AMBLER

Good fellow Pitfall, Tell M r . Mere-craft, I entreat a word with him. Pitfall goes out. This most unlucky accident will go near To be the lose of my place; I am in doubt! Sir, I would beseech your worship stand between Me, and my Ladies displeasure, for my absence. I would tell you Sir But how it happened. Sir you'll laugh at me! But (so is Truth ) a very friend of mine, Finding by conference with me, that I lived Too chased for my complexion (and indeed Too honest for my place, Sir) did advise me If I did love my self (as that I do, I must confess) To give my body a little evacuation— No, S r . I durst not (For fear it might arrive at some body's ear, It should not) trust my self to a common house; Ambler tells this with ex extraordinary speed. But God the Gentlewoman to go with me, And carry her bedding to a Conduit-head, Hard by the place towards Tyborn, which they call My L. Majors Banqueting-house. Now Sir, This morning Was Execution ; and I never dreamt on't, Till I herd the noise of the people, and the horses; And neither I nor the poor Gentlewoman Durst stir, till all was done and passed: so that In the Interim, we fell a sleep again. He stags But, when I waked, to put on my clothes, a suit, I made new for the Actium, it was gone, And all my money, with my purse, my seals, My hard-wax, and my table-books, my studies, And a fine new devise, I had to carry My pen, and ink, my civet, and my tooth-picks, All under one. But, that which grieved me, was The Gentlewoman's shoes (with a pair of roses, And garters, I had given her for the business) So as that made us stay, till it was dark. For I was feign to lend her mine, and walk In a rug, by her, barefoot, to Saint Giles's. To satisfy my Lady. I have told the true Disaster. And honest gentleman, but he's never at leisure To be himself: He ha such tides of business. Oh, Call me home again, deer Chief, and put me To yoking foxes, milking of Hee-goates, Pounding of water in a mortar, laving The sea dry with a nutshell, gathering all The leaves are fallen this Autumn, drawing farts Out of dead bodies, making ropes of sand, Catching the winds together in a net, Mustering of ants, and numbering atomes; all That hell, and you thought exquisite torments, rather Then stay me here, a thought more: I would sooner Keep fleas within a circle, and be accomptant A thousand year, which of'hem and how far Out leaped the other, then endure a minute Such as I have within. There is no hell To a Lady of fashion. All your tortures there Ambler comes in, & surveys him Are pastimes to it. IT would be a refreshing For me, to be i'the sire again, from hence. This is my suit, and those the shoes and roses! Do you hear, S r ? He answers quite from the purpose. What is your name, I pray you Sir. I ask not of the time, but of your name, Sir, Hold, Sir? What holds? I must both hold, and talk to you About these clothes. No, I am cossend By you! robbed. Pox o'your gleek, And three pence. Give me and answer. Your master! Who is your Master. What should be then? I think, you are he. Do's he mock me trow, from pur pose? Or do ot I speak to him, what I mean? Good Sir your name. For Scep ticks. He Hope's to make on of these Scipticks of me (I think I name them right) and do's not fly me. I wonder at that! it's a strange confidence! I'll prove another way, to draw his answer. It is the easiest thing Sir, to be done. As plain, as fizzling: roll but with your eyes, And foam at mouth. A little castle-soap Will do't, to rub your lips: And then a nutshell, With toe, and touchwood in it to spit fire, Did you never read, Sir, little Darrels tricks, With the boy of Burton, and the 7. in Lancashire, Summers at Nottingham ? All these do teach it. And wee'll give out, Sir, that your wife ha bewitched you: They repair their old plot Sir, these clothes I'll swear, are mine: and the shoes the gentlewoman's I told you of: and have him afore a Justice, I will. Oh, can you speak to purpose now? Those are mine, S r . Yes.