CITIZENS

Go too, this is his Mother's doing: she's a Polecat. Then say I have hit it, and a vengeance on her, let her be what she will. One thing I am sure she has, the good old Duke she gives him pap again they say, and dandles him, and hangs a coral and Bells' about his neck, and makes him believe his teeth will come again; which if they did, and I he, I would worry her as never cur was worried: I would neighbour till my teeth met I know where, but thats counsel. You do not twit me with my calling neighbour? They shall neighbours: yes, I say they shall. Whither you do or no I care not twopence, I am no beast, I know mine own strength neighbours; God bless the King, your companies is fair. Peach, I scorn the motion. Peach, o disgrace: peach in thy face, and do the worst thou canst: I am a true man, and a freeman peach! Peach! Yes: but peach provokes me, 'tis a cold fruit, I feel it cold in my stomach still. Gossip good morrow. I will have no mercy, come what will of it. I have a foolish bil to reckon with em, will make some of their hearts ache, and I'll lay it on: now shall I fight, 'twill do you good to see me. As any is in the world. Amen say I, she has brought things to a fine pass with her wisdom, do you mark it? Yes, would we knew as well how to prevent it. Pray forward with your counsel: I am what I am, and they that prove me, shall find me to their cost: do you mark me neighbour, to their cost I say. Nay look how soon you are angry. I know they shall. Nay neighbour now ye err, I must tell you so and ye were twenty neighbours, Nay look, you will spoil all. While you two brawl together, the Prince will loose his life. 'Tis well done: shall we sever, and about it? Good morrow neighbours: hear you the sad news? I cannot tell, me thinks it no great matter, if men were men: but — No surely: for I know your spirit to be tall, pray be not vexed. I do believe they shall. You had best go peach, do, peach. Do, and see what follows: I'll spend and hun dreaded pound, and be two I care not, but I'll undo thee. Come, give me your hand, I love you well, are you for the Actium. No more, I'll give you cake to digest it. The Chandler by the wharf, and it be thy will. First lets to the Tavern, and a pint a piece will make us Dragons. Come I'll do something for the Town to talk of when I am rotten: pray God there be enough to kill, thats all. Shut up my shop, and be ready at a call boys, and one of you run over my old tuck with a few ashes, 'tis grown odious with toasting cheese: and burn a little giniper in my murrin, the maid made it her chamber-pot, and hour hence I'll come again; and as you here from me, send me a clean shirt. Oh good morrow Gossip: good morrow all, I see we of one mind you cleave so close together: come 'tis time, I have prepared a hundred if they stand. If my tuck hold I'll spit the Guard Like Larks with sage between em. Oh God morrow, God morrow: what News, what news? Sfoot man, who would not hang in such Good company, and such a cause? A Fire a Wife and Children, 'Tis such a Jest that men should look be hind em to the world: And let their honours, their honours Neighbour slip. They say that we Tailors, are things that Say one another, and our Geese hatch us: I'll make some of um feel they are Geefe ath game then, I'fack take down my Bill, 'tis ten to one I use it, Take a Good heart man, all the low ward is ours, with a wet Finger. And lay my Cut-fingred Gauntlet ready for me, That that I used to work in, when the Gentl: were Up against us, a beaten out of town, and almost out a Debt to, for a plague on um, they never paid well since, And take heed sirrah: your mistress hears not of this Business, she's near her time: yet if she do, I care not, she may long for Rebellion, For she has a devilish spirit, And do you hear? when thou come, Take down my Buckler, and sweep the Copwebs off: and Grind the pick out, and fetch a Nail or two: and Tack on bracers: your Mistress made a potlid ont, I thank her at her Maids wedding, and burned off the Handle. Whoes within here, hoe Neighbour, not stirring yet? I'll give thee a pint of Bastard and a roll For that bore word, Come, lets call up the new Ircmonger, is as Tough as steel, & has a fine wit in these resurrections: Are you stirring Neighbour? Syrrha, go fetch my Fox from the Cutlers: Theres money for the scouring: Tell him, I stop a Groat since the last great Muster: He had in store Pitch for the bruise. He took with the Recoiling of his Gun. And so am I, and 40. more good fellows That will not give their heads for the washing, I take it. Then happy man be his fortune, I am resolved, It holds, he die this morning. Oh Good morrow Neighbours, I'll come to you presently.