Iron. You'll pay it now, sir Moth, with interest: You see the truth breaks out on every side of you. Sir Moth. Into what nets of cozenage am I cast On every side! each thread is grown a noose, A very mesh I have run myself into

:

A double brake, of paying twice the money.

Bias. You shall be released of paying me a penny, With these conditions.

Pol. Will you leave her then?

Bias. Yes, and the sun twice told, ere take a wife,

To pick out monsieur Needle's basting-threads. Com. Gossip, you are paid: though he be a fit nature,

Worthy to have a whore justly put on him;
He is not bad enough to take your daughter,
On such a cheat. Will you yet pay the portion?
Sir Moth. What will you bate?
Com. No penny the law gives.
Sir Moth. Yes, Bias's money.
Com. What, your friend in court!

I will not rob you of him, nor the purchase,
Nor your dear doctor here; stand all together,
Birds of a nature all, and of a feather.

Lady L. Well, we are all now reconciled to truth. There rests yet a gratuity from me,

To be conferr'd upon this gentleman;
Who, as my nephew Compass says, was cause
First of the offence, but since of all the amends.

The quarrel caused the affright, that fright brought

on

The travail, which made peace; the peace drew on
This new discovery, which endeth all
In RECONCILEMENT.

Com. When the portion

Is tender'd, and received.

Sir Moth. Well, you must have it; As good at first as last.

Lady L. "Tis well said, brother. And I, if this good captain will accept me, Give him myself, endow him with my estate, And make him lord of me, and all my fortunes: He that hath saved my honour, though by chance, I'll really study his, and how to thank him.

Iron. And I embrace you, lady, and your good

CHANON (Canon) HUGH, Vicar of Paneras, and CAP-
TAIN THUMS.

SQUIRE TUB, or TRIPOLY, of Totten-Court.
BASKET HILTS, his Man and Governor.

JUSTICE PREAMBLE, alias BRAMBLE, of Maribone.
MILES METAPHOR, his Clerk.

POL MARTIN, Huisher to Lady TUB.

TOBIE TURFE, High Constable of Kentish Town.
JOHN CLAY, of Kilborn, Tilemaker, the Bridegroom.
IN-AND-IN MEDLAY, of Islington, Cooper and Head-
borough.

RASI' CLENCH, of Hamstead, Farrier and Petty Constable.

To-PAN, Tinker, or Metal-Man of Belsise, Thirdborough.

DIOGENES SCRIBEN, of Chalcot, the great Writer.
HANNIBAL (Ball) PUPPY, the High Constable's Man.
FATHER ROSIN, the Minstrel, and his two Boys
BLACK JACK, Lady TUB's Butler.

LADY TUB, of Totten, the Squire's Mother.
DIDO WISPE, her Woman.

SIBIL TURFE, Wife to the High Constable.
AWDREY TURFE, her Daughter, the Bride.
JOAN, JOYCE, MADGE, PARNEL, GRISEL, and KATE,
Maids of the Bridal
Servants.

Pancras

Be hither come to Totten, on intelligence,

To the young lord of the manor, 'squire Tripoly, On such an errand as a mistress is.

What, 'squire! I say.-[Calls.] Tub I should call

him too:

Sir Peter Tub was his father, a saltpetre-man;
Who left his mother, lady Tub of Totten-
Court, here, to revel, and keep open house in ;
With the young 'squire her son, and's governor
Basket-

Hilts, both by sword and dagger: [Calls again.]
Domine

Armiger Tub, 'squire Tripoly! Expergiscere!

I dare not call aloud lest she should hear me,

Enter TUB in his night-gown.

Tub. What news of him?
Hugh. He has waked me

[here, master

An hour before I would, sir; and my duty
To the young worship of Totten-Court, 'squire

Tripoly!

Who hath my heart, as I have his : Your mistress
Is to be made away from you this morning,
St. Valentine's day: there are a knot of clowns,
The council of Finsbury, so they are styled,
Met at her father's; all the wise of the hundred;
Old Rasi' Clench of Hamstead, petty constable,
In-and-In Medlay, cooper of Islington,

And headborough; with loud To-Pan, the tinker,

Or metal-man of Belsise, the thirdborough ;
And D'ogenes Scriben, the great writer of Chalcot.
Tub. And why all these?

Hugh. Sir, to conclude in council,

A husband or a make for mistress Awdrey;

Whom they have named and pricked down, Clay of Kilborn,

A tough young fellow, and a tilemaker.
Tub. And what must he do?

Hugh. Cover her, they say;

And keep her warm, sir: mistress Awdrey Turfe,
Last night did draw him for her Valentine;
Which chance, it hath so taken her father and

mother,

(Because themselves drew so on Valentine's eve
Was thirty year,) as they will have her married
To-day by any means; they have sent a messenger
To Kilborn, post, for Clay; which when I knew,
I posted with the like to worshipful Tripoly,
The squire of Totten: and my advice to cross it.
Tub. What is't, sir Hugh?

Hugh. Where is your governor Hilts?

Basket must do it.

Tub. Basket shall be call'd.

Hilts can you see to rise?

sir,

Hugh. I thank you, 'squire's worship,
Most humbly-for the next: for this I am sure of.
O for a quire of these voices, now,

To chime in a man's pocket, and cry chink!
One doth not chirp, it makes no harmony.
Grave justice Bramble next must contribute;
His charity must offer at this wedding:
I'll bid more to the bason and the bride-ale,
Although but one can bear away the bride.
I smile to think how like a lottery

These weddings are. Clay hath her in possession,
The 'squire he hopes to circumvent the Tile-kin;
And now, if justice Bramble do come off,
'Tis two to one but Tub may lose his bottom.

[Exit.

Hilts. [appears at the window.] Cham not blind,

Enter CLENCH, MEDLAY, D'OGE SCRIBEN, BALL, PUPPY, and PAN.

Clench. Why, it is thirty year, e'en as this day

now,

Zin Valentine's day, of all days kursin'd, look

you;

And the zame day o' the month as this Zin Valentine,

Or I am vowly deceived_

Med. That our high constable,

Master Tobias Turfe, and his dame were married: I think you are right. But what was that Zin Valentine?

Did you ever know 'un, goodman Clench?

Clench. Zin Valentine!

He was a deadly zin, and dwelt at Highgate,
As I have heard; but 'twas avore my time:
He was a cooper too, as you are, Medlay,
An In-and-In: a woundy brag young vellow,
As the 'port went o' hun then, and in those days.
Scri. Did he not write his name Sim Valentine
Vor I have met no Sin in Finsbury books;
And yet I have writ them six or seven times

over.

Pan. O you mun look for the nine deadly Sins, In the church-books, D'oge: not [in] the high constable's;

Nor in the county's: zure, that same zin Valentine,
He was a stately zin, an' he were a zin,
And kept brave house.

Clench. At the Cock-and-Hen in Highgate. You have fresh'd my memory well in't, neighbour Pan:

He had a place in last king Harry's time,
Of sorting all the young couples; joining them,
And putting them together; which is yet
Praform'd, as on his day--zin Valentine⚫

As being the zin of the shire, or the whole county:
I am old Rivet still, and bear a brain,

The Clench, the varrier, and true leach of Ham

He do zay true: who is't do thwart 'un, ha? Med. Why, my friend Scriben, an it please your worship.

Turfe. Who, D'oge, my D'ogenes? a great writer, marry!

He'll vace me down [sirs,] me myself sometimes,
That verse goes upon veet, as you and I do :
But I can gi' un the hearing; zit me down,
And laugh at 'un; and to myself conclude,
The greatest clerks are not the wisest men
Ever. Here they are both! what, sirs, disputing,
And holding arguments of verse and prose,
And no green thing afore the door, that shews,
Or speaks a wedding!

Scri. Those were verses now,

Your worship spake, and run upon vive veet. Turfe. Feet, vrom my mouth, D'oge! leave your 'zurd upinions,

And get me in some boughs.

Scri. Let them have leaves first. There's nothing green but bays and rosemary. Pup. And they are too good for strewings, your maids say.

Turfe. You take up 'dority still to vouch against

You told me, D'ogenes, were the first colons
Of the country, that the Romans brought in here?
Scri. The coloni, sir; colonus is an inhabitant,

A clown original: as you'd say, a farmer,

A tiller of the earth, e'er since the Romans Planted their colony first; which was in Middlesex Turfe. Why so! I thank you heartily, good Diogenes,

You ha' zertified me. I had rather be

An ancient colon, (as they say,) a clown of Middlesex,

A good rich farmer, or high constable.

I'd play hun 'gain a knight, or a good 'squire,
Or gentleman of any other county
In the kingdom.

Pan. Outcept Kent, for there they landed
All gentlemen, and came in with the conqueror,
Mad Julius Cæsar, who built Dover-castle :
My ancestor To-Pan, beat the first kettle-drum
Avore 'hun, here vrom Dover on the march.
Which piece of monumental copper hangs
Up, scour'd, at Hammersmith yet; for there they

came

Over the Thames, at a low water-mark;
Vore either London, ay, or Kingston-bridge,
I doubt, were kursin'd.

Re-enter PUPPY with JOHN CLAY.

Turfe. Zee, who is here: John Clay! Zon Valentine, and bridegroom! have you zeen Your Valentine-bride yet, sin' you came, John Clay?

Clay. No, wusse. Che lighted I but now in the yard,

Puppy has scarce unswaddled my legs yet. Turfe. What, wisps on your wedding-day, zon! this is right

Originous Clay, and Clay o' Kilborn too!

I would ha' had boots on this day, zure, zon John. Clay. I did it to save charges: we mun dance, On this day, zure; and who can dance in boots ? No, I got on my best straw-colour'd stockings, And swaddled them over to zave charges, I.

Turfe. And his new chamois doublet too with points!

I like that yet and his long sausage-hose,
Like the commander of four smoaking tile-kilns,
Which he is captain of, captain of Kilborn;
Clay with his hat turn'd up o' the leer side too,
As if he would leap my daughter yet ere night,
And spring a new Turfe to the old house!_
Enter JOICE, JOAN, and the other Maids, with ribands,
rosemary, and bay for the bride-men.
Look! an the wenches ha' not found 'un out,
And do parzent 'un with a van of rosemary,
And bays, to vill a bow-pot, trim the head
Of my best vore-horse! we shall all ha' bride-laces,
Or points, I zee; my daughter will be valiant,
And prove a very Mary Ambry in the business.
Clench. They zaid your worship had 'sured her
to 'squire Tub

Of Totten-Court here; all the hundred rings on't. Turfe. A TALE OF A TUB, sir, a mere Tale of a Tub.

Lend it no ear, I pray you: the 'squire Tub

Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man,
And has a lady Tub too to his mother;

I'll deal with none of these fine silken Tubs :
John Clay and cloth-breech for my money and
daughter.

Here comes another old boy too vor his colours,

Enter ROSIN, and his two Boys.

Will stroak down my wives udder of purses, empty
Of all her milk-money this winter quarter:
Old father Rosin, the chief minstrel here,
Chief minstrel too of Highgate, she has hired him
And all his two boys for a day and a half;

And now they come for ribanding and rosemary :
Give them enough, girls, give them enough, and

take it

Out in his tunes anon.

Clench. I'll have Tom Tiler,

For our John Clay's sake, and the tile-kilns, zure. Med. And I the Jolly Joiner for mine own sake. Pan. I'll have the Jovial Tinker for To-Pan's sake.

Turfe. We'll all be jovy this day vor son Valentine,

My sweet son John's sake.

Seri. There's another reading now:

My master reads it Son and not Sin Valentine. Pup. Nor Zim: and he's in the right; he is high-constable,

And who should read above 'un, or avore 'hun? Turfe. Son John shall bid us welcome all, this day;

We'll zerve under his colours: lead the troop, John,

And Puppy, see the bells ring. Press all noises Of Finsbury, in our name: Diogenes Scriben Shall draw a score of warrants vor the business. Does any wight perzent hir majesty's person, This hundred, 'bove the high constable ?

All. No, no.

Pre. Have you acquaintance with him, To borrow his coat an hour?

Hugh. Or but his badge,

"Twill serve; a little thing he wears on his breast.
Pre. His coat, I say, is of more authority:
Borrow his coat for an hour. I do love
To do all things completely, canon Hugh;
Borrow his coat, Miles Metaphor, or nothing.
Met. The taberd of his office I will call it,
Or the coat-armour of his place; and so
Insinuate with him by that trope.

Pre. I know