INDULGENCE

Jug Rubbish, what, Jug Rubbish. Come and bring him g dle. Have you warmed it? Out upon thee slut Seacoale? I cannot abide to have any of that brimstone fume to come about the body of my child. Go kindle some Charcoal, and warm it well on both sides. Exit Jug. What Mother can think it any pain to bring forth so precious a fruit? Oh my living walking joy, thy father's picture, and thy Mother's self, why shouldst thou be weaned from my lap? No my Child, thou art in a better trade. We are higher slowne now. Out upon that bloody butcherly weapon. What a base thing it is, that a man should be armed against children? What natural Mother can suffer her own flesh and blood to be torn by these black gown? Canibals? He that rancheth the flesh of my child, had as good kiss— I, and he that invented books escaped by burr ning in the hand. Redit Jug. Shrink in while I buckle it, that you may be gaunt and fine in the wast. I, darling, and hold my fan in thy other hand, and sometime shake it at the common people when we pass by them. The Captain is to teach thee more soldierlike tricks. I can teach thee these at home. Why Jug do you see how the rose is ruffled on the top of his spur leather, set it better with your poking finger. (valour. What is that my sweet Babby? IV. ge Rubbish What Jug? bring away the loo king gla e. Thou dirty Rubbish, thy singers have defiled the lace of my Cuffs. Will not cuffing a bout the ears make you more cleanly? Unless I be set all in print, the Poetical Mus will make times on me, when they see me in A Judgement Hall. But Jug, what had my son to breakfast this morning? That's not forsooth. What nothing else? What? who? Why? Prove scholar? Do they think my child is so low born as to be made a y scholar? Shall such a keen resin'd w to be dulled and embased, by plodding on a book? What is Philoponus but a Bookeworme, and Inckhorne squirt, a botching patcher of Latin shred What is this learning, but a little gibberish in the tongue, a sheepish look in the face, and penniless famine in the purse? I he more scholar a young man is, the less Like to speed of a rich wife. I will have my son the mark and wish of the most renowned Dams. I will, as man early as I may, tell Apollo that it is and honour to his school, that such a one as my son was of it, though but for a taste of the Muses dish, a gentle touch of the verge of their garment. I, but is my Coach ready? This lewd horse-rubbers tongue must be tamed I doubt he is three quarters drunk. I must away, the hour runs with swifter raze then my horses. Exeunt. I see Captain Compliment is and excellent Master, he will make my child be called the son of Mars and Bellona. He deserves more stipend then I allow him for thee. Why son Jingle, this will be and Actium not only of valour, but of honour and duty to me. True my honourable child Master John Jingle or so. If thou be'st used with such respect by me, how great honour will others yield me that bore thee? But son I doubt, if the horses be tall, thou canst not have them by the ears with thy poigniard. Thou shall have thy Father's long gilded Rapier. That will reach them, unless they fly as high as Pegasus. I prithee, sweet son, let me see thee once act the fine gestures, which the Captain hath taught you. You do them by your self alone in the chamber, and the door shut to you. I look't in yesterday at the keyhole, and me thought it did me good to see thee repeat some of them in the presence of a Candlestick, and Bedstaff that were set upon the table. See my son Master Jingle, see what wrong you do me then. You will not allow me that favour, which you do to your Bellows, and that which is be low Bellows. Next month? I cannot tarry till next day. Hold, here's a crown, carry to him for his favour, to make me a spectator without delay. It may be in your re peating, I shall teach you some gestures that the Captain thinks not of. Why child to that end have I called to have my Coach made ready. Apollos great hall is almost a flight shot off on the top of Parnassus, I cannot get up thither without my four fourfooted prancers. Jug bid my Coachman lay the Coach bed backward, for we are to climb the hill. But I must in to dress me better, and set my face in Court fashion. Exeunt. Out upon thee for and old rusty liar. The glass Hold it on the other side. You know I do not love to behold that moule on this cheek. Thou spiteful baggage, more yet on the left hand. Is that the left hand? I, but the other side is my left hand. You must con form your eyes and hands to your Mistress, and for get which is your own right or left. Do's my Veil hang in true proportion? What strange guest is yond? A female I think. Who but Siren that has made such turmoils here oh late. Pr continued have you cited er? Sweet Child, when thou speakest, me thinks the M ses, if there were nine times nine of them, are but Oysterwomen and Kitchinsluffe.