University of Virginia Library

Scena 9.

Hooke, Loueall, Anteros, the 6, Schollers.
Loue.
But see the wooers are discarded quite
My vncle beates them out of doores.

Hook.
You villaines—
Out of my house yee brood of caterpillers,—
Sonne of a hedge and Moone-shine; goe—fy, fy, fy.
O misery beyond—come out you rascall,
And bring your piping nose along with you;—
A fire upon this hollow ruffe of yours,
'Tis like your heart—out rogues, and ruffians—
O I am undone.—

Exit.
Ant.
Ha, ha, he. Loveall, these men are mine;
I am the Patron of the living now,
Dost thou see this?

Lou.
I heard as much within.

Ant.
I will behave my selfe most scurvily,
Like to some surly crabbed Patron now,
That has some 6, or 7 tyr'd horses tyed
At's dore. How now?

Zea.
Patron.

[He salutes Anteros winking, He in the meane time cuts away the blacke box that hung at his girdle.
Ant.
What sayes my Client?
Loveall, I pray thee catechize this box,
Ther's good stuffe in't I warrant thee.

Zea.
Good Patron.

Arthur.
Heare me Sir, I'le dispatch it in three words,
This is a tedious Asse, and readeth nought
But English Treatises.

Zea.
Sir, will it please you
To take particular notice?—

Tem.
Sir.

Stu.
But Patron—

Omnes.
Patron.

Ant.
Who! now the sent growes hot, 'tis ranck,
The game's in view. Haup,—rate them there—no more
You Sir, that are the ring-leader of this rout.—

Zea.
Kings be profane.

Ant.
'Sdeath! what a pack of rogues
Are got together here? what is your name?

Zeal.
Zealous Knowlittle:

Ant.
Zealous Knowlittle? good;
Of which Vniversitie?

Zeal.
Of both the Vniversities.

Ant.
A very likely thing: good Mr Knowlittle
Separate your selfe a little from the people.

Zeal.
With all my heart, I'le separate.

Ant.
Your name?

Temp.
My name is Tempest Allmouth sir.

Ant.
How? Tempest Almouth? where are thy braines man?

Arth.
He has not any.

Ant.
Beare him company.

Loue.
What haue we here? Item, to send forth tickets
To all the Brethren that doe inhabite
Within this Shire, to giue them intimation,
That M. Mother-tongue stands the first of Iune.

Ant.
You that are next him?

Arm.
Arthur Armestrong sir.

Ant.
You there Colosse?

Stutch:
My name is Stutchell Legg.

Ant.
Troth, and thou art well underlay'd indeed,
A couple of foot-ball players I warrant them.

Lou.
Item:—a pox upon't, here's bawdery,
Ile rake noe deeper in this puddle.—so.

Ant:
And what must we call you?

Gan:
Ganimede Eilpot.

Ant:
Thou should'st be a good fellow by thy name.
Come on; what glorious title I beseech you
Has bounteous Nature fixt on you: nay open.

Hugo.
My name is Hugo obligation.

Ant:
How? Hugo obligation? 'pray thee Loveall
Is not this shorne bearde villaine the precise Scriveneur,
Would faine turne Priest?

Lou:
The very same I take it.

Ant.
Meddle not with me Iack. Nay doe not hold me.
A whoreson Inkebottle, and two skins of parchment,
He drawes his Sworde.
Dares he hope for my sister, and a living?
You slave, are Parsonages in this age so cheape?

Lou:
'Pray thee Anteros.

Ant.
Doe not entreat me Loveall,
He dyes: this hat is not more mortified.

Lou:
'Pray thee be quiet.

Ant:
Hang him, a death's too good
For such a rascall.—Sirrah, I'le cut indentur's
Vpon your skin. And here's another Villayne,
Whose very countenance speakes Servingman,
Filpot come hither.

Lou:
Nay but Anteros.

Ant:
Death man! our Vniversities doe swarme,
They have more Schollers then they know to spend
While they are Sweet: and must such Rogues as these,
Whose height of knowledge is to spit and snuffle,
And talke some 3. houres non-sense, shoulder them
Out of their places? what is't that makes so many
Of our quick witt's turne Iesuits, and forsake
Both their Religion and their Country thinke you?
Sirrah noe more then thus, lye and thou dyest.
Have not you beene a Serving-man sometimes?

Gan:
Yes truely sir, I'le not deny't, I was
A gentlemans butler once.

Ant:
I told you so.
The very chipping's hang in's eye-brow's still.
His face unto this instant minute shines
With broken beere that was his fees, stand by,
And doe not hope so large a benefit
From me as to be kill'd, live, live, unhappy.
You M. knowlittle know you whose box is this?

Zeal:
Truely 'tis mine, verily.

Ant:
Away you stinkards,
I wilbe visited no more to day.
Avoyde I say. Have I not done it well?

Exeunt Suitors.
Lou:
Oh noe, you want the pawses, and the hums,
And the grave thumbe under the girdle too.

Ant:
Oh, that's for old living brokers, I'me a young one.

Lou.
You must indent then with them, for to keepe you
Some hounds or cocks, and get a handsome wife
To entertaine you.

Ant.
A wife? a thunderbolt
Is entred me, 'pray thee no more.

Lou:
How now?