Shun. What, Lickfinger, mine old host of Ram-alley!* You have some market here. Alm. Some dosser of fish Or fowl, to fetch off. Fit. An odd bargain of venison P. sen. Will you go in, knave? You see who drives me, gentlemen. Alm. Not the Devil. [P. sen. thrusts him in. Fit. He may in time, he is his agent now. P. sen. You are all cogging Jacks, a covey of wits, The jeerers, that still call together at meals, Or rather an aiery; for you are birds of prey, And fly at all; nothing's too big or high for you; And are so truly fear'd, but not beloved One of another, as no one dares break Company from the rest, lest they should fall Upon him absent. Alm. O, the only oracle That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet!" Shun. How the rogue stinks! worse than a fishmonger's sleeves." 7 mine old host of Ram-alley.] This alley, which leads from Fleet-street into the Temple, was in Jonson's time principally inhabited by cooks, and victuallers. Thus, in the old drama of that name, "What, though Ram-alley stinks with cooks and ale," &c. 8 Alm. O! the only oracle That ever peep'd or spake out of a doublet!] The allusion is to the heathen priests, who were Eyyaσrpiμvbou, or had the art of keeping their voice within, as if the demon spoke in their belly. There is an allusion to this in the prophet Isaiah; "And when they shall say unto you, seek unto them who have familiar spirits, and unto wizards that peep, and that mutter." viii. 19. WHAL. Instead of peep, Lowth has speak inwardly. 9 worse than a fishmonger's sleeves.] This reproach is Fit. Or currier's hands. Shun. And such a parboil'd visage ! Fit. His face looks like a dyer's apron, just. Alm. A sodden head, and his whole brain a posset-curd. P. sen. Ay, now you jeer, jeer on; I have no money. Alm. I wonder what religion he is of. Fit. No certain species sure: a kind of mule, P. sen. I have no money, gentlemen.` He has no sense of any virtue, honour, P. sen. You say very right, My meritorious captain, as I take it, Merit will keep no house, nor pay no house-rent. Will gentry clear with the butcher, or the baker, P. sen. This rogue has money though; Shun. Hang you, rascal. ? you P. sen. Nor you, my learned doctor. I loved While you did hold your practice, and kill tripe wives, And kept you to your urinal; but since your thumbs Have greased the Ephemerides, casting figures, And turning over for your candle-rents, And your twelve houses in the zodiac, With your almutens, alma-cantaras, of no modern date. The reader remembers the spiteful reflection on Horace, whose father is supposed by some to have been a dealer in fish; Quoties ego vidi patrem tuum brachio se emungentem ? Troth you shall cant alone for Pennyboy. Shun. I told you what we should find him, a mere bawd. Fit. A rogue, a cheater. P. sen. What you please, gentlemen: I am of that humble nature and condition, Never to mind your worships, or take notice thus. I keep house here, Like a lame cobler, never out of doors, With my two dogs, my friends; and, as you say, Alm. Hang thee, dog! Shun. Thou cur! P. sen. You see how I do blush, and am ashamed Of these large attributes! yet you have no money. Alm. Well, wolf, hyena, you old pocky rascal, You will have the hernia fall down again Into your scrotum, and I shall be sent for: I will remember then, that, and your fistula In ano, I cured you of. P. sen. Thank your dog-leech craft! They were wholesome piles afore you meddled with them. Alm. What an ungrateful wretch is this! A courtesy no more than London bridge Fit. He never thinks, 10 He minds A courtesy no more than London bridge What arch was mended last.] Two hundred years have nearly elapsed since this was written, and the observation still holds. This pernicious structure has wasted more money in perpetual repairs than would have sufficed to build a dozen safe and commodious More than a log, of any grace at court P. sen. O yes! if grace would strike The brewer's tally, or my good lord's hand Would quit the scores: but, sir, they will not do it. Here is a piece, my good lord Piece doth all; Goes to the butcher's, fetches in a mutton; Then to the baker's, brings in bread, makes fires, Gets wine, and does more real courtesies Than all my lords I know: my sweet lord Piece! [Holds up a piece of gold. You are my lord, the rest are cogging Jacks, Under the rose. Shun. Rogue, I could beat you now. P. sen. True, captain, if you durst beat any other, Is to be seen, though mistress Band would speak, I'll stop mine ears with her, against the Syrens, Is he sneak'd hence? Shun. Here he comes with Broker, Pecunia's secretary. Re-enter MADRIGAL and BROKER. Alm. He may do some good bridges, and cost the lives, perhaps, of as many thousand people. This may seem little to those whom it concerns-but there is blood on the city; and a heavy account is before them. Had an alderman or a turtle been lost there, the nuisance would have been long since removed. With him perhaps.-Where have you been, Madrigal? Mad. Above, with my lady's women, reading verses. Fit. That was a favour.-Good morrow, master Secretary! Shun. Good morrow, master Usher! Alm. Sir, by both Your worshipful titles, and your name, mas Broker, Good morrow! Mad. I did ask him if he were Amphibion Broker. Shun. Why? Mad. A creature of two natures, Because he has two offices. Bro. You may jeer, You have the wits, young gentlemen: but your hope Of Helicon will never carry it here, With our fat family; we have the dullest, Most unbored ears for verse amongst our females ! Would wake them, and bring Wax to her true temper. Mad. I'faith, sir, and I'll try. Bro. It is but earth, Fit to make bricks and tiles of. Shun. Pox upon't, 'Tis but for pots, or pipkins at the best. Fit. Or in porcelain dishes, |