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 In every side! each thread is grown a noose, A very mesh: I have run myself into ford 1 double brake, of paying twice the money. Bias. You shall be released of paying me a penny, Vith these conditions. Pol. Will you leave her then? Bias. Yes, and the sum twice told, ere take a wife, o pick out monsieur Needle's basting-threads. Com. Gossip, you are paid: though he be a fit nature, Vorthy to have a whore justly put on him; Com. No penny the law gives. will not rob you of him, nor the purchase, for 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. here rests yet a gratuity from me, To be conferr'd upon this gentleman; Vho, as my nephew Compass says, was cause irst 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 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 A TALE OF A TUB. DRAMATIS PERSONE. CHANON (Canon) HUGH, Vicar of Pancras, and CAP- SQUIRE TUB, or TRIPOLY, of Totten-Court. JUSTICE PREAMBLE, alias BRAMBLE, of Maribone. POL MARTIN, Huisher to Lady TUB. TOBIE TURFE, High Constable of Kentish Town. RASI' CLENCH, of Hamstead, Farrier and Petty Constable. To-PAN, Tinker, or Metal-Man of Belsise, Third borough. DIOGENES SCRIBEN, of Chalcot, the great Writer. LADY TUB, of Totten, the Squire's Mother. SIBIL TURFE, Wife to the High Constable. Enter TUB in his night-gown. [here, master Tub. What news of him? Who hath my heart, as I have his : Your mistress Or metal-man of Belsise, the thirdborough ; Tub. And why all these? Hugh. Sir, to conclude in council, A husband or a make for mistress Awdrey; Take a good angel with you for your guide; [Gives him a piece of money. Whom they have named and pricked down, Clay And let this guard you homeward, as the blessing of Kilborn, A tough young fellow, and a tilemaker. Tub. And what must he do? And keep her warm, sir: mistress Awdrey Turfe, Which chance, it hath so taken her father and To our device. [Exit. Hugh. I thank you, 'squire's worship, To chime in a man's pocket, and cry chink! [Exit. SCENE II.-Kentish Town. A Room in TURFE'S House. 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: Did you ever know 'un, goodman Clench? He was a deadly zin, and dwelt at Highgate, 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, 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, I am old Rivet still, and bear a brain, The Clench, the varrier, and true leach of Ham For aught I know. Scri. You should do well to study Records, fellow Ball, both law and poetry. A Middlesex clown, and one of Finsbury. You told me, D'ogenes, were the first colons You ha' zertified me. I had rather be Pup. Why, all's but writing and reading, is it, An ancient colon, (as they say,) a clowa d Turfe. I think in conzience, 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, 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 ine. All the twelve smocks in the house, zure, are your authors. Get some fresh hay then, to lay under foot; Should be so tedious? he's to play son Valentine: And the clown sluggard is not come fro' Kilborn yet! Med. Do you call your son in law clown, an't please your worship? Turfe. Yes and vor worship too, my neighbour Medlay, Middlesex, A good rich farmer, or high constable. I'd play hun 'gain a knight, or a good 'squire, Pan. Outcept Kent, for there they landed came Over the Thames, at a low water-mark; Re-enter PUPPY with JOHN CLAY. Turfe. Zee, who is here: John Clay! Your Valentine-bride yet, sin' you came. John Zon Valentine, and bridegroom! have you zeen Clay? Clay. No, wusse. Che lighted I but nɔw in the yard, Puppy has scarce unswaddled my legs yet. Turfe. What, wisps on your wedding-day w this is right Originous Clay, and Clay o' Kilborn too! Turfe. And his new chamois doublet too with points! I like that yet: and his long sausage-hose, Of Totten-Court here; all the hundred rings on't. a Tub. Lend it no ear, I pray you: the 'squire Tub Is a fine man, but he is too fine a man, 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 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. Scri. 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. Turfe. Use our authority then to the utmost on't. [Exeunt. SCENE III.—Maribone.—A Room in Justice PREAMBLE's House. Enter Canon HUGH and Justice PREAMBLE. Hugh. So you are sure, sir, to prevent them all, And throw a block in the bridegroom's way, John Clay, That he will hardly leap o'er. Pre. I conceive you, Sir Hugh; as if your rhetoric would say, A very superficies of the earth; He aims no higher than to match in clay, You have the winding wit, compassing all. Pre. Subtle sir Hugh, you now are in the wrong, And err with the whole neighbourhood, I must tell you, For you mistake my name. Justice Preamble I write myself; which, with the ignorant clowns here. Because of my profession of the law, and place of the peace, is taken to be Bramble : But all my warrants, sir, do run Preamble, Richard Preamble. Hugh. Sir, I thank you for it, 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. Met. The taberd of his office I will call it, Pre. I know |