CLOD

Either I am John a Noakes, or I am not John a Noakes. Must this days pride so blow you up, that a Countrymans tale may not be herd? Or what is't make you Gambol so? Thou liest, and I am none of thy Countryman, I was born out of the found of your Pancake bell, I cannot abide to see a proud fellow: and it were not for us in the Country, you would have but a lean City, we maintain your Charter, and your Chamber too, you would would but ill markets, and we should forswear to furnish e'm, where were your hides, horns and plenty of other provision? your, wives could not do as they do, with your short yard and your false light, and the Country should not come in upon them. Come, you can not live without us, you may be called a body Po liticke, but the Country is the soul, and therefore subscribe and give way to me. I'll have as good Law for my money, as the best on you, I know what belongs to't, I have all most broke the Parson of the Parish already, about his Tithe-egges. Sirrah Cit, I do challenge thee. The next shall furnish us both if thou hast any moral, let us try before we partly who is the better man. I will flash high skin Like a Summer dou blet, come thy ways. A Pitchfork? Thou shalt know thy destiny by this, though it have but one point I know where thy heart lies, I desire no more, and less would sa tisfie me, unless thou wilt eat thy words, and con fesse thou hast wronged me, out it shall, I have a sto macke to cut thee up, and my sword has a pretty edge of it self, and my greatest grief is, that I owe thee nothing, to discharge all together, but 'tis no matter, I can but kill thee. But here's water Dost not see? I shall be un done. Why, 'tis Foule-Weather-in-Harvest, all spoiled, I won't have thy heart now, and thou wouldst gee'tme. Kill me: I'll forgive thee, I shall have no Har vest to year. Long-Vacation? And I but little, and this weather hold. Enter Riches. Here she comes. By my Cart, and by my Plough, My Don Mare, and best read Cow, By my Bairn, and fattest Weather, My grounds, and all my state together, In thy love I overtake thee, Else my whistling quite forsake me, And let me ever lie, which worse is, At rack and manger with the horses. Would, would, with all my heart, am I the man? There's no Lady That shall outshine my Darling: 'tis no matter, though I be in Russet all the week, Riches shall live Like a La die, have perfumed linen, costly Gowns, and Pe ticoats worth taking up, and as the fashion is; I will put thee into a bag. Hang Country Cuts! Do but marry me.— Why, is not your name Riches? If you were born in America, we are but kindred a far off. I would be loath to marry and Infidel born, and yet I Like your complexion so well, that— After this rate you are my wife in Law. Well: give you joy. I know not Honour if I see her, I have herd of such a Lady: ten to one, but Riches can direct you to her. Gee, sweet Lady, I am all to be mired in your beauty, the horses of my imagination are foum dreaded in the highway of your perfections, for I am deep in love with your Ladyship, though I do not wear such fine clothes as Master Gettings here, and so much out of fashion: for if I commend my dou blet, I must speak sustain, yet my heart is cut and flashed, and I defy any man that has a better stomach to youi n the way of Matrimony. Let him be odious, that names comparison, for my partly, I soorne they all and the degrees. Dost thou positive me? And my Mistress were not here, thou shouldst find Clod is made of and other guess mould, then to endure thy affronts. I will provoke any man living in the way of love. He that shall go a wooing to my Mistress, I will provoke him, and he were my father. Me carted, Cart thy Bawds, there be enough within the walls, dost tell me of a Scaven her? a fart for thy office, I am a better man in the con try then the Constable himself, and do tell thee to thy face, though I am plain Clod, I care not a bean stalk for the best What lack you on you all, no not the next day after Simon and Jude; when you go a seasting to Westminster with you G lly oist and your pot-guns, to the very terror of the Papet-whales, when you land in shoal, and make the understan dears in Cheapside, wonder to see ships swim upon men's shoulders, when the Fencers flourish, and make the Kings liege people fallen down and Worship the Devil and Saint Du stan, when your whifflers are hanged in chains, and Hercules Club spit fire about the Pagean S, though the poor chil dren catch cold that show Like painted cloth, and are only kept alive with sugar plums, with whom, when the word is given, you march to Guildhall, with every man his spoon in his pocket, where you look upon the Giants, and feed Like Sarazens, till you have no stomach to Paul's in the afternoon: I have seen your Procession, and herd your Lions and Camels make speeches, in stead of Grace before and after dinner: I have herd songs too, or some thing Like e'm: but the Porters have had the burden, who were kept sober at the City charge, two days before, to keep time and tune with their feet, for brag what you will of your charge, all your pomp lies upon their back. Deny your major. I think I herd a Schol ler use that word against Bellarmine. I, I'll stand too't: for if nought but death, can reconcile our difference, we must be both killed: no, prepare thy self, I hope to send thee to heaven, and be far enough off ere Sun set: if thou hast made thy Will, let them prove it when thou art dead, and bury thee accordingly, thy wife will have cause to thank me, it will be a good hearing to the poor of the Parish: happy man by his dole, beside, the Blue-coates can but comfort thy kindred with singing and rejoicing at thy Funeral. Come on thy ways. Thou liest, there's more to provoke thee: no, I came not hither to die, and I be buried at any men discretion, my father was buried Country, and my grandfather, and his father before him, and if I live I'll be buried there my self: but what do we loose time? look to thy head, for I will make and even reckoning with thy shoulders pre sently. Enter Foule-Weather-in-Harvest. Would, hold, alas, I won't fight, I would no heart to lift up a weapon. Here's nothing but compliment. you should bring up a fashion to kiss one another. Is this Madam Honour?