MATHEO

Dost know me? my cloak prithee lay't up. Yes faith, my winding sheet was taken out of Lavender, to be stuck with Rosemary, I lacked but the knot here, or here; yet if I had had it, I should would made a wry mou h at the world Like a Playse: but sweetest villain, I am here now, and I will talk with thee soon. Did these heals caper in shackles? A my little plump rogue, I'll bear up for all this, and fly hie. Catzo Catzo. What sayest, what sayest? O brave fresh air, a pox on these Grates and gingling of Keys, and rattling of Iron, I'll bear up, I'll fly hie wench, hang Toss. I'll go visit all the mad rogues now, and the good roaring boys. Yes faith do I. Yes. 'Sfoot, I wonder how the inside of a Tavern looks now. O when shall I bizle, bizle? Honest Apes face. Bellafront, Bellafront, I protest to thee, I swear, as I hope my soul, I will turn over a new leaf, the prison I confess has bit me, the best man that sails in such a Ship, may be lousy. I'll be the Porter: they shall see, a Jail cannot hold a brave spirit, I'll fly hie. Come in pray, would you speak with me, sir? My name is Signior Matheo. This Gentlewoman is my wife, sir. How now old Lad, what dost cry? To serve me? Troth, my friend, my Fortune's are, as a man may say— No, no, you say well, thou sayest well; but I must tell you: How much is the money, sayest thou? Twenty pound? Let me see: that shall bring thee in, after ten per centum, per annum. A good old Boy, i'faith, if thou servest me, thou shalt eat as I eat, drink as I drink, lie as I lie, and ride as I ride. Peace, pox on you, peace, there's a trick in't, I fly hie, it shall be so, Front. as I tell you: give me thy hand, thou shalt serve me i'faith: welcome: as for your money— Pesh, keep it thy self, man, and then th'art sure it's safe. And didst thou serve my Worshipful Father-in-law, Signior Orlando Friscabaldo, that mad man once? It's a notable Chuff, I would not seen him many a day. Away Ass, he speaks but truth, thy father is a— And and old knave, there's more deceit in him then in sixteen Pothecaries: it's a Devil, thou mayest beg, starve, hang, damn; does he send thee so much as a cheese? A Jail, a Jail. A Dog. Pox rot out his old stinking garbage. Your doors! a vengeance? I shall live to cut that old rogues throat, for all you take his partly thus. Gods so my Lord, your Lordship is most welcome, I'm proud of this, my Lord. Yes sir. With all my heart, my Lord. My Lord Hipollito: what's thy name? Pacheco, fine name; Thou seest, Pacheco, I keep company with no Scondrels, nor base fellows. A glass of wine. Excellent well, I thank your Lordship: I owe you my life, my Lord; and will pay my best blood in any service of yours. Faith my Lord, I thank my stars, they send me down some; I cannot sink, so long as these bladders hold. Open the door, sirrah. The only royal fellow, he's bounteous as the Indies, what's that he said to thee, Bellafront? I prithee good Girl? Nothing? it's well: tricks, that I must be behol den to a scald hot-liuerd goatish Gallant, to stand with my cap in my hand, and veil bonnet, when I would spread as lofty sails as himself, would I had been hanged. Nothing Pa checo, brush my cloak. Come, wee'll fly hie. Nothing? there is a whore still in thine eye. O Rogue, of what devilish stuff are these Dice made off? of the parings of the Devils corns of his toes, that they run thus damnably. If any handicrafts man was ever suffered to keep shop in hell, it will be a Dice-maker; he's able to undo more souls then the Devil; I played with mine own Dice, yet lost. Would you any money? Must have money, must have some, must have a Cloak, and Rapier, and things: will you go set your lime twigs, and get me some birds, some money? You will not then? Must have cash and pictures: do you hear, (frailty) shall I walk in a Plymouth Cloak, (that's to say) Like a rogue, in my hose and doublet, and a crabtree cudgel in my hand, and you swim in your Sat tins? must have money, come. Help to flay, Pacheco. I'll pawn you by'th Lord, to your very eyebrows. O it's Summer, it's Summer; your only fashion for a woman now, is to be light, to be light. Thine? I'll starve first, I'll beg first; when I touch a penny of that, let these fingers ends rot. Knowest thou never a damned Broker about the City? The Gown stood me in above twenty Ducats, borrow ten of it, cannot live without silver. How now little chick, what ailest, weeping For a handful of Tailors shreds? pox on them, are there not silks enough at Mercers? What dost care for then? why dost grieve? 'Twas your profession before I married you. Why? do as all of our occupation do against Quarter days; break up house, remove, shift your lodge ings, pox a your Quarters. Signior Lodovico? how does my little Mirror of Knighthood? this is kindly done i'faith: welcome by my troth. Drink and feed, laugh and lie warm. A poor Gentlewoman, sir, whom I make use of a nights. Borrow some shells of him, some wine, sweet heart. You send for't? Some wine I prithee. 'Sblood, nor I: What wine love you, Signior? Troth, none. O Signior, we would been merry in our days. You say true. I am the most wretched fellow: sure some left handed Priest christened me, I am so unlucky: I am never out of one puddle or another, still falling. Fill out wine to my little finger. With my heart i'faith. Give me them: and evil conscience gnaw them all, moths and plagues hang upon their lousy wardrobes. A sort of Rascals are in my debt, (God knows what) and they feed me with bits, with crumbs, a pox choke them. Thanks, good Noble Knight. Hast angled? hast cut up this fresh Salmon? It's base to steal, it's base to be a whore: Thou'lt be more base, I'll make thee keep a door. How am I suited, Front? am I not gallant, would? Exceeding passing well, and to the time. And I have played a Gentleman's partly with my Tay lor, for I owe him for the making of it. To keep the fashion; It's your only fashion now of your best rank of Gallants, to make their Tailors wait for their money, neither were it wisdom indeed to pay them upon the first edition of a new suit: for commonly the suit is owing for, when the linings are worn out, and there's no reason then, that the Taylor should be paid be before the Mercer. This is the suit, and I needs not shame to wear it, for better men then I would be glad to have suits bestow ed on them. It's a generous fellow,—but—pox on him—we whose Pericranions are the very Limbecks and Stillitories of good wit, and fly High, must driven liquour out of stale Gam ping Oysters. Shallow Knight, poor Squire Tinacheo: I'll make a wild Cataine of forty such: hang him, he's and Ass, he's always sober. No faith, Front, Lodovico is a noble Slavonian: it's more rare to see him in a woman's company, then for a Spam niard to go into England, and to challenge the English Fen cers there.—One knocks,—See— La, fa, solemnizing, la, fa, la, rustle in Silks and Satins: there's music in this, and a Taffety Petticoat, it make both fly High,— Catzo. Would, Father? It's no matter, he finds no tattered Prodigals here. A poor Gentlewoman, sir. If it offend you, sir? it's for my pleasure. Bawdyhouse? Zounds sir— Pox on him, kneel to a Dog? Do you hear, sir? You fly a little too High, sir. I would suffered your tongue, Like a barred Cater tram, to run all this while, and would not stopped it. If you come to bark at her, because she's a poor rogue; look you, here's a fine path, sir, and there, there the door. Your blue Coats stay for you, sir. I love a good honest roaring Boy, and so— Sir, sir, I'll would no Jove's in my house to thunder A vaunt: she shall live and be maintained, when you, Like a keg of musty Sturgeon, shall stink. Where? in your Coffin. How? be a musty fellow, and lousy. Thief? Zounds Thief? Pox on you both, I'll not be braved: New Satin scorns to be put down with bore bawdy Velvet. Thief? And old Ass, a Dog, a Churl, a Chuff, and Usurer, a Villain, a Moth, a mangy Mule, with and old velvet footcloth on his back, sir. Would, would, alas. Under thy beard. No, as your self. How's this? how's this? dost thou fly High? rob Pedlars? bear witness Front, rob Pedlars? my man and I a Thief? Kneel, and get money of him. Hang upon him. I, I, sir, fare you well; we are so: follow close—we are Beggars—in Satin—to him. I think she has read and Homely to tickle to the old rogue. 'Sblood, make Pasties of my clothes? Will you eat that, sir? The pox you shall. This is your Father, your damned—confusion light upon all the generation of you; he can come bragging hither with four white Herrings (at's tail) in blue Coats without roes in their bellies, but I may starve ere he give me so much as a cob. Go trot after your Dad, do you capitulate, I'll pawn not for you, I'll not steal to be hanged for such and hypocritical close common Harlot: away, you Dog—Brave i'faith! Uds foot, Give me some meat. Goodman slave, my man too, is galloped to the De vill athe tother side: Pacheco, I'll checo you. Is this your Dads day? England (they say) is the only hell for Horses, and only Paradise for Women: pray get you to that Paradise, because you're called and Honest Whore; there they live none but honest whores with a pox: Marry here in our City, all our sex are but footcloth Nags: the Master no sooner lights, but the man leaps into the saddle. I could tear (by'th Lord) his flesh, and eat his midriff in salt, as I eat this:—must I choke—my Father Friscabaldo, I shall make a pitiful Hog-louse of you Orlando, if you fallen once into my fingers—Here's the sauo rest meat: I would God a stomach with chasing. What Rogue should tell him of those two Pedlars? A plague choke him, and gnaw him to the bore bones: come fill. Where didst buy this Mutton? I never felt better ribs. Hah, neighbour? foh, my mouth stinks, you whore, do you beg victuals for me? Is this Satin doublet to be bumbasted with broken meat? Beatrice out the brains of a beggarly— Would, would: Go out of my doors, you Rogue, away, four marks trudge. Must I be fed with chippings? you're best get a clap dish, and say you're Proctor to some Spittle-house. Where hast thou been, Pacheco? come hither my little Turkey cock. Sirrah, here was my Father-in-law to day. Hang him, he would would thrust crowns upon me, to have fallen in again, but I scorn cast-clothes, or any men gold. O: swore Like a dozen of drunken Tinkers; at last growing foul in words, he and four of his men drew up on me, sir. I made no more ado, but fell to my old lock, and so thrashed my blue Coats, and old crabtree-face my fa ther-in-law, and then walked Like a Lion in my grate. Sirrah, he could tell me of the robbing the two Pedlars, and that warrants are out for us both. Crack halter, wut set thy foot to mine? We'll pull that old Crow my Father: rob thy Ma ster. I know the house, thou the servants: the purchase is rich, the plot to get it easy, the Dog will not partly from a bone. Say no more, say no more, old coal, meet me anon at the sign of the Shipwreck. And dost hear, man?—the Shipwreck. Let who will come (my Noble Shauileir) I can but play the kind Host, and bid um welcome. The worst is, my wife is not at home; but we'll fly High (my generous Knight) for all that: there's no Music when a woman is in the consort. Happily encountered, sweet bloods. To that train I would given fire already; and the hook to draw him hither, is to see certain pieces of Lawn, which I told him I have to fell, and indeed have such: fetch them down, Pacheco. Here's Ordnance able to sack a City. So shall some of us be anon, I fear. You're welcome, Signior. Presently, my man is gone for them: we would rigged a Fleet, you see here, to sail about the world. Steal out of such company? Pacheco? my man is but gone for em: Lieutenant Bots, drink to this worthy old fellow, and teach him to fly High. Hast been at Gallows? Look, Signior: here's the Commodity. Thus. No: Oh fie, you must sly higher: yet take em home, trifles shall not make us quarrel, we'll agree, you shall have them, and a pennyworth, I'll fetch money at your shop. Going? a deep bowl of wine for Signior Candido. What's your business, Sir? Is the wind turned? well: this is that old Wolf, my Father-in-law: seek out your Mistress, Sirrah. Brave men must be crossed, pish, it's but Fortune's Dice roving against me: Come, sir, pray use me Like a Gen tleman, let me not be carried through the streets Like a Pa giant. I'll hear none: I fly High in that: rather then Kites shall seize upon me, and pick out mine eyes to my face, I'll strike my talons thorough mine own heart first, and spit my blood in theirs: I am here for shriving those two fools of their sinful pack: when those Jackdaws have cawde oh ver me, then must I cry guilty, or not guilty; the Law has work enough already, and therefore I'll put no work of mine into his hands, the Hangman shall have't first, I did pluck those Ganders, did rob them. Confess and be hanged, and then I fly High, is't not so? that for that a gallows is the worst rub that a good Bowler can meet with: I stumbled against such a post, else this night I had played the partly of a true Son in these days, undone my Father-in-law, with him would I would run at leap frog, and come over his gold, though I had broke his neck for't: but the poor Salmon Trout is now in the Net. Right, my Lord, and then may you fly low; no more words, a Mouse, Mum, you are stopped. Ass, why shouldst thou pray them to be good to me, when no man here is good to one another? Oh, yes, my Lord, yes:—the Hangman has never one Son at a birth, his Children always come by couples: Though I cannot give the old dog, my Father, a bone to gnaw, the Daughter shall be sure of a Choke-pear.—Yes, my Lord, there was one more that fiddled my fine Pedlars, and that was my wife. O, Sir, you love no quarters of Mutton that hang up, you love none but whole Mutton; she set the robbery, I performed it; she spurred me on, I galloped away. It's my humour, Sir, it's a foolish Bagpipe that I make my self merry with: why should I eat hempseed at the Hangmans thirteen-pence halfpenny Ordinary, and have this whore laugh at me as I swing, as I totter? A sixpenny Mutton Pasty, for any to cut up. A Barbers Cittern for every Servingman to play upon, that Lord, your Son, knows it. No, sir, but she's your Whore then, I cannot talk, sir, and tell of your Reins , and your fees , and your whirligigs, and devices: but, my Lord, I found em Like Sparrows in one nest, billing together, and bulling of me, I took em in bed, was ready to kill him was up to stab her— And I am now his Patient. What is't my little white pate? And come down again as well as a Bricklayer, or a Tyler. How the vengeance knows he this? If I be han ged, I'll tell the people I married old Friscabaldoes Daughter, I'll frisco you, and your old carcase.