PICKLOCK

The Heralds of Arms, you mean. All that idle pomp, And vanity of a Tombstone, your wise father Did, by his will, prevent. Your worship had— And to settle All things so well, compounded for your ward ship The week afore, and left your state entire Without any charge vpon't. Know you, why I bought it S r ? To work for you, and carry a mine Against the Master of it, Master Cymbal ; Who hath a plot upon a Gentlewoman, Was once designed for you, Sir. Your father, Old Master Peni-boy, of happy memory, And wisdom too, as any i'the County, Careful to find out a fit match for you, In his own life time (but he was prevented) Left it in writing in a Schedule here, To be annexed to his Will ; that you, His only Son, upon his charge, and blessing, Should take endue notice of a Gentlewoman, Sojourning with your uncle, Richer Peni-boy. A great Lady, Indeed she is, and not of mortal raze, Infanta of the Mines ; her Graces Grandfather, Was Duke, and Cousin to the King of Ophyr, The Subterranean, let that pass. Her name is, Or rather, her three names are (for such she is) Aurelia Claram Pecuniam, A great Princess, Of mighty power, though she live in private With a contracted family! Her Secretary — One Broker, And then two Gentlewomen; Mistress Statute, And Mistress Band, with Wax the Chambermaid, And Mother Mortgage, the old Nurse, two Grooms, Pawn, and his fellow; you have not many to bribe, Sir. The work is feizible, and approaches easy, By your own kindred. Now, Sir, Cymbal thinks, The Master here, and governor o'the Staple, By his fine arts, and pomp of his great place To draw her! He concludes, she is a woman! And that so soon as she hears of the New Office, Shee'll come to visit it, as they all have longings After new sights, and motions! But your bounty, Person, and bravery must achieve her. You cannot put your self upon and Actium Of more importance. All sorts of men, and all professions! Well chanted Old Canter thou singest true. There's Doctor Almanac wooes her, one of the Jeerers, A fine Physician. Though his loud mouthing get him little credit, And Master Madrigal, the crowned Poet Of these our times, does off r at her praises As fair as any, when it shall please Apollo, That wit and rhyme may meet both in one subject. A work of fame. Celebration. The Peni-boyes to live in't, And none but you can do it. I thank his worship for it. I, he does kiss her, I Like him. Are you aduis worser? Now o'my faith, this Canter Would make a good graven Burgess in some Bairn. A tavern's as unfit too, for a Princess. Not go in, Sir, though. That's true. Patron, I have a suit. That you will carry the Infanta, To see the Staple', her Grace will be a grace, To all the members of it. Tut, I am Vertumnus, On every change, or chance, upon occasion, A true Chamaelion, I can colour for't. I move upon my axell, Like a turnpike. Fit my face to the parties, and become Straight, one of them. Wee'll sustain their parts. No matter, let them ply the affairs without, Fitton puts on the office cloak, and Cymbal the gown. Let us alone within, I Like that well. On with the cloak, and you with the Staple gown, And keep your state, stoop only to the Infanta ; We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band, And hard, but we'll bring Wax unto the retrieve: Each know his several province, and discharge it. I thank you gentle Wax, So it is, for term of life, we count it so. He can expect no more. Yes, if she pleased, Sir, it would much advance Unto the Office, her continual residence! (I speak but as a member) pray you change with our Master, but a word about it. pray let's see some. Except, Sir, one Like you, and he made verses. Call in the Fiddlers. Neck, the boy shall sing it, He urges her to kiss them all. Sweet Princess, kiss him, kiss them all, deer Madame, And at the close, vouchsafe to call them Cousin's. He hath been dead to us almost this hour. Or rather and Elegy, for the Sack is gone. In all the languages in Westminsterhall, Fleas, Bench, or Chancery. Fee-farm, Fee-Tayle, Tenant in dower, At will, For Term of life, By Copy of Court Roll, Knights service, Homage, Fealty, Escuage, Soccage, or Frank almoigne, Grand Sergeanty, or B rgage. And make them too, Sir? Keep all your Courts, be Steward o'your lands, Let all your Leases, keep your Evidences, But first, I must procure, and pass your mortmain You must have licence from above, Sir. What? my velvet- heir, Picklock enters. Turned beggar in mind, as robes? Oh, good heaven knows My conscience, and the silly latitude of it! A narrow minded man! my thoughts do dwell All in a Lane, or line indeed; No turning, Nor scarce obliquity in them. I still look Right forward to intent, and scope of that Which he would go from now. Sir, I had somewhat, will keep you still Lord Of all the estate, (if I be honest) as I hope I shall. My tender scrupulous breast Will not permit me see the heir defrauded, And Like and Alyen, thrust out of the blood, The Laws forbid that I should give consent, To such a civil slaughter of a Son. No, It is a thing of greater consequence, Then to be born about in a black box, Like a Low-countrey vorloffe, or Welsh-briefe. It is at Lickfingers, under lock and key. I have bid him bring it, That you might see it. No more then a Gardiners Ass, what roots he carries, Hang him, and austere grape, That has no juice, but what is veriuice in him. Fear not, It's he must pay arrearages in the end. We'll milk him, and Pecuniam, draw their cream down, Before he get the deed into his hands. My name is Picklock, but he ll find me a Padlock. HOw now? conferring wi'your learned counsel, upon the Cheat? Are you o'the plot to cozen me? Sir, take patience. And memory unto you, and bethink you, What Trust? where dost appear? I have your Deed, Does your Deed specify any Trust? Is't not A perfect Act? and absolute in Law ? Sealed and delivered before witnesses? The day and date, emergent. I will tell you, Sir, Since I am urged of those, as I remember, You told me you had God a grown estate, By gripping means, sinisterly. And were Even weary of it; if the parties lived, From whom you had wrested it— You could be glad, To partly with all, for satisfaction: But since they'had yielded to humanity, And that joust heaven had sent you, for a punishment (You did acknowledge it) this riotous heir, That would bring all to beggary in the end, And daily sowed consumption, where he went— After a long, mature deliberation, You could not think, where, better, how to place it— What you please i'your passion, But with your reason, you will come about And think a faithful, and a frugal friend To be preferred. A Prodigal, A tub without a bottom, as you termed him; For which, I might return you a vow, or two, And seal it with and oath of thankfulness, I not repent it, neither have I cause, Yet— Thither it must come, Before I partly with it, to you, or you, Sir. How? I confess it? Where? when? to whom? Can I eat or drink? Sleep, wake, or dream? arise, fit, go, or stand? Do any thing that's natural? Oh me! what times are these! of frontless carriage And Egg o'the same nest! the Father's Bird! It runs in a blood, I see! With what? With noise, I must have witness. Where is your witness? you can produce witness? So say all Prodigals, Sick of selflove, but that's not Law, young Scattergood. I live by Law. No, Court, Grants out a Writ of Summons, for the Conscience, That I know, nor Subpaena, nor Attachment. I must have witness, and of your producing, Ere this can come to hearing, and it must Be herd on oath, and witness. A rat behind the hangings! You do trust To your great purse. I'll prove yours maintenance, and combination, And sue you all. This it's, when men repent of their good deeds, And would ha'hem in again—They are almost mad! But I forgive their Lucida Intervalla. Oh, Lickfinger ? come hither. Where's my writing? Picklock spies Lick finger, and asks him a side for the writing. I sent it you, together with your keys, How? And why did you not? Who, I? In trust ? Know you the man? I am lost! a plot! I sent it! Plague o'your trust. Picklock goes out. I am trussed up among you. In mine own halter, I have made the Noose. Where is my brother Buz? my brother Ambler: The Register, Examiner, and the Clerks ? Appear, and let us muster all in pomp, For here will be the rich Infanta, presently, To make her visit. Peny-boy the heir, My Patron, has God leave for her to play With all her train, of the old churl, her Guardian. Now is your time to make all court unto her; That she may first but know, then love the place, And show it by her frequent visits here: And afterwards, get her to sojourn with you. She will be weary of the Prodigal, quickly. Look your addresses, then, be fair and fit, And entertain her, and her creatures, too, With all the migniar dise, and quaint Caresses, You can put on them. No matter, Sir, trust you unto my Trust, It's that that shall secure you, and absolute deed! And I confess, it was in Trust, for you, Lest any thing might have happened mortal to him: But there must be a gratitude thought on, And aid, Sir, for the charges of the suit, Which will be great, against such a mighty man, As is our Father, and a man possessed Of so much Land, Pecuniam and her friends. I am not able to wage Law with him, Yet must maintain the thing, as mine own right, Still for your good, and therefore must be bold To use your credit for moneys.