I.i. [Sebastian's chambers in Sir Alexander's house]

[I.ii. The parlour of Sir Alexander's house]

How finely like a fencer my father fetches his by-blows to hit me, but if I beat you not at your own weapon of subtlety--

As well as I know 'twill rain upon Simon and Jude's day next. I will sift all the taverns i' th' city and drink half-pots with all the watermen a' th' Bankside, but if you will, sir, I'll find her out.

[II.i.] The three shops open in a rank

Gentlemen, what is't you lack? What is't you buy? See fine bands and ruffs, fine lawns, fine cambrics! What is't you lack, gentlemen, what is't you buy?

Yonder's the shop.

Is that she?

Peace.

She that minces tobacco.

Ay, she's a gentlewoman born, I can tell you, tho' it be her hard fortune now to shred Indian pot-herbs.

Oh, sir, 'tis many a good woman's fortune, when her husband turns bankrout, to begin with pipes and set up again.

And indeed the raising of the woman is the lifting up of the man's head at all times: if one flourish, t'other will bud as fast, I warrant ye.

Come, th' art familiarly acquainted there, I grope that.

And you grope no better i' th' dark, you may chance lie i' th' ditch when y'are drunk.

Go, th' art a mystical lecher.

I will not deny but my credit may take up an ounce of pure smoke.

May take up an ell of pure smock. Away, go!

'Tis the closest striker. Life, I think he commits venery foot deep; no man's aware on't. I like a palpable smockster go to work so openly with the tricks of art that I'm as apparently seen as a naked boy in a vial, and were it not for a gift of treachery that I have in me to betray my friend when he puts most trust in me--mass, yonder he is too--and by his injury to make good my access to her, I should appear as defective in courting as a farmer's son the first day of his feather that doth nothing at court but woo the hangings and glass windows for a month together, and some broken waiting-woman forever after. I find those imperfections in my venery that were 't not for flattery and falsehood, I should want discourse and impudence, and he that wants impudence among women is worthy to be kick'd out at beds' feet. He shall not see me yet.

Troth, this is finely shred.

Oh, women are the best mincers.

'T had been a good phrase for a cook's wife, sir.

But 'twill serve generally, like the front of a new almanac, as thus: calculated for the meridian of cooks' wives, but generally for all Englishwomen.

Nay, you shall ha't, sir, I have fill'd it for you.

The pipe's in a good hand, and I wish mine always so.

But not to be us'd a' that fashion.

Oh, pardon me, sir, I understand no French.

I pray be cover'd.

Jack, a pipe of rich smoke.

Rich smoke? That's sixpence a pipe, is't?

To me, sweet lady.

Be not forgetful: respect my credit, seem strange. Art and wit makes a fool of suspicion; pray be wary.

Push, I warrant you!--Come, how is't, gallants?

Pure and excellent.

I thought 'twas good, you were grown so silent; you are like those that love not to talk at victuals, tho' they make a worse noise i' the nose than a common fiddler's prentice and discourse a whole supper with snuffling.

I must speak a word with you anon.

Make your way wisely then.

Oh, what else, sir? He's perfection itself, full of manners, but not an acre of ground belonging to ['im].

Ay, and full of form: h'as ne'er a good stool in's chamber.

But above all religious: he preyeth daily upon elder brothers.

And valiant above measure; h'as run three streets from a sergeant.

Puh, puh!

GREENWIT, GOSHAWK

Oh, puh, ho, ho!

So, so.

What's the matter now, sir?

I protest I'm in extreme want of money: if you can supply me now with any means, you do me the greatest pleasure, next to the bounty of your love, as ever poor gentleman tasted.

What's the sum would pleasure ye, sir? Tho' you deserve nothing less at my hands.

Why, 'tis but for want of opportunity, thou know'st.

I put her off with opportunity still. By this light, I hate her but for means to keep me in fashion with gallants, for what I take from her I spend upon other wenches. Bear her in hand still; she has wit enough to rob her husband, and I ways enough to consume the money.--[

] Why, how now? What, the chincough?

Thou hast the cowardliest trick to come before a man's face and strangle him ere he be aware! I could find in my heart to make a quarrel in earnest.

Pox and thou dost--thou know'st I never use to fight with my friends--thou'll but lose thy labour in't.

Jack Dapper!

Monsieur Dapper, I dive down to your ankles.

Save ye gentlemen, all three in a peculiar salute.

He were ill to make a lawyer: he dispatches three at once.

So, well said.

But is this of the same tobacco, Mistress Gallipot?

The same you had at first, sir.

I wish it no better: this will serve to drink at my chamber.

Shall we taste a pipe on't?

Not of this, by my troth, gentlemen; I have sworn before you.

What, not Jack Dapper?

Pardon me, sweet Jack, I'm sorry I made such a rash oath, but foolish oaths must stand. Where art going, Jack?

Faith, to buy one feather.

One feather? The fool's peculiar still.

Gull.

Master.

Here's three halfpence for your ordinary, boy; meet me an hour hence in Paul's.

How! Three single halfpence! Life, this will scarce serve a man in sauce, a hal'p'orth of mustard, a hal'p'orth of oil, and a hal'p'orth of vinegar. What's left then for the pickle herring? This shows like small beer i' th' morning after a great surfeit of wine o'ernight. He could spend his three pound last night in a supper amongst girls and brave bawdy-house boys; I thought his pockets cackl'd not for nothing. These are the eggs of three pound; I'll go sup 'em up presently.

Eight, nine, ten angels. Good wench, i'faith, and one that loves darkness well: she puts out a candle with the best tricks of any drugster's wife in England; but that which mads her, I rail upon opportunity still and take no notice on't. The other night she would needs lead me into a room with a candle in her hand to show me a naked picture, where no sooner entered but the candle was sent of an arrant; now I not intending to understand her, but, like a puny at the inns of venery, call'd for another light innocently: thus reward I all her cunning with simple mistaking. I know she cozens her husband to keep me, and I'll keep her honest as long as I can to make the poor man some part of amends: an honest mind of a whoremaster!--How think you amongst you? What, a fresh pipe? Draw in a third man.

No, you're a hoarder; you engross by th' ounces.

Puh, I like it not.

What feather is't you'ld have, sir?

These are most worn and most in fashion

Amongst the beaver gallants, the stone riders,

The private stage's audience, the twelvepenny-stool gentlemen:

I can inform you 'tis the general feather.

And therefore I mislike it; tell me of general!

Now a continual Simon and Jude's rain

Beat all your feathers as flat down as pancakes.

Show me a spangled feather.

Oh, to go

A-feasting with? You'd have it for a [hench]-boy;

You shall.

Mass, I had quite forgot

His honour's footman was here last night, wife.

Ha' you done with my lord's shirt?

What's that to you, sir?

I was this morning at his honour's lodging

Ere such a [snail] as you crept out of your shell.

Oh, 'twas well done, good wife!

I hold it better, sir, than if you had done 't yourself.

Nay, so say I. But is the countess's smock almost done, mouse?

Here, yes, the cambric, sir, but wants, I fear me.

I'll resolve you of that presently.

[Hoyda]! Oh, audacious groom,

Dare you presume to noblewomen's linen?

Keep you your yard to measure shepherd's holland!

I must confine you, I see that.

What say you to this gear?

I dare the arrant's[t] critic in tobacco

To lay one fault upon't.

Life, yonder's Moll!

Moll? Which Moll?

Honest Moll.

Prithee, let's call her. Moll!

Moll, Moll, pist, Moll!

How now, what's the matter?

A pipe of good tobacco, Moll?

I cannot stay.

Nay, Moll, puh! Prithee hark, but one word, i'faith.

Well, what is't?

Prithee come hither, sirrah.

Heart, I would give but too much money to be nibbling with that wench! Life, sh'as the spirit of four great parishes, and a voice that will drown all the city; methinks a brave captain might get all his soldiers upon her and ne'er be beholding to a company of Mile End milksops, if he could come on and come off quick enough. Such a Moll were a marrow-bone before an Italian; he would cry bona roba till his ribs were nothing but bone. I'll lay hard siege to her; money is that

that eats into many a maidenhead: where the walls are flesh and blood, I'll ever pierce through with a golden auger.

Now thy judgment, Moll: is't not good?

Yes, faith, 'tis very good tobacco. How do you sell an ounce? Farewell. God b'i'you, Mistress Gallipot.

Why, Moll, Moll!

I cannot stay now, i'faith. I am going to buy a shag ruff; the shop will be shut in presently.

'Tis the maddest, fantastical'st girl: I never knew so much flesh and so much nimbleness put together.

She slips from one company to another, like a fat eel between a Dutchman's fingers.

I'll watch my time for her.

Some will not stick to say she's a man

And some both man and woman.

That were excellent: she might first cuckold the husband and then make him do as much for the wife.

Save you. How does Mistress Tiltyard?

Moll.

Jack Dapper.

How dost, Moll?

I'll tell thee by and by; I go but to th' next shop.

Thou shalt find me here this hour about a feather.

Nay, and a feather hold you in play a whole hour, a goose will last you all the days of your life.

Let me see a good shag ruff.

Mistress Mary, that shalt thou i'faith, and the best in the shop.

How now! Greetings? Love-terms with a pox between you! Have I found out one of your haunts? I send you for hollands, and you're i' th' low countries with a mischief. I'm serv'd with good ware by th' shift, that makes it lie dead so long upon my hands: I were as good shut up shop, for when I open it I take nothing.

Nay, and you fall a-ringing once the devil cannot stop you. I'll out of the belfry as fast as I can. Moll.

Get you from my shop.

I come to buy.

I'll sell ye nothing; I warn ye my house and shop.

You goody Openwork, you that prick out a poor living

And sews many a bawdy skin-coat together,

Thou private pandress between shirt and smock,

I wish thee for a minute but a man:

Thou shouldst never use more shapes. But as th' art

I pity my revenge: now my spleen's up,

I would not mock it willingly.

Ha! Be thankful.

Now I forgive thee.

Marry, hang thee;

I never ask'd forgiveness in my life.

You, goodman swine's-face!

What, will you murder me?

You remember, slave, how you abus'd me t'other night in a tavern?

Not I, by this light.

No, but by candlelight you did. You have tricks to save your oaths, reservations have you, and I have reserved somewhat for you.

As you like that, call for more; you know the sign again.

Pox on't, had I brought any company along with me to have borne witness on't; 'twould ne'er have griev'd me; but to be struck and nobody by, 'tis my ill fortune still. Why, tread upon a worm, they say 'twill turn tail, but indeed a gentleman should have more manners.

Gallantly performed, i'faith, Moll, and manfully! I love thee forever for't! Base rogue! Had he offer'd but the least counterbuff, by this hand I was prepared for him.

You prepared for him! Why should you be prepared for him? Was he any more than a man?

No, nor so much by a yard and a handful London measure.

Why do you speak this then? Do you think I cannot ride a stone horse unless one lead him by th' snaffle?

Yes, and sit him bravely; I know thou canst, Moll. 'Twas but an honest mistake through love, and I'll make amends for't any way. Prithee, sweet, plump Moll, when shall thou and I go out a' town together?

Whither? To Tyburn prithee?

Mass, that's out a' town indeed; thou hang'st so many jests upon thy friends still. I mean honestly to Brainford, Staines or Ware.

What to do there?

Nothing but be merry and lie together; I'll hire a coach with four horses.

I thought 'twould be a beastly journey. You may leave out one well: three horses will serve if I play the jade myself.

Nay, push, th' art such another kicking wench! Prithee be kind and let's meet.

'Tis hard but we shall meet, sir.

Nay, but appoint the place then.

There's ten angels in fair gold, Moll; you see I do not trifle with you. Do but say thou wilt meet me, and I'll have a coach ready for thee.

Why, here's my hand I'll meet you, sir.

Oh, good gold!--The place, sweet Moll?

It shall be your appointment.

Somewhat near Holborn, Moll.

In Gray's Inn Fields then.

A match.

I'll meet you there.

The hour?

Three.

That will be time enough to sup at Brainford.

I am of such a nature, sir, I cannot endure the house when she scolds. Sh' has a tongue will be [heard] further in a still morning than Saint Antling's bell. She rails upon me for foreign wenching, that I being a freeman must needs keep a whore i' th' suburbs, and seek to impoverish the liberties. When we fall out, I trouble you still to make all whole with my wife.

No trouble at all; 'tis a pleasure to me to join things together.

Go thy ways.

I do this but to try thy honesty, Goshawk.

How lik'st thou this, Moll?

Oh, singularly! You're fitted now for a bunch.

He looks for all the world with those spangled feathers like a nobleman's bedpost! The purity of your wench would I fain try; she seems like Kent, unconquered, and I believe as many wiles are in her. Oh, the gallants of these times are shallow lechers; they put not their courtship home enough to a wench. 'Tis impossible to know what woman is thoroughly honest, because she's ne'er thoroughly tried; I am of that certain belief there are more queans in this town of their own making than of any man's provoking. Where lies the slackness then? Many a poor soul would down, and there's nobody will push 'em:

Women are courted but ne'er soundly tried,

As many walk in spurs that never ride.

Oh, abominable!

Nay, more: I tell you in private, he keeps a whore i' th' suburbs.

Oh, spital dealing! I came to him a gentlewoman born. I'll show you mine arms when you please, sir.

I had rather see your legs and begin that way.

'Tis well known he took me from a lady's service, where I was well beloved of the steward; I had my Latin tongue and a spice of the French before I came to him, and now doth he keep a suburbian whore under my nostrils.

There's ways enough to cry quit with him; hark in thine ear.

There's a friend worth a million.

I'll try one spear against your chastity, Mistress Tiltyard, though it prove too short by the [burr].

Mass, here she is! I'm bound already to serve her, tho' it be but a sluttish trick.--Bless my hopeful young mistress with long life and great limbs! Send her the upper hand of all bailiffs and their hungry adherents!

How now! What art thou?

A poor, ebbing gentleman that would gladly wait for the young flood of your service.

My service! What should move you to offer your service to me, sir?

The love I bear to your heroic spirit and masculine womanhood.

So, sir, put case we should retain you to us, what parts are there in you for a gentlewoman's service?

Of two kinds, right worshipful, movable and immovable: movable to run of arrants, and immovable to stand when you have occasion to use me.

What strength have you?

Strength, Mistress Moll? I have gone up into a steeple and stayed the great bell as 't has been ringing, stopp'd a windmill going.

And never struck down yourself?

Stood as upright as I do at this present.

Come, I pardon you for this; it shall be no disgrace to you: I have struck up the heels of the high German's size ere now. What, not stand?

I am of that nature where I love, I'll be at my mistress' foot to do her service.

Why, well said. But say your mistress should receive injury: have you the spirit of fighting in you? Durst you second her?

Life, I have kept a bridge myself and drove seven at a time before me.

Ay?

TRAPDOOR

But they were all Lincolnshire bullocks, by my troth.

Well, meet me in Gray's Inn Fields between three and four this afternoon, and upon better consideration we'll retain you.

I humbly thank your good mistress-ship.

I'll crack your neck for this kindness.

Remember: three.

Nay, if I fail you, hang me.

Good wench, i'faith.

Who's this?

'Tis I, Moll.

Prithee tend thy shop and prevent bastards.

We'll have a pint of the same wine, i'faith, Moll.

Hark the bell rings; come, gentlemen.

Jack Dapper, where shall's all munch?

I am for Parker's ordinary.

He's a good guest to 'm; he deserves his board:

He draws all the gentlemen in a term-time thither.

We'll be your followers, Jack, lead the way.

Look you, by my faith, the fool has feather'd his nest well.

Come, shut up your shops. Where's Master Openwork?

Nay, ask not me, Master Tiltyard.

Where's his water-dog? Puh-pist-her-her-pist!

Come, wenches, come, we're going all to Hogsden.

To Hogsden, husband?

Ay, to Hogsden, pigsney.

I'm not ready, husband.

Faith, that's well. Hum-pist-pist!

.

Come, Mistress Openwork, you are so long.

I have no joy of my life, Master Gallipot.

Push, let your boy lead his water-spaniel along and we'll show you the bravest sport at Parlous Pond. Hey Trug, hey Trug, hey Trug! Here's the best duck in England, except my wife.

[II.ii. A street]

Here's brave willfulness,

A made match. Here she comes; they met a' purpose.

Must I carry this great fiddle to your chamber, Mistress Mary?

Fiddle, goodman hog-rubber? Some of these porters bear so much for others they have no time to carry wit for themselves.

To your own chamber, Mistress Mary?

Who'll hear an ass speak? Whither else, goodman pageant-bearer? They're people of the worst memories.

Why, 'twere too great a burthen, love, to have them carry things in their minds and a' their backs together.

Pardon me, sir, I thought not you so near.

So, so, so.

I would be nearer to thee, and in that fashion

That makes the best part of all creatures honest.

No otherwise I wish it.

Sir, I am so poor to requite you, you must look for nothing but thanks of me. I have no humour to marry: I love to lie a' both sides a' th' bed myself; and again a' th' other side, a wife, you know, ought to be obedient, but I fear me I am too headstrong to obey, therefore I'll ne'er go about it. I love you so well, sir, for your good will I'd be loath you should repent your bargain after, and therefore we'll ne'er come together at first. I have the head now of myself and am man enough for a woman; marriage is but a chopping and changing, where a maiden loses one head and has a worse i' th' place.

The most comfortablest answer from a roaring girl

That ever mine ears drunk in.

This were enough

Now to affright a fool forever from thee,

When 'tis the music that I love thee for.

There's a boy spoils all again.

Believe it, sir, I am not of that disdainful temper, but I could love you faithfully.

A pox on you for that word! I like you not now:

Y'are a cunning roarer; I see that already.

But sleep upon this once more, sir, you may chance shift a mind tomorrow. Be not too hasty to wrong yourself; never while you live, sir, take a wife running: many have run out at heels that have done 't. You see, sir, I speak against myself, and if every woman would deal with their suitor so honestly, poor younger brothers would not be so often gull'd with old cozening widows that turn o'er all their wealth in trust to some kinsman and make the poor gentleman work hard for a pension. Fare you well, sir.

Nay, prithee, one word more.

How do I wrong this girl: she puts him off still!

Think upon this in cold blood, sir: you make as much haste as if you were a-going upon a sturgeon voyage. Take deliberation, sir; never choose a wife as if you were going to Virginia.

And so we parted, my too-cursed fate.

She is but cunning, gives him longer time in't.

Mistress Moll, Mistress Moll: so ho ho so ho!

There boy, there boy! What, dost thou go a-hawking after me with a red clout on thy finger?

I forgot to take measure on you for your new breeches.

Hoyda! Breeches! What, will he marry a monster with two trinkets? What age is this? If the wife go in breeches, the man must wear long coats like a fool.

What fiddling's here? Would not the old pattern have serv'd your turn?

You change the fashion; you say you'll have the great Dutch slop, Mistress Mary.

Why, sir, I say so still.

Your breeches then will take up a yard more.

Well, pray look it be put in then.

It shall stand round and full, I warrant you,

Pray make 'em easy enough.

I know my fault now: t'other was somewhat stiff between the legs; I'll make these open enough, I warrant you.

Here's good gear towards! I have brought up my son to marry a Dutch slop and a French doublet, a codpiece-daughter!

So, I have gone as far as I can go.

Why then, farewell.

If you go presently to your chamber, Mistress Mary, pray send me the measure of your thigh by some honest body.

Well, sir, I'll send it by a porter presently.

So you had need: it is a lusty one; both of them would make any porter's back ache in England.

[III.i. Gray's Inn Fields]

Coachman.

Here sir.

There's a tester more. Prithee drive thy coach to the hither end of Marybone Park, a fit place for Moll to get in.

Marybone Park, sir?

Ay, it's in our way, thou know'st.

It shall be done, sir.

Coachman.

Anon, sir.

Are we fitted with good [frampold] jades?

The best in Smithfield, I warrant you, sir.

May we safely take the upper hand of any [couch'd] velvet cap or tufftaffety jacket? For they keep a vild swaggering in coaches nowadays; the highways are stopp'd with them.

My life for yours and baffle 'em too, sir. Why, they are the same jades, believe it, sir, that have drawn all your famous whores to Ware.

Nay then, they know their business; they need no more instructions.

They're so us'd to such journeys, sir, I never use whip to 'em, for if they catch but the scent of a wench once, they run like devils.

Fine Cerberus: that rogue will have the start of a thousand ones, for whilst others trot afoot, he'll ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, 'tis now about the hour of her appointment, but yet I see her not.

Hark, what's this? One, two, three, three by the clock at Savoy: this is the hour, and Gray's Inn Fields the place. She swore she'd meet me. Ha, yonder's two Inns a' Court men with one wench, but that's not she; they walk toward Islington out of my way. I see none yet dress'd like her: I must look for a shag ruff, a frieze jerkin, a short sword, and safeguard, or I get none. Why, Moll, prithee make haste or the coachman will curse us anon.

Oh, here's my gentleman: if they would keep their days as well with their mercers as their hours with their harlots, no bankrout would give seven score pound for a sergeant's place, for would you know a catchpole rightly deriv'd, the corruption of a citizen is the generation of a sergeant! How his eye hawks for venery!--Come, are you ready, sir?

Ready for what, sir?

Do you ask that now, sir? Why was this meeting 'pointed?

I thought you mistook me, sir.

You seem to be some young barrister.

I have no suit in law; all my land's sold:

I praise heaven for't; 't has rid me of much trouble.

Then I must wake you, sir. Where stands the coach?

Who's this? Moll? Honest Moll?

So young and purblind? You're an old wanton in your eyes, I see that.

Th' art admirably suited for the Three Pigeons at Brainford; I'll swear I knew thee not.

I'll swear you did not, but you shall know me now.

No, not here, we shall be spied, i'faith; the coach is better, come.

Stay.

What, wilt thou untruss a point, Moll?

Yes, here's the point that I untruss: 't has but one tag; 'twill serve tho' to tie up a rogue's tongue.

How!

There's the gold with which you hir'd your hackney.

Here's her pace;

She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it!

Ten angels of mine own I've put to thine;

Win 'em and wear 'em!

Hold, Moll, Mistress Mary!

Draw or I'll serve an execution on thee

Shall lay thee up till doomsday!

Draw upon a woman? Why, what dost mean, Moll?

I do repent me! Hold!

You'll die the better Christian then.

I do confess I have wrong'd thee, Moll.

Confession is but poor amends for wrong,

Unless a rope would follow.

I ask thee pardon.

I'm your hir'd whore, sir.

I yield both purse and body!

Both are mine and now at my disposing.

Spare my life!

I scorn to strike thee basely.

Spoke like a noble girl, i'faith!

Heart, I think I fight with a familiar or the ghost of a fencer! Sh' has wounded me gallantly. Call you this a lecherous [voyage]? Here's blood would have serv'd me this seven year in broken heads and cut fingers, and it now runs all out together. Pox a' the Three Pigeons! I would the coach were here now to carry me to the chirurgeon's.

She told me Gray's Inn Fields 'twixt three and four.

I'll fit her mistress-ship with a piece of service!

I'm hir'd to rid the town of one mad girl.

What a pox ails you, sir?

He begins like a gentleman.

Heart, is the field so narrow, or your eyesight?

Life, he comes back again!

Was this spoke to me, sir?

I cannot tell, sir.

Go, y'are a coxcomb!

Coxcomb?

Y'are a slave!

I hope there's law for you, sir.

[Yea], do you see, sir?

Heart, this is no good dealing!

Pray let me know what house you're of.

One of the Temple, sir.

Mass, so methinks!

And yet sometime I lie

About Chick Lane.

I like you the worse

Because you shift your lodging so often.

I'll not meddle with you for that trick, sir.

A good shift, but it shall not serve your turn.

You'll give me leave to pass about my business, sir?

Your business?

I'll make you wait on me before I ha' done,

And glad to serve me too.

How, sir! Serve you?

Not if there were no more men in England!

But if there were no more women in England,

I hope you'd wait upon your mistress then.

Mistress!

Oh, you're a tried spirit at a push, sir!

What would your worship have me do?

You a fighter?

No, I praise heaven; I had better grace and more manners.

As how I pray, sir?

Life, 't had been a beastly part of me to have drawn my weapons upon my mistress! All the world would 'a' cried shame of me for that.

Why, but you knew me not.

Do not say so, mistress; I knew you by your wide straddle, as well as if I had been in your belly.

Well, we shall try you further; i' th' mean time we give you entertainment.

Thank your good mistress-ship.

How many suits have you?

No more suits than backs, mistress.

Well, if you deserve, I cast off this next week,

And you may creep into't.

Thank your good worship.

Come, follow me to St. Thomas Apostle's;

I'll put a livery cloak upon your back

The first thing I do.

I follow, my dear mistress.

[III.ii. Gallipot's house]

What, Pru! Nay, sweet Prudence!

What a pruing keep you; I think the baby would have a teat, it kyes so. Pray be not so fond of me: leave your city humours; I'm vex'd at you to see how like a calf you come bleating after me.

Nay, honey Pru. How does your rising up before all the table show? And flinging from my friends so uncivilly? Fie, Pru, fie, come!

Then up and ride, i'faith.

Up and ride? Nay, my pretty Pru, that's far from my thought, duck. Why, mouse, thy mind is nibbling at something. What is't? What lies upon thy stomach?

Such an ass as you. Hoyda, y'are best turn midwife or physician! Y'are a pothecary already, but I'm none of your drugs.

Thou art a sweet drug, sweet'st Pru, and the more thou art pounded, the more precious.

Must you be prying into a woman's secrets, say ye?

Woman's secrets?

What, I cannot have a qualm come upon me but your teeth waters till your nose hang over it.

It is my love, dear wife.

Your love? Your love is all words; give me deeds: I cannot abide a man that's too fond over me, so cookish; thou dost not know how to handle a woman in her kind.

No, Pru? Why, I hope I have handled--

Handle a fool's head of your own, fie, fie!

Ha, ha, 'tis such a wasp! It does me good now to have her [sting] me, little rogue.

Now fie, how you vex me! I cannot abide these [apron] husbands, such cotqueans: you overdo your things; they become you scurvily.

Upon my life, she breeds! Heaven knows how I have strain'd myself to please her, night and day. I wonder why we citizens should get children so fretful and untoward in the breeding, their fathers being for the most part as gentle as milch-kine.--Shall I leave thee, my Pru?

Fie, fie, fie.

Thou shalt not be vex'd no more, pretty kind rogue: take no cold, sweet Pru.

As your wit has done.

Now, Master Laxton, show your head. What news from you? Would any husband suspect that a woman crying, "Buy any scurvygrass" should bring love letters amongst her herbs to his wife? Pretty trick, fine conveyance! Had jealousy a thousand eyes, a silly woman with scurvygrass blinds them all.

To th' point:

‘"Oh, sweet creature,"--a sweet beginning--"pardon my long absence, for thou shalt shortly be possessed with my presence. Though Demophon was false to Phyllis, I will be to thee as Pan-da-rus was to Cres-sida; tho' Aeneas made an ass of Dido, I will die to thee ere I do so. Oh, sweet'st creature, make much of me, for no man beneath the silver moon shall make more of a woman than I do of thee. Furnish me therefore with thirty pounds; you must do it of necessity for me: I languish till I see some comfort come from thee, protesting not to die in thy debt, but rather to live so, as hitherto I have and will. Thy true Laxton ever."’

Nay, nay, wife, the women are all up!

Ha! How, reading a' letters? I smell a goose, a couple of capons, and a gammon of bacon from her mother out of the country, I hold my life.--Steal, steal!

Oh, beshrew your heart!

What letter's that?

I'll see't.

Oh, would thou hadst no eyes to see

The downfall of me and thyself: I'm forever,

Forever I'm undone!

What ails my Pru?

What paper's that thou tear'st?

Did I not tell you these turtles were together?

How dost thou, sirrah? Why, sister Gallipot!

Lord, how she's chang'd!

Is your wife ill, sir?

Yes, indeed la, sir, very ill, very ill, never worse!

How her head burns! Feel how her pulses work.

Sister, lie down a little; that always does me good.

In good sadness, I find best ease in that too.

Has she laid some hot thing to her stomach?

No, but I will lay something anon.

Come, come, fools, you trouble her. Shall's go, Master Goshawk?

Yes, sweet Master Tiltyard.

Sirrah Rosamond, I hold my life Gallipot hath vex'd his wife.

She has a horrible high colour indeed.

We shall have your face painted with the same red soon at night when your husband comes from his rubbers in a false alley; thou wilt not believe me that his bowls run with a wrong bias.

It cannot sink into me that he feeds upon stale mutton abroad, having better and fresher at home.

What if I bring thee where thou shalt see him stand at rack and manger?

I'll saddle him in's kind and spur him till he kick again.

Shall thou and I ride our journey then?

Here's my hand.

No more.--Come, Master Tiltyard, shall we leap into the stirrups with our women and amble home?

Yes, yes; come, wife.

In troth, sister, I hope you will do well for all this.

I hope I shall. Farewell, good sister, sweet Master Goshawk.

Welcome, brother, most kindly welcome, sir.

Thanks, sir, for our good cheer.

It shall be so, because a crafty knave

Shall not outreach me nor walk by my door

With my wife arm in arm, as 'twere his whore,

I'll give him a golden coxcomb, thirty pound.

Tush, Pru, what's thirty pound? Sweet duck, look cheerly.

Thou art worthy of my heart: thou buy'st it dearly.

'Ud's light, the tide's against me! A pox of your pothecaryship! Oh, for some glister to set him going! 'Tis one of Hercules' labours to tread one of these city hens because their cocks are still crowing over them; there's no turning tail here, I must on.

Oh, husband, see, he comes!

Let me deal with him.

Bless you, sir.

Be you bless'd too, sir, if you come in peace.

Have you any good pudding tobacco, sir?

Oh, pick no quarrels, gentle sir! My husband

Is not a man of weapon as you are;

He knows all: I have op'ned all before him

Concerning you.

Zounds, has she shown my letters!

[III.iii. Holborn Street]

We are as other men are, sir. I cannot see but he who makes a show of honesty and religion, if his claws can fasten to his liking, he draws blood. All that live in the world are but great fish and little fish, and feed upon one another: some eat up whole men; a sergeant cares but for the shoulder of a man. They call us knaves and curs, but many times he that sets us on worries more lambs one year than we do in seven.

Spoke like a noble Cerberus. Is the action ent'red?

His name is ent'red in the book of unbelievers.

What book's that?

The book where all prisoners' names stand, and not one amongst forty when he comes in believes to come out in haste.

Be as dogged to him as your office allows you to be.

Oh, sir!

You know the unthrift Jack Dapper?

Ay, ay, sir. That gull? As well as I know my yeoman.

And you know his father too, Sir Davy Dapper?

As damn'd a usurer as ever was among Jews; if he were sure his father's skin would yield him any money, he would when he dies [flay] it off, and sell it to cover drums for children at Bartholomew Fair.

What toads are these to spit poison on a man to his face!--Do you see, my honest rascals? Yonder greyhound is the dog he hunts with: out of that tavern Jack Dapper will sally. Sa, sa; give the counter, on, set upon him.

We'll charge him upo' th' back, sir.

Take no bail, put mace enough into his caudle, double your files, traverse your ground.

Brave, sir.

Cry arm, arm, arm.

Thus, sir.

There boy, there boy, away: look to your prey, my true English wolves, and so I vanish.

Some warden of the sergeants begat this old fellow, upon my life! Stand close.

Shall the ambuscado lie in one place?

No, [nook] thou yonder.

Ralph.

What says my brave captain male and female?

This Holborn is such a wrangling street.

That's because lawyers walks to and fro in't.

Here's such justling, as if everyone we met were drunk and reel'd.

Stand, mistress: do you not smell carrion?

Carrion? No, yet I spy ravens.

Some poor wind-shaken gallant will anon fall into sore labour, and these men-midwives must bring him to bed i' the counter: there all those that are great with child with debts lie in.

Stand up.

Like your new maypole.

Whist, whew.

Hump, no.

Peeping? It shall go hard, huntsmen, but I'll spoil your game. They look for all the world like two infected maltmen coming muffled up in their cloaks in a frosty morning to London.

A course, captain; a bear comes to the stake.

It should be so, for the dogs struggle to be let loose.

Whew.

Hemp.

Hark, Trapdoor, follow your leader.

Gull.

Master.

Didst ever see such an ass as I am, boy?

No, by my troth, sir. To lose all your money, yet have false dice of your own! Why, 'tis as I saw a great fellow used t'other day: he had a fair sword and buckler, and yet a butcher dry-beat him with a cudgel.

Honest sergeant--

Fly, fly, Master Dapper: you'll be arrested else!

Run, Gull, and draw!

Run, master, Gull follows you!

I know you well enough: you're but a whore to hang upon any man.

Whores then are like sergeants, so now hang you! [

] Draw, rogue, but strike not: for a broken pate they'll keep their beds and recover twenty marks damages.

You shall pay for this rescue!

Run down Shoe Lane and meet him.

Shoo! Is this a rescue, gentlemen, or no?

[IV.i. Sir Alexander's chamber]

[IV.ii. Openwork's house]

A goshawk, a puttock: all for prey; he angles for fish, but he loves flesh better.

Is't possible his smooth face should have wrinkles in't and we not see them?

Possible! Why, have not many handsome legs in silk stockings villainous splay feet for all their great roses?

Troth, sirrah, thou sayst true.

Didst never see an archer as thou 'ast walk'd by Bunhill look a-squint when he drew his bow?

Yes, when his arrows have fline toward Islington, his eyes have shot clean contrary towards Pimlico.

For all the world so does Master Goshawk double with me.

Oh, fie upon him! If he double once, he's not for me.

Because Goshawk goes in a shag-ruff band, with a face sticking up in't which shows like an agate set in a cramp-ring, he thinks I'm in love with him.

'Las, I think he takes his mark amiss in thee.

He has by often beating into me made me believe that my husband kept a whore.

Very good.

Swore to me that my husband this very morning went in a boat with a tilt over it to the Three Pigeons at Brainford, and his punk with him under his tilt.

That were wholesome.

I believ'd it, fell a-swearing at him, cursing of harlots, made me ready to hoise up sail, and be there as soon as he.

So, so.

And for that voyage Goshawk comes hither incontinently. But, sirrah, this water-spaniel dives after no duck but me; his hope is having me at Brainford to make me cry quack.

Art sure of it?

Sure of it! My poor innocent Openwork came in as I was poking my ruff; presently hit I him i' the teeth with the Three Pigeons: he forswore all, I up and opened all, and now stands he in a shop hard by like a musket on a rest, to hit Goshawk i' the eye when he comes to fetch me to the boat.

Such another lame gelding offered to carry me through thick and thin--Laxton, sirrah--but I am rid of him now.

Happy is the woman can be rid of 'em all. 'Las, what are your whisking gallants to our husbands, weigh 'em rightly man for man?

Troth, mere shallow things.

Idle simple things, running heads, and yet let 'em run over us never so fast, we shopkeepers, when all's done, are sure to have 'em in our purse-nets at length, and when they are in, Lord, what simple animals they are!

[...]

Then they hang the head.

Then they droop.

Then they write letters.

Then they cog.

Then they deal underhand with us, and we must ingle with our husbands a-bed, and we must swear they are our cousins, and able to do us a pleasure at court.

And yet when we have done our best, all's but put into a riven dish: we are but frump'd at and libell'd upon.

Oh, if it were the good Lord's will, there were a law made no citizen should trust any of 'em at all!

Hush, sirrah, Goshawk flutters.

How now, are you ready?

Nay, are you ready? A little thing, you see, makes us ready.

Us? Why, must she make one i' the voyage?

Oh, by any means. Do I know how my husband will handle me?

Foot, how shall I find water to keep these two mills going?--Well, since you'll needs be clapp'd under hatches, if I sail not with you both till all split, hang me up at the mainyard and duck me.

It's but liquoring them both soundly, and then you shall see their cork heels fly up high, like two swans when their tails are above water and their long necks under water, diving to catch gudgeons.--Come, come, oars stand ready, the tide's with us: on with those false faces. Blow winds and thou shalt take thy husband casting out his net to catch fresh salmon at Brainford.

I believe you'll eat of a cod's head of your own dressing before you reach half way thither.

So, so, follow close; pin as you go.

Do you hear?

Yes, I thank my ears.

I must have a bout with your pothecaryship.

At what weapon?

I must speak with you.

No.

No? You shall.

Shall? Away, sous'd sturgeon, half fish, half flesh!

Faith, gib, are you spitting? I'll cut your tail, pusscat, for this.

'Las, poor Laxton, I think thy tail's cut already. Your worst!

If I do not--

Come, ha' you done?

'Sfoot, Rosamond, your husband!

How now? Sweet Master Goshawk, none more welcome;

I have wanted your embracements: when friends meet,

The music of the spheres sounds not more sweet

Than does their conference. Who is this? Rosamond?

Wife? How now, sister?

Silence if you love me.

Why mask'd?

Does a mask grieve you, sir?

It does.

Then y'are best get you a-mumming.

'Sfoot, you'll spoil all!

May not we cover our bare faces with masks

As well as you cover your bald heads with hats?

[V.i. A street]

Come, come, Dapper, let's give 'em something. 'Las, poor men, what money have you? By my troth, I love a soldier with my soul.

Stay, stay, where have you serv'd?

Not in the Low Countries, if it please your manhood, but in Hungary against the Turk at the siege of Belgrade.

Oh, sir, from Venice to Roma, Vecchio, Bononia, Romania, Bolonia, Modena, Piacenza, and Tuscana with all her cities, as Pistoia, Valteria, Mountepulchena, Arezzo with the Siennois, and diverse others.

Mere rogues: put spurs to 'em once more.

Thou look'st like a strange creature, a fat butter-box, yet speak'st English. What are thou?

Here, here, let's be rid of their jobbering.

Not a cross, Sir Beauteous. You base rogues, I have taken measure of you better than a tailor can, and I'll fit you as you, monster with one eye, have fitted me.

Your worship will not abuse a soldier?

Soldier? Thou deserv'st to be hang'd up by that tongue which dishonours so noble a profession. Soldier, you skeldering varlet? Hold, stand, there should be a trapdoor hereabouts.

.

The balls of these glaziers of mine, mine eyes, shall be shot up and down in any hot piece of service for my invincible mistress.

I did not think there had been such knavery in black patches, as now I see.

Oh, sir, he hath been brought up in the Isle of Dogs, and can both fawn like a spaniel and bite like a mastiff as he finds occasion.

What are you, sirrah? A bird of this feather too?

A man beat'n from the wars, sir.

I think so, for you never stood to fight.

What's thy name, fellow soldier?

I am call'd by those that have seen my valour, Tearcat.

Tearcat?

A mere whip-jack, and that is, in the commonwealth of rogues, a slave that can talk of sea-fight, name all your chief pirates, discover more countries to you than either the Dutch, Spanish, French, or English ever found out, yet indeed all his service is by land, and that is to rob a fair or some such venturous exploit. Tearcat! Foot, sirrah, I have your name now! I remember me in my book of horners horns for the thumb, you know how.

No indeed, Captain Moll, for I know you by sight: I am no such nipping Christian, but a maunderer upon on the pad, I confess, and meeting with honest Trapdoor here, whom you had cashier'd from bearing arms, out at elbows under your colours, I instructed him in the rudiments of roguery, and by my map made him sail over any country you can name, so that now he can maunder better then myself.

So then, Trapdoor, thou art turn'd soldier now.

Alas, sir, now there's no wars, 'tis the safest course of life I could take.

I hope then you can cant, for by your cudgels, you, sirrah, are an upright man.

As any walks the highway, I assure you.

And Tearcat, what are you? A wild rogue, an angler, or a ruffler?

Brother to this upright man, flesh and blood, ruffling Tearcat is my name, and a ruffler is my style, my title, my profession.

Sirrah, where's your doxy? Halt not with me.

Doxy, Moll? What's that?

His wench.

My doxy? I have, by the salomon, a doxy that carries a kinchin mort in her slate at her back, besides my dell and my dainty wild dell, with all whom I'll tumble this next darkmans in the strommel, and drink ben [booze], and eat a fat gruntling cheat, a cackling cheat, and a quacking cheat.

Here's old cheating.

My doxy stays for me in a boozing ken, brave captain.

He says his wench stays for him in an alehouse. You are no pure rogues.

Pure rogues? No, we scorn to be pure rogues, but if you come to our lib ken, or our stalling ken, you shall find neither him nor me a queer cuffin.

So, sir, no churl of you.

No, but a ben cove, a brave cove, a gentry cuffin.

Call you this canting?

Zounds, I'll give a schoolmaster half a crown a week, and teach me this pedlar's French.

Do but stroll, sir, half a harvest with us, sir, and you shall gabble your bellyful.

Come, you rogue, cant with me.

Well said, Moll. Cant with her, sirrah, and you shall have money, else not a penny.

I'll have a bout if she please.

Come on, sirrah.

Ben mort, shall you and I heave a booth, mill a ken, or nip a bung? And then we'll couch a hogshead under the ruffmans, and there you shall wap with me, and I'll niggle with you.

Out, you damn'd, impudent rascal!

Cut benar whids, and hold your fambles and your stamps.

Nay, nay, Moll, why art thou angry? What was his gibberish?

Marry, this, my lord, says he: ben mort, good wench, shall you and I heave a booth, mill a ken, or nip a bung? Shall you and I rob a house or cut a purse?

Very good.

And then we'll couch a hogshead under the ruffmans: and then we'll lie under a hedge.

That was my desire, captain, as 'tis fit a soldier should lie.

And there you shall wap with me and I'll niggle with you, and that's all!

Nay, nay, Moll, what's that wap?

Nay, teach me what niggling is; I'd fain be niggling.

Wapping and niggling is all one, the rogue my man can tell you.

'Tis fadoodling, if it please you.

This is excellent. One fit more, good Moll.

Come, you rogue, sing with me.

In a boozing ken of Romville

TEARCAT. Is benar than a caster,

Peck, pannam, [lap] or popler,

Which we mill in deuse a [vill].

[MOLL, TEARCAT]. Oh, I would lib all the lightmans,

Oh, I would lib all the darkmans,

By the salomon, under the ruffmans,

By the salomon, in the hartmans!

TEARCAT. And scour the queer cramp-ring,

And couch till a palliard docked my dell,

So my boozy nab might skew rom-booze well.

[MOLL, TEARCAT]. Avast to the pad, let us bing,

Avast to the pad, let us bing.

Fine knaves, i'faith!

The grating of ten new cartwheels and the gruntling of five hundred hogs coming from Romford market cannot make a worse noise than this canting language does in my ears. Pray, my Lord Noland, let's give these soldiers their pay.

Agreed, and let them march.

Here, Moll.

Now I see that you are stall'd to the rogue and are not ashamed of your professions.

Look you, my Lord Noland here and these gentlemen bestows upon you two two boards and a half, that's two shillings sixpence.

Thanks to your lordship.

Thanks, heroical captain.

Away.

We shall cut ben whids of your masters and mistress-ship wheresoever we come.

You'll maintain, sirrah, the old justice's plot to his face?

Else trine me on the cheats, hang me.

Be sure you meet me there.

Without any more maundering I'll do't. Follow, brave Tearcat.

, let us go mouse.

Moll, what was in that canting song?

Troth, my lord, only a praise of good drink, the only milk which these wild beasts love to suck, and thus it was:

And a parcel of such stuff, my lord, not worth the opening.

What gallant comes yonder?

Mass, I think I know him: 'tis one of Cumberland.

Shall we venture to shuffle in amongst yon heap of gallants and strike?

'Tis a question whether there be any silver shells amongst them for all their satin outsides.

Let's try.

Pox on him! A gallant? Shadow me, I know him: 'tis one that cumbers the land indeed; if he swim near to the shore of any of your pockets, look to your purses.

Is't possible?

This brave fellow is no better than a foist.

Foist? What's that?

A diver with two fingers, a pickpocket: all his train study the figging law, that's to say, cutting of purses and foisting. One of them is a nip; I took him once i' the twopenny gallery at the Fortune. Then there's a cloyer, or snap, that dogs any new brother in that trade, and snaps will have half in any booty. He with the wand is both a stale, whose office is to face a man i' the streets whilst shells are drawn by another, and then with his black conjuring rod in his hand, he, by the nimbleness of his eye and juggling-stick, will in cheaping a piece of plate at a goldsmith's stall, make four or five rings mount from the top of his caduceus, and, as if it were at leap-frog, they skip into his hand presently.

Zounds, we are smok'd!

Ha?

We are boil'd. Pox on her! See, Moll, the roaring drab.

All the diseases of sixteen hospitals boil her! Away!

Bless you, sir.

And you, good sir.

Dost not ken me, man?

No, [trust] me, sir.

Heart, there's a knight to whom I'm bound for many favours lost his purse at the last new play i' the Swan, seven angels in't. Make it good; you're best. Do you see? No more.

A synagogue shall be call'd, Mistress Mary; disgrace me not. Pacus palabros, I will conjure for you. Farewell.

Did not I tell you, my lord?

I wonder how thou cam'st to the knowledge of these nasty villains.

And why do the foul mouths of the world call thee Moll Cutpurse? A name, methinks, damn'd and odious.

[V.ii. Sir Alexander's house]