SPADONE

Oh yes, if any man, woman, or beast, have found, stolen, or taken up a fine, very fine male Barber, of the age of above or under eighteen more or less. Umh—pay the crier, I have been almost Iost my self in seeking you, here's a letter from— Soft and fair, and you be so brief, I'll return it whence it came, or look out a new owner, Oh yes. Give me one, and take tother, it's from though party, Golden news believe it. Fairest fair, quoth a, so is and old rotten Coddled mongrel, parcel Bawd, parcel midwife, all the marks are quite out of her mouth, not the stump of a tooth left in her head, to mumble the curd of a Posset—Seignior it's as I told ye, all's right, To a very hair Seignior mio. Th'art a prickeard foist, a cittern headed gew, gaw, a knack, a snipper-snapper, twit me with the decree ments of my pendants, though I am made a gelding, and Like a tame Buck have lost my Dowsets, more a monster then a Cuckold with his horns seen, yet I scorn to be jeered by any checker, approved Barbarian of ye all, make me a man, I defy thee. Indeed? Th'art worse, a dry shaver, a copper ba sand-suds-monger. Eyes in thy belly, the reverend Madam shall know how I have been used, I will blow my nose in thy casting bottle, break the teeth of thy combes, poison thy camphire Balls, slice out thy towels with thine own razor, betallow thy tweezes, and urine in thy basin, make me a man? Or cast old ones. Good, we are pieced again, reputation, Seignior, is precious. Old sores would not be rubbed. The Lady guardianess, the mother of the Fancies, is resolved to draw with ye, in the wholesome of matrimo nigh, suddenly. You will to bed no doubt. Do miracles and get Babies. In feather and old furs. On Pap and Bulbeese. Eighteen and threescore with advantage, The pure crystal puddle of pleasures. A pox on them that envy ye. Fumble one with and other, on the gambos of imagi nation between their legs, eat they do, and sleep, game, laugh, and lie down, as beauty's ought to do, there's all. Why, there's another quarrel, man, once more in spite of my nose. Yes, crimpe, it's a gallant life to be and old Lords pimp whiskin, but beware of the porters lodge, for carrying tales out of the school. Not so terrible as a cross tree that never grows, to a wag-halter-Page. Very, very well, if I die in thy debt for this crack rope) let me be buried in a cole-sack, I'll fit ye, (apes face) look for't. Mark the end on't, and laugh at last. Well said old Touch hold. 'Twould wind-break a moil, or a ringed mare, to vie burdens with her. Nothing forsooth, but that you're bouncing couple well met, and 'twere pity to partly ye, though you hung to gether in a smoky chimney. Thank your Brideship—your Bawdship. With all my heart, I'm sure I am not the heaviest In the company. Strike up for the honour of the Bride and Bridegroom. Sure you are not without a stick of Licorice in your pocket forsooth; you have I believe stout lungs of your own, you swim about so roundly without rubs; it's a tickling sighed to be young still. That earwig scatters the troop now, I'll go near to fit'em. O 'twas ever a wanton monkey—of will wriggle into a starting hold so cleanly—and it had been on my wed ding day,—I know what I know. Nothing, nothing, I prate sometime beside the pur pose, whoreson lecherous weezill? Why? there's the business, Buts on ones before head, are but scurvy Buts. Yes, I know my postures-oh monstruous Buts. Who brought him in? that would be known? A plain case, Roguery, Brokage and Roguery, or call me Bulchin. Fancies, quoth a? rather Frenzies. We shall all roar shortly: turn madcaps, lie open to what comes first I may stand to't. That boy Page, is a naughty boy Page; let me feel your forehead, would, o, hum,—yes—there,—there again; I'm sorry for you, a handsaw cannot cure you, mon strous and apparent. What what what what, nothing but Velvet tips you are of the first head yet: have a good heart man, a Cuc kold though a be a Beast, wears invisible horns; else we might know a City Bull from a Country Calf,—vil lanous Boy still. Why? he's not come to the honour of a Beard yet, he needs no shaving. Nay she may do well enoughs for one. Gross and ridiculous,—look you, point blank I dare not swear that this same Mountbancking new come foist, is at least a procurer in the business; if not a pretender himself: but I think what I think. A likely matter, alas I'm Metamorphosed I, be pa tient you'll mar all else. Leave your wild fegaries, and learn to be a tame Antic, or I'll observe no longer. Hold her there Boy. Out stallion, as I am a man and no man, the Baboon lies I dare swear abominably. She means your horns, there's a bob for you. Mark that Secc0. There a rubbed your forehead, 'twas a tough blow. Now now he's in, I must not leave him so. That very word halters the earwig. Lash him soundly, let the little Ape show tricks. Well played Dog, well played Bear, sa, sa, sa; to't to't. Scold Coxcomb, baggage, Cuckold. Crabbed Age and Youth Cannot jump together: One is Like good luck, Tother Like foul weather. Humh how's that? how's that? is he there with a Wanion? Then do I begin to dwindle,—Oh o, the fit, the fit; the fits upon me now, now now now. Who I speak, alas I cannot speak I. Why? you know I and ignorant unable trifle in such business; and Oaf, a simple Alcatote; and Innocent. I do not know. Nothing. Never. Truly Secco for the ancient good Woman; I dare swear point-black; and the Boy surely, I ever said was to any men thinking, a very Chrisome in the thing you wot, that's my opinion clearly. Faithfully in truth forsooth. Youngling, a word youngling: have not you scaped the lash handsomely? thank me for't Is't possible, give me thy little fist, we are friends; have a care henceforth, remember this while you live. And still the Urehin would, but could not do: Pretty knave, and so forth: Come, truce on all hands. Here and ready; what a mouthing thou keepest, I have but scoured my hands, and curried my head to save time, honest Secco, neat Secco, precious barbarian, now thou lookest Like a worshipful Toothdrawer, would I might see thee on horseback, in the pomp once. So, to work with a grace now, I cannot but high lie be in love with the fashion of Gentry, which is never complete, till the snip snap of dexterity, hath mowed off the excrements of slovenry. I a whelp of the wits? no, no, I cannot bark impudently, and ignorantly enough;—o, and a man of this Art had now and then Sovereignty over fair Ladies, you would tickle their upper and their lower lips, you'd so smouch and belaver their chops. News? well remembered, that's partly of your trade too (prithee do not rub so roughly) and how goes the tattle oth' town? what novelties stirring, would? I'll never believe it, it's impossible. Oh rare, a man might venture ten or twenty to one safely then, and never be in danger of the cheat;—this water me thinks is none of the sweetest; Camphire and soap of Venice say you. Dog-muske, pox o'the dog-muske, what dost mean to bleach my nose, thou givest such twitches to't? set me at liberty as soon as thou canst, gentle Secco Pish, no matter for that; dispatch, I entreat thee. What's that so cold at my throat; and scrubs so hard? I talk baudily to thy wife? hang baudry; good now mind thy business, lest thy hand slip. I protest and vow friend Secco, I know no leaps, I. Confound thee, thy leaps and thy cuts, I am no Eunuch, you finical ass, I am no Eunuch; but at all points as well provided, as any he in Italy, and that thy Wife could have told thee: this your conspiracy, to thrust my head into a brazen tub of Kitchin-see, hud wink mine eyes in mud-soape, and then offer to cut my throat in the dark Like a Coward? I may live to be re venged on both of ye. All's whole yet I hope? The fear put me into a sweat; I cannot help it; I am glad I have my throat mine own, and must laugh for Company, or be laughed at. His tongue troules Like a Mill-clack: a tow zes the Lady sisters, as a tumbling Dog does young Rabets; heigh here, dab there, your Madonna; a has a catch at her too: There's a trick in the business; I am a dunce, else I say a shrewd one. Low, low, what dost mean, i'st from the glory of beauty, Morosa the fairest fair, be gentle to me, here's a ducat, peak low prethe.