University of Virginia Library

SCENE IV.

Enter STRATILAX.
Stra.
Who a plague's this batters our doors so saucily?
Who are you?

Ast.
I. Why do but look upon me.

Stra.
What I?—Why daun't I zee ye? Ah! wae warth thee,
What to our house dost come var?—What dost knock
At our door var?

Ast.
I wish you health—

Stra.
I ha'
Too much of thy health; I daun't care vor't, I—
I'm zick—Plague! I'd be rather zick than well
By thy good wishes—Now, I vain would know
What's owing to thee here—

Ast.
Keep close—

Stra.
I do,
I hopes, to my 'nown wife: let him who us'd
Keep close to thee—Would'st impudence, invagle
One from the country, to be nauty with thee.

Ast.
Keep close your tongue, I would have said.

Stra.
And zo
I would, hads't thou thy fellow on the yerth.

Ast.
You are too churlish, too ill-manner'd, friend.

Stra.
Dost thou go on to rag me, woman, ha!

Ast.
What have I said?

Stra.
Thou call'dst me churlish, didst'nt,
Ill-manner'd too—If quickly thou daun't tell me
What 'tis thou want'st, and tramp about thy business,
By Arculus! I'll trample thee to death,
Like as I ha'zeen our zow trample her pigs.

Ast.
Country, and with a vengeance this!

Stra.
Is that
A shame, thou monkey—Com'st thou here, adzooks!
Thou dress'd out skeleton, to shew thyself,
Because thou'st dyed thy cloak a smoaky yellow,
And bracelets hast, dost think thyself a beauty?
Hussey, come here.

Ast.
Nay, now you are agreeable.

Stra.
You lye—My question answer then—

Ast.
I'd rather
Answer your master, friend, than answer you.

Stra.
Do'st wear these brass rings to draw in some slave?

Ast.
They who deserve them best will have them of me.

Stra.
And an't the trinkums counterfeit?

[looking nearer.
Ast.
Don't touch me.

Stra.
Touch thee, forsooth! And may my spade so help me,
I'd rather at our farm be yok'd wi' an ox,
And pig with him on straw, than sleep with thee
An hundred nights vree cost, and ha'to boot
An hundred zuppers—Do'st twit me wi' living
I'the country, just an' thou hadst found a man
Who is asham'd of some dishonest prank?
But woman, what's thy business at our house?
Why do'st run here, whene'er we come to town?

Ast.
I want to see your women.

Stra.
What do'st talk
To me of women vor? we han't within
The hoos a vemale vlie.

Ast.
Is there no woman
Lives with you then?

Stra.
They're gone into the country.
I zay, begone—

Ast.
Why do'st roar so, bedlam?

Stra.
If thou do'st not run off from hence as vast
As e'er thy legs can bear thee, I'll root out
Those greas'd, valse, vormal, vrizzled locks of thine.

Ast.
And why?

Stra.
Vor daring to come nigh our doors
With your perfumes, and with your cheeks all purple.

Ast.
I only blush'd to hear you clamour.

Stra.
Blush'd!
As tho'f thou'st left thy skin the power to change
Its colour, thou has ruddled zo thy cheeks,
And zo all o'er bedaa'd thy vlesh wi' paint.
You're most abominable jades?

Ast.
How is it
You're pleas'd with these abominable jades?

Stra.
I knows more than thou thinks vor.

Ast.
And pray now
What is't you know?

Stra.
How my old measter's son
Strabax is ruining himself, and how
You draws him in, how cheat, and plunder him.

Ast.
Was your head quite right, I should call this scandal.
None at our house are e'er destroy'd; they spend
Their fortunes with us; and when that is done,
They may go naked thence whene'er they please.
I know not your young man—

Stra.
Indeed!

Ast.
Ay, seriously.

Stra.
Our garden wall, which loses every night
A brick or two, zays plain enough which way
He travels to his ruin.

Ast.
The wall's old—
What wonder then the bricks should tumble down?

Stra.
Is this your talking, hussy? Old walls tumble!
Zooks! may no mortal man believe me more,
If I daun't tell old measter of your tricks!

Ast.
And, is he boisterous too?

Stra.
He did not get
His money by maintaining harlots, but
By living hard—And, hildings, now 'tis all
Borne off to you, to you, ye six claw'd harpies.
'Tis a bad life you lead—'Midst o'zuch doings
D'ye think I'll hold my tongue?—No, I'll to Vorum,
Tell our ould measter what 'tis you're a'about:
An if I daun't, my back will be examin'd.

[Exit.
Ast.
By Castor! if this fellow liv'd on mustard,
I should not think 'twould have the power to make him
So snappish—But in troth, he seems to have
His master's interest at heart; and tho'
He's so outrageous, yet I trust he may
By coaxing, and our other harlot's arts,
Be made a convert—Horses I have seen,
And other beasts made tame—Now to my mistress—
But hold! For see where my aversion comes.
How soure he looks! He has not yet, I find,
Met with Phronesium—