University of Virginia Library

Scœn. 1.

Enter Dvngvvorth, Ralph, and Dobson, as newly come to Towne by the right Scœne.
Dobson.

Now we are come to London, fellow Ralph
what shall we doe? or what course will our
Master take with us?

Ralph.

Why, Dobson; he may doe what
he will, and wee will doe what we list. A
little instruction and practice will make
us wicked enough, I dare warrant thee.

Dobs.

I hope we are not to learne that. But all this while
the Plough stands still.

Ralph.

Sha, Dobson; thy mind's upon not hingbut dirt.

Dobs.

Indeed heer's store of it, ankcle deepe.

Dung.

What place is this Ralph? thou knowst London.

Ralph.

It should be Covent-Garden; but 'tis
much alter'd since I was here last.

Dungw.

A Garden call you it! 'Tis a very barren one.

Dobs.

I would I were at home againe, amongst the
Creame-bowles.

Ralph.

I cou'd be content to have the tother smacke at our
Gillian the Dayry-Maids sugar-candy—

Dobs.

How, fellow Ralph! you kisse my Sweet-heart
Gillian! pronounce it againe, and by the faith of a new
made Serving-man, that puts his whole trust in his Livery
and the Quarter-dayes, I will kill thee presently, and challenge
thee the next Holi-day before the Congregation.

Ralph.

Kill me first, and then challenge me! for a kisse
or two! nay, good Dobson; she has lips big enough to serve
us both. Prethee lets not fall out and beat one another:
these people would but laugh at us for't.

Dobs.

Indeed 'tis a jolly company. Dwell they all here
abouts?

Ralph.

I scarce thinke they are all of one Parish, neither
doe they goe to one Church. They come onely for an evening
recreation to see Covent-Garden.

Dobs.

Blessings on their hearts for it. 'Tis a goodly place.

Ralph.

And a godly one too if rumour lie not.

Dung.

What are all these things with rayles?

Ralph.

I thinke mewes for hawkes, or ayrings for gentles.
Other hawkes are not here in any request.

Dung.

Mewes for hawkes, thou wouldst make mee a
Buzzard.

Dobs.

Dost thinke we shall dwell here abouts?

Ralph.

I hope so: we shall then be neere the Cock-pit,
and see a Play now and then.

Dobs.

But tell me Ralph, are those Players the ragged
fellowes that were at our house last Christmas, that borrowed
the red blanket off my bed to make their Major a
gowne; and had the great Pot-lid for Guy of Warwicks
Buckler?

Ralph.

No, Dobson; they are men of credit, whose actions
are beheld by every one, and allow'd for the most part
with commendations. They make no yearely Progresse
with the Anatomy of a Sumpter-horse, laden with the
sweepings of Long-lane in a dead Vacation, and purchas'd

at the exchange of their owne whole Wardrobes. They
buy not their Ordinary for the Copie of a Prologue; nor
insinuate themselves into the acquaintance of an admiring
Ningle, who for his free comming in, is at the expence of
a Taverne Supper, and rinses their bawling throats with
Canarye.

Dobs.

But I would I had stay'd still in the Countrey,
now Sports are tollerated, in despite of Justice, Troublesome's
malicious Authoritie. I had rather see a Morris-dance
and a May-pole, then ten Playes: what care I for
wit which I understand not?

Ralph.

The duller Asse thou.

Dobs.

How, Asse to my face! provoke me no more
with such foule language, lest I enter and act thy Tragedy.

Ralph.

Nay, prethee fellow Dobson; if we abuse our
selves sometimes, 'twill be the better taken when wee abuse
others.

Dung.

To morrow Ile have you accoutred in liveries,
and put my selfe into a gentile garbe. I am resolv'd to forsake
the Countrey profession of mine Auncestors; and
meane to turne Gallant. Ile sell some few dirty Acres, and
buy a Knighthood: Ile translate my Farme of Dirt-all into
the Mannor of No-place. Would I were acquainted
with an honest Scrivener.

Ralph.

You wish an impossibility, unlesse the Pillory
were more terrible.

Dobson.

But doe you meane to sell your Land?

Dung.

Yes indeed; I shall be the likelier to goe to heaven
when I forsake earth.

Ralph.

But 'tis a dangerous way through a Scriveners
conscience.

Dung.

What dost tell me of danger! 'Tis the Cowards
bug-beare; a scar-crow to City gulls, that dare not weare
swords for feare of being challeng'd.

Dobs.

Nay, my Master is as tall a man of his inches.

Dung.

Yes, Dobson; thou hast seene me doe something.

But sirrah, let it be your charge to finde out a good Inne;
see Crop eat his meat.

Dobs.

Ile warrant Sir, hee'l eat his meate, and 'twere
Good-friday.

Ralph.

Had he but eares then, hee might make a very
good Puritan horse.

Dung.

Indeed, their best vertue is to heare well.

Ralph.

But their doing sometimes, begets a hotter zeale
in the Sister-hood.

Dungw.

I'le have a lodging heere. Prethee aske that
Gentlewoman; shee seems an inhabitant.