 | The Scots Figgaries : Or, A Knot of Knaves |  |
ACT. I.
Enter Jocky with his Wallet.Jocky.
A sirs! thes eyr has a mickle geod savour. I ha creept thus
firr intolth' Kingdom, like an Erivigg intoll a mons
lug, and sall as herdly be gat oout. Ise sa seff here as
a Sperrow under a Penthoowse. Let the Sheriff o
Cumberlond gee hang himsell ins own gartropts, Ise
ferr enough off him, ans fellow Officer th'hangman
noow. I a Scot Theff may pass for a trow Mon here; Aw the empty
Weomb and thin hide I full oft bore in Scotlond, an the geod fare
I get here! Be me saw Ise twa yards gron about sin I cam fro Scotlond,
the Deele split me gif I cam at thee mere Scotlond. Ise eene
noow ny the bonny Court, wur meny a Scot lad is gron fro a Maggot
ta a bran Goose; marry Ise in geod pleight. Weele, Scotlond,
weele, tow gaffst me a mouth, but Anglond mon find me met; 'tis a
geod soile geod feith, an gif aw my Contremon wod plant here,
th'od thrive better thon in thair non.
In the foule Deels name wha's yon? a sud be me Contremon by's
scratin an scrubbin; A leokes like Scotlond it sell, bar an naked; A
carries noought bet tha walth o Can aboot him, filth an Virmin.
Billy.
Aw Scotlond, Scotlond, wa worth tha tim I cam oout o
thee; Ise like tha wandering Jew ha worn my hoofes sa thin as pauper,
tha peple ha mickle hard hearts; Aw Billy, Billy, th'adst better ha
tane tha stripe for stelling in Scotlond (bet thot 'tis sin ta rob the spettle)
an ha thriv'd by't, than ta come ta be hangd here, or stervd; tis
keen Justace a mon sud dee sick a deeth for macking use o his hands,
I ha ne oder mamber woorth ought.
Jocky
On's mon what gar thee in these pickle? how camst hither?
Billy.
Een on me ten toes sir, and thay err worn oout now, thay'l
ser me ne longer.
Joc.
Wha tha Deele sall mend'um? sham faw thee, a Scot an
cannot shift.
Bil.
A lack sir, a mon mo not stell here for's neck, and Ise mickle
sham ta beg.
Joc.
How mon not bag! Ons th'art nen a me Contremon than.
Bil.
Ey marry that am I, good feith Ise a Scot, an boorn at Andra
keddin.
Joc.
I thoought sa be thy iddle leife, what gar thee cam hither?
Bil.
A lack mon I sud a bein whopt aboot tha Toown o Barwick
for theiffing in Scotlond, bet brock gale and scapt it.
Joc.
Hadst tow tha conscienc ta stell fro thy own Contre, an hast
noot tha fece ta bag in an oder? fy mon, fy. Ons hoow thinkst leive?
Leoke her mon, leok her, sa tha vertu o bagging.
A sir d'yee drop, d'yee drop at mooth sir?
Bil.
Ey sir, sike a seight may mack a mon sown.
Joc.
Sow up your chops in tha Deeles nam, gif you cannot bag
ye sall not eat sir.
Bil.
Geod feith an I ha noot eat un morsell thes twa daies, cam
awey mod, cam awey.
Joc.
Nee, nee, sir stey your ferenes, keep your fangs off sir, yee ma
ha tha mang.
Bil.
Ne geod feith, Ise a clere skind lad.
Joc.
Bet monstrous lozy.
Bil.
Dooubt not that sir, thay'l pin ta death sir, for I ha noought ta
sed 'um bet sken, an that's twa toough for thair teth—cam awey
mon, sum cherete good Contremon.
Joc.
Weele set doowne—leoke thee here mon,
thes gis tha leg o a Anglish Prest.
Bil.
Sey yee sa mon.
Reight weele thay bein mad up o Cappon and whit broth,
thay mack their carcase fat, bet their solls len; d'yee thenk S. Andra
wad a fested is mickle gif a cud a gat sike met as thes! Ne, ne, by
me saw Ise hang than; he was stervd, thay fare deliciously; he wos
foowzy, and hod no sheft, they bien buried aleife in fin lenin an lown
sleeffes; he slunk abo grond, they bien swetten'd leiving an deed, abo
an under gron; A me saw S. Andra had her don sa meny marvailes
gif a had stuft his carcase sa full as thay.
Bil.
Geod feith I main pass for a sent ten, for me carcase is bat an
thin enough.
Joc.
Ey for sent Theff, for he ner did mirackle—thes Torky leg
cam fro a Merchants Table, thes Widgins wing fro a Citzens, an
thes Gooses leg fro a Lawyers.
Bil.
Bred, thay mack mere preambl 'boot thair boody then aw
tha peple in Cristendum de aboot thair saws, how hadst tow tha fece
ta speeke at sa meny dores mon?
Joc.
A sir, I sall tach yee ta bag bravely, mind ye me noow sir, I
stoll twa Coows fro me Contremon and gat tham agat ta Comberlond
ta feele, bet tha plaggy shriefe gartham tack fro me, an sent me
toll tha gale, bet I gat loose, an sa cam froward, an in tha Noorth I
met a iddle Turnies lod, wha mad me thes Certifice, an sat aw those
Jestece nams tol't, that tha shreife o Comberlond had den me mickle
wrong, an sa Ise cam up toll th'King for Jestece.
Bil.
Geod feith wad I had sike an oder.
Joc.
Cam awey mon, hest thee, fill thy weomb, and get thee on
yon sid mon, an Ise kep o thes, and sa nen sall scap us—hark ye me
mon, you mon tell 'um you cam o geod parentage, an ha lost aw
your siller as ye cam for Anglond—you mon speeke, a by mon, an
noot lick a Mole under gron pest herring.
Bil.
Weele, weele, Ise be avis'd be you, gif you far weele I sall
noot far amiss.
[Enter a Courtier.
Joc.
Gang awey mon, gang awey mon, seest tow, seest tow yon
braw mon tofore thy eyne.
[Billy runs towards him.
Bil.
—Bless your honor, Ise speeke a word or twa ta your honor.
Cour.
My honour!—Pox on your fawning hide, what would you
have with me and be hang'd?
Bil.
—Ne, ne, sir I pray your honor wax noot wrothfull, Ise a mon
o geod ranck in my own Contre, an ha kept geod beasts.
I, for some bodies else, thou dost not look as though thou
ere wert worth one.
Bil.
Ne, ne, sir, me non proper geods geod feith; I cam wi mickle
siller in me purss ta Englond, weele clad.
Cour.
With some old Curtaines that bore S. Andrews story, or childrens
blanquets stoll, and turn'd to Trowsies.
Bil.
Ne geod feith, I ha een bien robdo aw.
Cour.
Rob thee! of what? had he a mind to be lowsie? but this
is an Engine laid to draw a peece of silver to you, is't not so?
Bil.
Your Honor speekes mickle weele.
Cour.
—There—there's some of your Countrey men at Court
lives better by this trade than you.
he gives him.
Joc.
Un word ta your honor.
[As he goes Jockie meets him.
Cour.
Hy day, another! I'm way laid, hast thou been rob'd too?
Joc.
Ne, ne sir, ne, tha shriffe o Comberlond has dun me mickle
wrong sir.
Cour.
Whipt you about the Pigmarket?
Joc.
A has tacken awey me Cows sir, an aw me geods, see here
sir, I ha aw thos worthy Jestece nams ta testifie.
Cour.
There is no begger like the Scotch-begger for tricks and
impudence—Come what must discharge me from you sir, and your
bellowing?
Ioc.
Geod feith sir I wont siller ta gat Jestece.
Cour.
—Hadst thou had Justice done thee, thou hadst been
hang'd long before this.
Bil.
Bred, he's a fortuneteller.
Cour.
There—that will serve to buy you Oatmeale; sir there
is no more of your Catterwalling Companions here abouts, is there?
Joc.
Ne, ne sir, ant lick your honor.
Cour.
Ne, ne, pox on your Nees and your Nose too; I'm glad I'm
rid on you.
Exit.
Joc.
Noow sir, ye had noot tha fece ta bag, hoow lick ye it noow
sir, what ga he toll ye.
Bil.
Thes smaw peece o siller.
Joc.
A geod begining mon, tolld a ye noot sum o our Contre men
liev'd at Court by baggin.
Bil.
I sea noow a Scot may ly by atorete, an beg wi permission—
weele to Curt ta, an ly sa fest as tha beest o 'um.
Be me saw an thats herd ta dee;
[Enter Mr Folly
seest tow, seest tow mon yon brawe fellow, wi' his gold Rop aboots
neck, an's long Cot lick a sark, geod feith he's ta herd for twanty yo' um.
Bil.
He's tha feul, gis a noot?
Joc.
Ey, ey mon; A has feuld himsell intoll mickle fevor gif a feul
himsell noot oout agen—sey a cams aneust us mon, wees speeke toll
him—Bless your honor sir, bless your honor, Ise gled ta sea your
honour in heelth.
Folly.
Be me saw th'art a bold fellow.
Joc.
I'm your own Contremon sir, I ken your honor mickle weele,
bless your worship.
Fol.
Kenst tow me mon?
Joc.
Mickle weele an't lick your honour, I ken your honor weele
enough, your honour is the Kings feul.
Fol.
A mon, he kepes mere feules than I; bred, he's kepe tow ta
gif tow canst feul him; how far Scot art tow?
Joc.
Marry Ise a mickle wey oofe noow.
Fol.
Bet I wad kne whar tow wert boorn.
Joc.
Gin me Moders Weomb sir forty years agast.
Fol.
Ons mon speeke toll me i what plece o Scotlond wert tow
boorn.
Joc.
Geod feith gin meny sir, I ha bien boorn fro plece plece a me
Moders back sir, and ha seffered mickle sorrow.
Fol.
The fow Deele tack thy large lug, wha was thy fader?
Joc.
A mon sir surely.
Fol.
The black Deele a was sur, what liev'd a?
Joc.
A sir at a plece your honour kens mickle weele.
Fol.
Whar mon, whar?
Fol.
A sir, A sir what pleice caw ye that sir what your honor nurst
tha tyny babe wi wull on's back sir?
Fol.
Oout tha faw Deele, oout Rog—bet wha art tow mon?
Bil.
I'm een yar Contremon twa sir, cam ta bien a Curtier ta sir.
Fol.
Ons a Curtier! a Carter, tha Hangmon, tha Deele.
Bil.
Ye ha geod friends thar sir, ye may dee mickle for us.
Fol.
Dee mon! bred, he that sall dee for thee sall ha enough ta
dee; art geod for oought? wha canst dee for thy sell?
Bil.
Een what ye sea sir.
Fol.
Oout this is base, it shams your Contre, mind ye me; wha o
ye swaine ha mest wot?
He that can sheft beest.
Fol.
Reight weele.
Joc.
And that's een I, this feule had noot a face ta bag toll I boldend
hum.
Fol.
Oout, oout mon, sham feect?
Bil.
Ne, ne. I sall grew bold enough gif I sall get oought by't.
Fol.
Gif ye had Clad sirs, what curs wad ye tacke to liew?
Bil.
Ise cud mack tha King, bliss his Worship, an't lick your honour,
mickle geod Puttins an Potsloose.
Joc.
I'd bien oth Mint, sir, I loove ta finger siller.
Fol.
Weele sirs cam away wy me, for Contras sack Ise gat ye sum
Purveyance, an sum lodging, and tan we sall find oout sum woork
for ye among 'um here.
Joc.
Bless your honor for your benefaites.
Exeunt.
Enter Townshift and Trapheire.
Town.
Pray recollect your self, I cannot do't
Without a loss to my repute and fame,
If you have but a foot of ground unfold.
Therefore consult your thoughts, my willingness
Shall not be wanting to procure your freedome;
But I'd not have a dirty peece of Land
Bring an obstruction to't.
Tra.
Why? as I live
I have not an Inch left; what ere I morgag'd
Is either sold out-right, or forfeited,
I lie not on my Credit.
Town.
How's that Man?
Have you credit then? Why, that's as bad.
It is not held convenient by the Huffe,
Lords of the sword, that any Yongster should
Be one of us 'till he 'as not only lost
his 'state, but's credit too.
Tra.
Upon my life,
Deare Townshift, I've not credit for a thrips;
Thou knowst it well enough, my roaging Landres
Will not do't for the washing of a shirt.
Town.
Why, have you shirts then?
Tra.
One as I live, no more, and that so thin
Town.
What Boots have you?
Tra.
I cannot call these any, yet th'are all,
And as for stockings, I have long agoe
Held them unnecessary.
Town.
Why this Cloake,
And th'weather warm and friendly.
Tra.
'Tis too much,
The weight on't, I confess, 's not to be borne,
Ile ease me of the burthen, It shall sink
In sack when I'm made free, prethee about it.
Town.
I would not for a world you should have any
Remnant of your Estate left, 't would undo you
[Enter draw forth and Pinck-carkase
See, here's my Brothers, Drawforth and Pinck-carkase.
May I presume to recommend you to 'em?
Tra.
You may, you may, deare Townshift.
Drawf.
How now Trapheire,
What is all gon yet?
Town.
All he sweares by's Twibell,
His Cloak excepted, and its time expires
Within this half houre; shall we make him free?
Pinck.
Trapheire, you now are to begin the World,
Which you cannot do handsomly, unless
Your Land and you be separated, and if
Ought ly conceal'd, 'twill rise in judgment 'gainst you;
Therefore pray have a care, 'tis Christian Counsell.
Drawf.
It is not fit the least peece of your old
Adulterate fortunes should corrupt the new
Your wit must purchase.
Town.
Right, beside, he'l ne'r
Have a refin'd Wit 'till he has nothing left.
Tra.
The greatest Enemy I have Gentlemen is my Cloake,
And I promise Ile see 't no more.
Pinck.
Say you so, then to the next Taverne;
Boy—boy—a Roome.
[Enter Drawer.
Draw.
Please you to walke into a Roome Gentlemen?
Town.
What call we thee for else?
[They pass in and enter again
Draw.
How like you this Roome Gentlemen?
Indifferent; bring us Wine and Tobacco of the best sirrah.
Draw.
You shall indeed sir.
Tra.
Deare Townshift thou must shew this Gentleman
The way to th'Brokers.
[Pointing at his Cloake.
Town.
Is he for sale, or Morgage?
Tra.
For sale by all meanes, I'd not charge my memory
I've ought left worth redeeming.
[Enter boy with wine.
Drawf.
Bravelie resolv'd—Is't Racie?
Draw.
Right Racie sir beleeve me.
Pinck.
Trapheire to thee.
Tra.
Drinke apace, deare Townshift
[To his cloake.
The sight of that same Gentleman's my tortour,
I prethee rid me of him.
Drawf.
Townshift sweare him.
Tra.
I cann't with a safe conscience sweare as long
As that appeares before me.
Town.
How shall I get it out o'th' house?
Tra.
Leave thine here, and weare mine thither.
O how I hate to call it mine—awaie with't.
Exit Townshift.
Pinck.
Trapheire, you now must exercise your Wit
To live on others, as w'ave liv'd on you;
Wit's never good till purchas'd, what though't be
With th'loss of fortunes Trumperie and Trash;
Content ne'r dwels 'mong dirtie Land, who sells it
Parts with a deale of care, and scurvie toile;
Men never are ingenious that are clog'd with't.
The Generous spirit will not be coop'd up
In that same Countrey Cage, a mansion house,
And confines of the Buttery; be free,
Thou art not worth a Groat
[Enter Townshift.
When this is spent.
Tra.
How much, how much deare Townshift?
Town.
But thirtie by my Valour.
Tra.
Down with't, down with't;
[The money laid on the Table.
Ile not put up a Dodkin on't; deare Townshift,
Drinke, drinke away, I thirst untill it's melted,
Your moulten silver swallows best.
Drawf.
His Oath, his Oath.
Your sword.
[Laies his hand on the Hilts of his Sword,
Which at Hounslow was made,
You sweare to be true
To what shall ensue.
First, You sweare not to make it any scruple of Conscience to
cheat your Father; That you will hunt after young Heires, and when
you have courst them out of wind, you'l refresh 'em with some Scrivener,
Broker, or Draper; That you'l keep alwaies three strings to
your bow, to make it bend till it breake; That having gotten a Bubble
or Byshop, a lad of the last adoption, that you make him sensible
of a Wench, though to the charge of a Surgeon, it being reason
all trades should live, and if occasion be, winke at small faults. Next
be sure to keep them continually at Game, or Drinking; Uurge 'em
to quarrell, and then take up the businesse, but not without profit to
the Brotherhood; That what quarrels soever arise among our selves,
must not cause us to fight with one another, but the Coines of the
Bubble or Byshop must make us friends; That you must not pay
your Coachman but with kicks, unlesse your Bubble or Byshop do,
and then he owes you a fare; That your Bubble, or Byshop, and you,
keep but one Purse, though two Drabs; That when you have dreined
him dry, you make him free, if he sue for it, if not let him keep
Company with the Titteretues, and live upon the sin of Sodom;
That you I take your chance of the day, where there is need of dipping,
without grumbling.
With sword in your hand,
You'l not be in aw
Of the Halberteere Law;
Kiss this—Now y'are free
Tra.
Hey for the Brotherhood; No Wine stirring, Boy?
You Rascal, where's your duty? absent? hah!
More Wine.
[Enter Drawer.
You shall sir by and by.
Tra.
Bring a Glass will hold
A Pint at least, I hate a thimble full,
We shall ne'r have consum'd this mighty mass
[Pointing to the Money.
If we sip thus like sparrows;
Enter Drawer.
I marry, this looks like some Brother to you all.
Drawf.
Gramercy.
Tra.
Sirrah, cover the Boord with Bottles,
This is our Coronation day, the Room
Shall swim in Wine; be frolique Huffs, and draine
Me dry, yet I shall live when y'are all hang'd
[He begins to be drunk.
Town.
How now, how now Traphiere!
Tra.
Drink and be damn'd;
Must I waite on your Driveling?
Town.
Drawforth to you—Charge him home.
Draw.
Traphiere a whole bottle to thee—I'm up toth' Chin.
Tra.
—So, so sir,—y'are a fine fellow; Is all paid?
Town.
No, all's not come in yet.
Tra.
Ile stay no longer.
[He takes Townshifts cloak up.
Town.
Pray leave my cloak behind you.
Tra.
Your cloak sir? how came it to be yours sir? I have one some
where.
Town.
Yours is at the Brokers sir.
Tra.
Is it so sir? I thank you for your information.
Drawf.
There lies the vertue on't.
Tra.
So sir, I thanke you twice, for once I care not if I put my
Cloak into my pocket.
[He snatcheth up the money.
Town.
But Trapheire, Trapheire.
Pinck.
Who paies the house?
Tra.
Let the house pay it selfe; dip, dip and be hang'd you that
have Cloaks, am I bound to fill your insatiate Gorge eternally.
Pinck.
What Asses were we to let the mony ly so long, knowing
his Rascally humour, he'l not pay a Penny when he's in drink—
See what thou canst work him to.
Town.
Boy.
[Enter Drawer.
Drawf.
Sir—I shall sir.
[They whisper.
Town.
Trapheire, a prize Trapheire.
Tra.
Of what? Sprats?
A Gudgin man, a Gudgin's come to Net;
The Master of the house desires admittance
To play a Game at Ticktack for a Peece;
And thou knowst Trapheire—hah—
[He shakes his Arms.
Tra.
I know it Rogue;
And thou shalt play with him for all he's worth;
Ile venture on thy hand my whole Estate,
This my trusty Blade. Provided alwaies sir—
[Enter Master of the house.
Town.
That you have half—'tis granted—he's here;
Thou knowst I have no money.
Tra.
Thou shalt not want deare Bully, Ile not leave
My selfe a George.
[He gives him his money.
Town.
Spoke like thy selfe, come be so.
There sir, pay your self.
Mr,
Y'are kindly welcome Gentlemen, fetch my Quart.
Tra.
Death, what's this?
Omnes
Ha, ha, ha—Only the Reckoning paid sir.
Tra.
Y'are Rogues, Shirks, and Cheates; Ile indict you
Pinck.
Buoy good sir, imploy your Tongue at Billingsgate;
Adieu, adieu.
[Exeunt Town. Pinck. Drawforth.
Tra.
Farewell and be hang'd.
For your part sirrah, Ile have you up for keeping of a Bawdy
house.
Exit.
Mr.
Do your worst sir, do your worst.
Exit.
| The Scots Figgaries : Or, A Knot of Knaves | |