sign with your beak, or hang your head that way i'

the tune.

Urf. Enough, talk no more on't: your friendship (masters) is not now to begin. Drink your draught of indenture, your fup of covenant, and away; the fair fills apace, company begins to come in, and I ha' ne'er a pig ready yet.

Knoc. Well faid! fill the cups, and light the tobacco: let's give fire i' the works, and noble vapours. Edg. And fhall we ha' fmocks, Urs'la, and good whimfies, ha?

Urf. Come, you are i' your bawdy vein! the best the fair will afford, Zekiel, if bawd Whit keep his word. How do the pigs, Moon-calf?

Moo. Very paffionate, mistress, one on 'em has wept out an eye. Mafter Arthur o' Bradley is melancholy here, no body talks to him. Will you any tobacco, mafter Arthur?

Juft. No, boy, let my meditations alone.

Moo. He's ftudying for an oration, now.

Juft. If I can with this day's travel, and all my policy, but refcue this youth here out of the hands of the lewd man and the ftrange woman, I will fit down at night, and say with my friend Ovid, Jamque opus exegi, quod nec Jovis ira, nec ignis, &c.

Knoc. Here Zekiel, here's a health to Urs'la, and a kind vapour; thou haft money i' thy purfe ftill, and ftore! how doft thou come by it? pray thee vapour thy friends fome in a courteous vapour.

Edg. Half I have, mafter Dan. Knockhum, is always at your service.

Just. Ha, fweet nature! what gofhawk would prey upon fuch a lamb ?

Knoc. Let's fee what 'tis, Zekiel; count it, come, fill him to pledge me.

SCENE

[To them] Win-wife, Quarlous.

Win-w. We are here before 'em, methinks.

Quar. All the better, we fhall fee 'em come in now. Leath. What do you lack, gentlemen, what is't you lack? a fine horse? a lyon? a bull? a bear? a dog, or a cat? an excellent fine Bartholomew-bird? or an inftrument? what is't you lack?

Quar. 'Slid! here's Orpheus among the beasts, with his fiddle and all!

Tra. Will you buy any comfortable bread, gentlemen? Quar. And Ceres felling her daughter's picture, in ginger-work.

Win-w. That these people should be fo ignorant to think us chapmen for 'em! do we look as if we would buy gingerbread, or hobby-horses ?

Quar. Why, they know no better ware than they have, nor better customers than come. And our very being here makes us fit to be demanded, as well as others. Would Cokes would come! there were a true customer for 'em.

Knoc. How much is't? thirty fhillings? who's yonder! Ned Win-wife, and Tom Quarlous, I think! yes: gi' me it all, gi' me it all. Mafter Win wife! Mafter Quarlous! will you take a pipe of tobacco with us? do not difcredit me now, Zekiel.

Win-w. Do not fee him; he is the roaring horfecourfer, pray thee let's avoid him: turn down this way. Quar. 'Slud, I'll fee him, and roar with him too, an' he roared as loud as Neptune; pray thee go with

me.

Win-w. You may draw me to as likely an incon. venience, when you please, as this.

Quar. Go to then, come along, we ha' nothing to do, man, but to fee fights now.

Кнос

Knoc. Welcome mafter Quarlous, and master Winwife; will you take any froth and smoke with us? Quar. Yes, fir; but you'll pardon us if we knew not of fo much familiarity between us afore.

Knoc. As what, fir?

Quar. To be fo lightly invited to smoke and froth. Knoc. A good vapour! will you fit down, fir? this is old Urs❜la's manfion; how like you her bower? here you may ha' your punk and your pig in ftate, fir, both piping hot.

Quar. I had rather ha' my punk cold, fir.
Just. There's for me: punk! and pig!
Urf. What Moon calf, you rogue?

[She calls within.

Moo. By and by, the bottle is almost off, miftrefs; here, mafter Arthur.

Urf. I'll part you and your play-fellow there, i' the guarded coat, an' you funder not the fooner.

Knoc. Mafter Win-wife, you are proud methinks, you do not talk, nor drink; are you proud?

Win-w. Not of the company I am in, fir, nor the place, I affure you.

do you!

Knoc. You do not except at the company, do are you in vapours, fir?

Moo. Nay, good mafter Dan. Knockhum, refpect my mistress's bower, as you call it; for the honour of our booth, none o' your vapours here.

Urf. Why, you thin lean polecat you, an' they have a mind to be i' their vapours, muft you hinder 'em? what did you know, vermin, if they would ha❜ loft a cloke, or fuch a trifle? muft you be drawing the air of pacification here, while I am tormented within i' the fire, you weafel?

[She comes out with a fire-brand. Moo. Good miftrefs, 'twas in the behalf of your booth's credit that I spoke.

Urf.

Urf. Why would my booth ha' broke, if they had fal'n out in't, fir? or would their heat ha' fir'd it? in, you rogue, and wipe the pigs, and mend the fire, that they fall not, or I'll both baste and roaft you 'till your eyes drop out like 'em. (Leave the bottle behind you, and be curft a while.)

Quar. Body o' the Fair! what's this? mother o'the bawds?

Knoc. No, fhe's mother o' the pigs, fir, mother o'the pigs.

Win. Mother o' the furies, I think, by her firebrand.

Quar. Nay, fhe is too fat to be a fury, fure fome walking fow of tallow !

Win. An infpir'd veffel of kitchen-stuff!

Quar. She'll make excellent geer for the coachmakers here in Smithfield, to anoint wheels and axletrees with. [She drinks this while.

Urf I, I, gamefters, mock a plain plump foft wench o'the fuburbs, do, because she's juicy and wholesome ; you must ha' your thin pinch'd ware, pent up i' the compass of a dog-collar (or 'twill not do) that looks like a long lac'd conger, fet upright, and a green feather, like fennel i' the joll on't.

Knoc. Well faid, Urs, good Urs; to 'em Urs. Quar. Is the your quagmire, Dan. Knockhum? is this your bog?

Night. We fhall have a quarrel presently.

Knoc. How, bog? quagmire? foul vapours! humh! Quar. Yes, he that would venture for't, I affure him, might fink into her and be drown'd a week e'er any friend he had could find where he were.

Win. And then he would be a fortnight weighing up again.

Quar. 'Twere like falling into a whole shire of butter; they had need be a team of Dutchmen should draw him out.

Knoc

Knoc. Answer 'em, Urs, where's thy Bartholomew wit now, Urs, thy Bartholomew wit?

Urf. Hang 'em, rotten, roguy cheaters, I hope to fee 'em plagu'd one day (pox'd they are already, I am fure) with lean play-house poultry, that has the bony rump, fticking out like the ace of spades, or the point of a partizan, that every rib of 'em is like the tooth of a faw; and will fo grate 'em with their hips and fhoulders, as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie with a hurdle.

Quar. Out upon her, how the drips! fhe's able to give a man the sweating-fickness with looking on her.

Urf. Marry look off, with a patch o' your face, and a dozen in your breech, though they be o'fcarlet, fir. I ha' feen as fine outfides as either o' yours, bring lowly linen to the brokers, ere now, twice a week.

Quar. Do you think there may be a fine new cucking-ftool i' the Fair, to be purchas'd; one large enough, I mean? I know there is a pond of capacity for her.

Urf. For your mother, you rafcal; out you rogue, you hedge-bird, you pimp, you pannier-man's baftard, you.

Quar. Ha, ha, ha.

Urf. Do you fneer, you dogs-head, you trendletail! you look as you were begotten a'top of a cart in harvest-time, when the whelp was hot and eager. Go, fnuff after your brother's bitch, mrs. Commodity; that's the livery you wear, 'twill be out at the elbows fhortly. It's time you went to't for the t'other rem

nant.

Knoc. Peace, Urs, peace, Urs; they'll kill the poor whale, and make oil of her. Pray thee go in. Urf. I'll fee 'em pox'd first, and pil'd, and double pil'd.