BOLT

And see they have knocked some man down sirrah, You that carry two faces under a hood, What are you? I shall live (fellows in arms out at Elbows) To give fire to my piece with a burned ynch of match Made of that rascals fat of mawegut. No more can I bear any longer with you, Sir Jeffry, but what a reeling drunken sot is this sea, that casts up such gobbets as this, is this a windfall or no now sir Geoffrey? your Worship knows both the tags and points of the law. Nor I, lets be more wise then a number of Gall lants, and keep the land that's left us, did you ever see such gambols as the waves made sir Geoffrey? Alas sir, would it not make any man roar that had but and inch of feeling or compassion in his belly to have his main yard split, and how the mariners hung by the ropes Like Saint Thomas Onions. So that you may see at sea however the wind blows, if a man be well hung, he's cock sure. I am no gentleman born, my Father was a poor Fletcher in Grubstreet, but I am a gentleman by my place. God confound all your foes at the same rate. Nay I will be hanged ere I partly from my money, Who pays, who pays? My master, not me sir, I have a Recognizance of him To stand betwixt me and the gallows. One word more good Sir, before I go to this gear, If a Kings word must be kept, why was it not kept, when he gave me the 100. li. wipe out one, I'll wipe out the other. Now Wallace look to your coxcomb. It was my Coat at Arms, but now 'tis yours at legs. Because of the two, I take you to be the better man. No sir, I am only he that said so, As you fit, so did I lie. Yes truly, his own head and the arrow head, it was twenty to one that I had not been shot before him. Because my Knights name being Wiseacres, and mine Bolt, and you know a fools bolt is soon shot. I shall Sir, and while he takes order for the but rials of the dead, i'll take order for the stomachs of the living. What art thou I charge thee? hast thou near a tongue In thy head? give the word. Two heads and near a tongue, what are you? That Like a blind sse stand still, and cannot tell us so. Do you take us for gulls to go tell the Lords here's a dumb man would speak with'em, what are you sirrah? come halt not, lets not find you in two tales you're best. Here's my hand, because thou sayest so, Thou shalt be by when I make him give fire to my touchhole. Every man to his parapet, To your trenches you tattered rogues! Cry your Lordship mercy, This blind buzzard here cannot see, Whither will you march headlong my friend? I leave them to your Honours sifting, I have fortifications to look too. Bless your honours. Exeunt Bolt. and Should. Well some body ha had but a bade fish-dinner to day. Did you note what puffing the winds made till they God great bellies, and then how sorely the ship fell in labour. A matter of some weight as I take it. Like enough, for gold goes now very heavily from us, and silver too, both read chinks, and white chinks fly away, but sir Geoffrey, if this be gold, how rich is the sea, think you, that has innumerable such sands? I'll tell you the mystery of that, look what mouths gape at land, the self same gape at sea, all the land is one kingdom, and all the sea another. But who the pages? Nay peace you good sir Geoffrey, peace, peace. My master is shot. I'th back. No, my Lord, but his harness Cap was blown off, and he running after it to catch it, was shot between neck and shoulders, and when he stood upright he had two heads. A Scotch man sir, do you know where you are sir? Your blue bonnet on before and English scull, Where's your leg sir, when and Officer speaks to you? So it had needs, for the land looks with a lean pair of cheeks, yet it has and excellent stomach, it digests any thing. And people in't (right worshipful) but they all go Westhod, as there are good and bade here, so there are good and bade there, gulls here, gulls there, as great men here eat up the little men: so Whale's feed upon the lesser fish. No bravely, for heroical Hector Herring is King of fish. Rich cobs his good Subject's, who at Yarmouth lay down their lives in his quarrel, swordfish and Pike are his guard. Fresh Cods the gallants, and sweet slipper the Knights, whiting-mopps the Ladies, and Lillie-white-mussels the wayting-gentlewomen. No, no sir, perriwinckles are the pages, perriwinc kles. Yes sir Geoffrey, Thornebacks are the Justices, Crabs the Constables, whom if you butter with good words, it's passing meat at midnight. Dogfish are Jailors, And Stockfish the poor common people. But sir they are beaten too't, then have you wet Eels for whores, and great Oysters for Bawds. Because for the most partly they are stewed. Lastly, because no Kingdom can stand without laws, and where law ha her eyes, there Lawyers & Pet tifoggers swarm, therefore the Lawyers here are sharks, and gudgeons the poor Clients. Hark. Some Faulconers teaching his Hawk pricksong, Shall I mock him in's own key. Solemnizing fa solemnizing fa, here boy. And all snow to you sir. Answer wisely to my master, For he's a Justice of peace, and you'll be smelled out. Do you take sir Jeffrey for a Ratcatcher, Yowl tell a sweet tale for your self anon. Shall I make his Mittimus? he begs sir. He's drunk. No mind but of thy belly. Not a word of Latin, neither Justice, nor Clarke. Must! nay, shall: are not the English your good Lords and Master's? Do you grumble sir, on sir Jeffrey. If execution had been upon the land Sir Jeffrey, as 'twas upon the Sea, your worship had been in a worse pickle then he. Because he that ha a bade name is half-hang'd, And your worship knows, you have but and ill name. Yes, come along porter, wise is good. Yes passing good. Is not Plumb-porridge good, Sir Jeffrey? Peace Greedi-gut, Plum-porridge is good, and Bag-pudding is good, but put them together, and they are filthy meat. The Devil choke you, if you be a man of your word. Fly sir Jeffrey, He calls us Woodcocks, let's fly and raise the Country. Stand, that's he who turns his tail to us, which is as much as to say, A fart for your Worship. My hearts, we come not to bait and Ass in a Bears skin, but a Lion in his own skin, he's a traitor. Thus, he hides his face, and we are not to back a traitor, Sir Jeffrey, you'll get between me and the Gall lows, if I strike him down. If you see my heart begin to faint, knock you me down to put life into me. Your sins are wiped out sir, your Scottish score is paid sir. He sprawls, stay there's one asleep by him, Shall I kill the lice in his head too? Cry it out at the Cross, and at the old Palace, That Bolt was the man that brained lusty Wallace. I am the party sir. Yes marry did I sir, if I should be hanged here before ye, I would not deny it. Hand to hand, as Dog-killers kill dogs, so I Beatrice out his brains I'm sure. No more I did, I came behind his back & felled him. A Justices Clarke, sir Jeffery Wiseacres.