University of Virginia Library

Scene V.

Rut. Needle. Interest. Item. Lady. Polish. Chaire. Keepe. Placentia.
[Rut.]
Hunting a man halfe naked? you are fine beagles!
You'd have his dousets.

Nee.
I ha' linnen breeks on.

Rut.
He heares, but hee sees nothing.

Nee.
Yes, I see
Who hides the treasure yonder.

Int.
Ha? what treasure?

Rut.
If you aske questions, he 'wakes presently:
And then you'l heare no more, till his next fit.

Nee.
And whom she hides it for.

Rut.
Doe you marke Sir? Int.

Nee.
A fine she spirit it is, an Indian Mag-pie.
She was an Aldermans Widow, and fell in love
With our Sir Moath, my Ladies brother.

Rut.
(Heare you?)

Nee.
And she has hid an Aldermans estate;
Dropt through her bill in little holes, i' the Garden,
And scrapes earth over 'hem; where none can spy
But I, who see all by the Glowormes light,
That creeps before.

Pol.
I knew the Gentlewoman;
Alderman Parrots Widow, a fine Speaker,
As any was i' the Clothing, or the Bevy;
She did become her scarlet, and black Velvet,
Her greene, and purple—

Rut.
Save thy colours, Rainebow,
Or she will run thee over, and all thy lights.

Pol.
She dwelt in Doo-little Lane, a top o' the hill there;
I' the round Cage, was after Sir Chime Squirrell's.
Shee would eate nought but Almonds, I assure you.

Rut.
Would thou had'st a dose of pilles, a double dose,
O' the best purge, to make thee turne tale, tother way.

Pol.
You are a foule mouth'd, purging, absurd Doctor;
I tell you true, and I did long to tell it you.
You ha' spread a scandall i' my Ladies house here,
On her sweet Neice, you never can take off
With all your purges, or your plaister of Oathes;
Though you distill your Dam-me, drop by drop,
I' your defence. That she hath had a Child,
Here she doth spit upon thee, and defie thee;
Or I do't for her.

Rut.
Madam, pray you bind her
To her behaviour. Tye your Gossip up,
Or send her unto Bet'lem.

Pol.
Goe thou thither,
That better hast deserv'd it, shame of Doctors:
Where could she be deliver'd? by what charme?
Restor'd to her strength so soone? who is the Father?
Or where the Infant? Aske your Oracle,
That walkes, and talkes in his sleepe.

Rut.
Where is he? gone?
You ha' lost a fortune listning to her, to her Tabour.
Good Madam lock her up.

Lad.
You must give loosers
Their leave to speake, good Doctor.

Rut.
Follow his footing
Before he get to his bed: This rest is lost else.