracted.

Pup.
And I have lost my Mistris Dido Wispe,
Who frownes upon her Puppy, Hanniball.
Losse! losse on every side! a publike losse!
Losse o' my Master! losse of his Daughter! losse
Of Favour, Friends, my Mistris! losse of all!

Pre.
What Cry is this?

Tur.
My man speakes of some losse.

Pup.
My Master is found: Good luck, and't be thy will,
Light on us all.

D. Tur.
O husband, are you alive?
They said you were lost.

Tur.
Where's Justice Brambles Clarke?
Had he the money that I sent for?

D. Tur.
Yes,
Two houres agoe; two fifty pounds in silver,
And Awdrey too.

Tur.
Why Awdrey? who sent for her?

D. Tur.
You Master Turfe, the fellow said.

Tur.
Hee lyed.
I am cozen'd, rob'd, undone: your man's a Thiefe,
And run away with my Daughter, Mr. Bramble,
And with my money.

Lad.
Neighbour Turfe have patience,
I can assure you that your Daughter is safe,
But for the monies I know nothing of.

Tur.
My money is my Daughter; and my Daughter
She is my money, Madam.

Pre.
I doe wonder
Your Ladiship comes to know any thing
In these affaires.

Lad.
Yes, Justice Bramble
I met the maiden i' the fields by chance,
I' the Squires company my sonne: How hee
Lighted upon her, himselfe best can tell.

Tub.
I intercepted her, as comming hither,
To her Father, who sent for her, by Miles Metaphore,
Justice Preambles Clarke. And had your Ladiship
Not hindred it, I had paid fine Mr. Justice
For his young warrant, and new Purs'yvant,
He serv'd it by this morning.

Pre.
Know you that Sir?

Lad.
You told me, Squire, a quite other tale,
But I beleev'd you not, which made me send
Awdrey another way, by my Pol-marten:
And take my journey back to Kentish-Towne,
Where we found Iohn Clay hidden i' the barne,
To scape the Huy and Cry; and here he is.

Tur.
Iohn Clay age'n! nay, then—set Cock a hoope:
I ha' lost no Daughter, nor no money, Justice.
Iohn Clay shall pay. Ile looke to you now John.
Vaith out it must, as good at night, as morning.
I am ene as vull as a Pipers bag with joy,
Or a great Gun upon carnation day!
I could weepe Lions teares to see you Iohn.
'Tis but two viftie pounds I ha' ventur'd for you:
But now I ha' you, you shall pay whole hundred.
Run from your Burroughs, sonne: faith ene be hang'd.
An' you once earth your selfe, Iohn, i' the barne,
I ha' no Daughter vor you: Who did verret 'hun.

D. Tur.
My Ladies sonne, the Squire here, vetch'd 'hun out.
Puppy had put us all in such a vright,
We thought the Devill was i' the barne; and no body
Durst venture o' hun.

Tur.
I am now resolv'd,
Who shall ha' my Daughter.

D. Tur.
Who?

Tur.
He best deserves her.
Here comes the Vicar. Chanon Hugh, we ha' vound
Iohn Clay agen! the matter's all come round.