SPUNGIUS

Turn Christian, would he that first tempted me to have my shoes walk upon Christian soles, had turned me into a Capon, for I am sure now the stones of all my pleasure in this fleshly life are cut off. I kick for all that Like a horse, look else. Bacchus, the God of brewed Wine and Sugar, grand Patron of rob pots, vpsie-freesie-tiplers, and super-naculam takers; this Bacchus, who is head warden of Vintners Hall, Ale-cunner, Mayor of all Victualing houses, the sole liquid Benefactor to bawdy-houses, Lanze prezado to read Noses, and inuin cible Adelantado over the Armado of pimpled, deep scarleted, rubified, and carbuncled faces. This boon Bacchanalion stinker, did I make legs to. Our whimpering Lady and Mistress sent me with two great baskets full of Beef, Mutton, Veil and Goose fellow Hircius. Would my Ass, basket and all were in thy maw if I did: no, as I am a demy Pagan, I sold the victuals, and coined the money into pottle pots of wine. Would thy ribs were turned into grates of iron then. And wisely done, for our Lady sending it to pri soners, had bestowed it out upon lousy knaves, and thou to save that labour casts it away upon rotten whores. Does he! let him take heed I prove not his back friend; He make him curse his smelling what I do. Why fellow Angelo, we were speaking in pedlars French I hope. Emptled em! yes, Idem be loath to have my belly so empty, yet I'm sure, I munched not one bit of them nei there. Drunkenness! yes, yes, I use to be drunk: our next neighbours man called Christopher has often seen me drunk, has he not? And what do you read in my heart? And lets see what sparks of wit fly out, to kindle your Carebruns. To hell! can any drunkards legs carry him so far. Fellow Angelo, true it is, that falling into the come pany of wicked he-Christians for my partly. We must confess, I took too much of the pot, and he of tother hollow commodity. But pray sweet Angelo, play not the telltale to my Lady, and if you take us creeping into any of these mouse holes of sin any more, let Cats flay off our skins. She took us, 'tis true, from the gallows, yet I hope she will not bar yeomen sprats to have their swinge. Rob they Lady, I hope, neither my fellow nor I am thieves Lie Madame, what grief is it to see you turn Swaggerer, and give your poor minded rascally servants the lie. Are we Christians? Takes us for Butchers. See you, do you see, our work is done, the fish you angle for is nibbling at the hook, and therefore un truss the Codpiece point of our reward, no matter if the breeches of conscience fallen about our heals. She saved us from the Gallows, and only to keep one Proverb from breaking his neck, weel hang her. If your read boys, 'tis well known, more lifa uour'd faces then ours are painted. And I to my full pot. Comesta, comesta poor knave. Me partha we Comrade, my half inch of men Flesh, how run the dice of this cheating world, would? Who would think that we coming forth of the arse, as it were, or fag end of the world, should yet see the golden age, when so little silver is stirring. And this full of the same meat out of my ambrey Poison, wudit would, whole pints for healths shall down my throat. TO was and easy matter to save us, she being so well backed. The petticoat of her estate is unlaced I confess. A piece of silver! I never had but two calves in my life, and those my mother left me; I'll rather partly from the fat of them, then from a mustard-tokens worth of Argent. Adieu, demi-dandiprat, adieu Or any Sow of mine of the measles either. Page you do nothing but set patches on the soles of your jests. Horcius thou hastnimb'd -. so long as, not so much money is left as will buy a louse. Thou liest deeper then the bottom of mine en raged pocket, if thou affrontest it. Can the devil creep into ones breeches? If she were going to hanging, no gallows should partly us. True master Angel, pray sir lead the way. I live in a Jail. Let her starve then if a whole Jail will not fill her belly. My fine rogue, how is't? how goes this tottered world Money! no, the Tavern. Ivy clings about my money and kills it. Hast thou any money? I see then a Tavern and a Bawdyhouse have fa ces much Like, the one has read grates next door, the tother has peeping holes within doors; the Tavern hath ever more a bush, the bawdy close sometime neither hedge nor bush. From a Tavern a man comes reeling, from a bawdy house not able to stand. In the Tavern you are cousend with paltry Wine, in a bawdyhouse by a painted Where, Money may have Wine, and a Whore will have Money, but neither can you cry, Drawer you Rogue, or keep door rotten Bawd, without a silver 'Whistle, we are justly plagued therefore for running from our Mi stress. Well: the thread of my life is drawn through the needle of necessity, whose eye looking upon my lousy breeches, cries out it cannot mend'em: which so pricks the linings of my body, and those are Heart, Lights, Lungs, Guts, and Midriff, that I beg on my knees to have Atro pos (the Tailer to the destinies) to take her shears and cut my thread in two, or to heat the Iron goose of Mortality, and so press me to death. And what was thy father? Pity that ere thou trodst thy shoe awry. This shows th'at ta Cobblers son by going through stirch: Oh Hircius would thou & I were so happy to be cobblers I see the beginning of my end for I am almost starved. All the members of my body are in rebellion one against another. But in this rebellion, what uproars do they make, my belly cries to my mouth, why dost not gape & feed me Then my hand hath a fling at mine eyes, be cause they look not out and shark for victuals. Thou art a mere I am-an-o, I am-an-as, consider the whole world, and 'tis as we are. Worse, all tottrings, all out of frame, thou Fooliamini Fellow Angelo! how does my little man? well. Would they were lose. Where many a velvet cloak I warrant at this hour keeps them company, they are pawned to a Broker. And therefore I prithee Angelo, if thou hast anon there purse, let it be confiscate, and brought to devastation. Is't not a shame that this scurvy Puerilis should give us lessons? Oh you drawers of wine, draw me no more to the bar of Beggary; the found of Score a pottle of sack, is worse then the noise of a scolding oyster wench, or two Cats in corporating. Had I been a Pagan still, I could not have spit white for want of drink, but come to any Vintner now and bid him trust me, because I turned Christian, and he cries puh, I have seen you sir as I take it, and attendant on the Lord Theophilus. Not a Mouse stirs. But that sir, we are so ragged... And poxd. We have bugs Sir. I'll be speak the best room ith; house for him. How a commoner? Pray my Lord and Prince, let me encounter you with one foolish question: does the devil eat any Mace in's broth? How if he come to any great men gate, will the Porter let him come in fit? Anything! Oh my fine devil! some watchman I warrant, I wonder who's his constable. Yes, yes, I, I. Suppose this she, and that I had no teeth, here's my nails. Here's a Master you rogue. Attendance, I had rather lick clean the soles of your dirty boots, then wear the richest suit of any infec ted Lord, whose rotten life hangs between the 2 Poles. Or legs, I am losty at them. Thou'lt run into some hold. But what Walnut tree is it we must beat. The guts of my conscience begin to be of whitleather, A hundred fathom, I desire no more. They shall not want dirt under my nails, isle keepe'em long of purpose, for now my singers itch to be at her. And I the hips, we may strike any where. Fear it not sir, her ribs shall be basted. Faster: I am out of breath I'am sure: if I were to beat a buck, I can strike no harder. O! a woman has one of my ribs, and now five more are broken. We serve that noble Gentleman there, he enticed us to this dry-beating, o for one half pot. By the heals! no sir, we have legs to do us that service. The devil dispatch thee. There is no danger of losing a man years by making these Endures, he that will not now and then be Calabingo, is worse then a Calamosthe: when I was a Pagan and kneeled to this Bachhus, I durst out-drinke a Lord, but your Christian Lords out-boule me: I was in hope to lead a sober life, when I was converted, but now amongst the Christians, I can no sooner stagger out of one Alhouse but I reel into another: they have whole streets of nothing but drinking rooms, and drabbing chambers, jumbled to gether. I see uo remedy fellow Hircius, but that thou and I must be half Pagans and half Christians, for we know very fools that are Christians. True, Christian Brokers, thou knowest, are made vpof the quarters of Christians, parboil one of these rogues and he is not meat for a dog: no, no, I am re solved to have and Infidels heart, though in show I carry a Christians face. Upon the poor lean Ass fellow, on which I ride, to all the Almswomen: what thinkest thou I hue done with all this good cheer. As I am a Pagan, from my codpiece downward that white-faced Monkey, frights me to, I stole but a dirty pudding last day out of and almsebasket, to give my dog when he was hungry, and the peaking chitface page hit me ith' teeth with it. Old Honour goes on crutches, beggary rides caroched, honest men make feasts, knaves fit at tables, cowards are laptin velvet, soldiers (as we) in rags: Beauty turns Whore; Whore Bawd; and both die of the pox: why then when all the world stumbles, should thou and I walk up right? But then my feet Like lazy rogues lie still, and had ra there do nothing, then run to and from, to purchase anything Shall I cut his throat.