BILBO

Thieves, Thieves, Thieves, where are they Master? Because you cried Whores; I knew a Thief was all ways within a stones cast of a Whore. I make them which are made every hour i'th day (patches.) Reach that paper of gloves what mark is't? That ilfauor'd Thief in your Candle sir, none else not I. That which few men can do, mending Sir. That which few men care to mend, a bade sole. I see 'tis our Wicket master. I herd Puskeena our Kitchenmaid say, she was going a bout a murder: Of certain Skippers; she was flaying her self. Gazetto! no sir, here was no Gazetto here. So, ho ho, ho, ho. So, ho, ho, ho, the Conies use to feed most i'th-night Sir, yet I cannot see my young mistress in our Warren. No, nor you neither, 'tis so dark. My memory jogs me by the elbow, and tells me— A Barber stood with her on Saturday night very late, when he had shaved all his Customers, and as I think, came to trim her. A checkered aprone Gentleman I assure you: he smelled horrible strong of Camphire, Bay leaves and Rose water: and he stood fiddling with Tormiella. Fiddling at least half and hour, on a Cittern with a men broken head at it, so that I think 'twas a Barber Surgeon: and there's one Cynamomo a Shopkeeper, comes hither a batfowling every Moonshine night too. I take him to be a Comfitmaker with rotten teeth, for he never comes till the Barber's gone. He has a house i'th City, but I know not where he lives. My sconce is ready Sir. I'll Beatrice down the door; and put him in mind of a Shrovetuesday, the fatal day for doors to be broken open. Who goes there, if you be a woman stand, for all the men I met to night, lie in the Kennel. Out of my wits and yet no Churls Executor, it's no money makes me mad, but want of money. I am going to Hell (that's to say home) for my Master plays the Devil, and I come from seeking out a house of ever lasting Thunder, (that's to say a Woman) I have been boun cing at Signior Gazetto is Chamber for you. You'll be haa'd when you come home. Signior Gazetto is horn-mad, and leapt out of his Bed, (as if fleas had bit him) so that I think he comes running stark naked after me. She would have you do much but say little. No, no, away, mum I. I'spy a light coming, trudge this way. Another Firedrake! More Salamanders! Here Sir. Signior Gazetto! Mine Eyes are no bigger then little pins heads with staring, my heals ache with trotting, my candle is come to and untimely end through a Consumption. yet my young Mistress your sweet heart, Like sweet breath amongst Tobacco-drinkers, is not to be found. Here sir, turn down this Lane; shall I knock your Torch Signior? Had you knocked your Torch well before Tormiella (beware the post) and held it well up when it was lighted, she had ne ver given you the slip, and faith Signior when is the day? If she should driven you by foul weather into Cuckolds Haven before Saint Lukes day comes, Signior Luco how then? Here is my Master's Gate. They are made for the purpose to lie and cullor, I'll knock. It's I, open the door. What common! You do me wrong sir, though I go in breeches, I am not the roaring girl you take me for. Yes. No. No sir, I was with him. Yes when I told him. It's some English man has stolen her, I hold my life, for most Thieves and bravest Conycatchers are amongst them. But you know not when, will you take your Torch. Lazarillo art bound yet? Make as much haste to seal, as younger Brother's do at taking up of Commodities: for Lazarillo, there's not any Deigo that treads upon Spanish leather, goes more upright upon the soles of his Conscience, then our Master does. Like her, did not I Like her simply, to run away from her father (where I had both men Servants and maid Servants un der me) to wear a flat cap here and cry what do you lack. Done sweet Done, see here rich Tuscan hatbands, ventoyes, or Barbarian shoestrings—no point— P. and Q. chafe these, chafe, chafe, here's a world to make Shopkeepers chafe. Lazarillo, Lazarillo, my old master Andrada Malevento; do you hear sir, the best hangers in Spain for your worship. Jogging on Sir, in the old path to be called upon to bear all offices, I hope one day. Turned Citizen sir, a Counter you see still before me, to put me in mind of my end, and what I must go to, if I trust too many with my beware, it's news to see your worship in S ill. None. What will your worship give me, if I melt away all that sow of led that lies lieauy at your heart, by telling you where she is. And I can tell you Prentices are as gallant now, as some that walk with my cozen Bilbo at their sides, you can scarce know'em from Prentices of Seville. Now I draw home, do you see this shop, this shop is my Master's. That master lies with my young mistress, and that mistress is your Daughter. Mum: she's gone forth, this morning to a Wedding, he's above, but (as great men have done) he's coming down. This is he. As kind and old man Lazarillo, as ever drunk mulled Sack. Weep; I warrant that was because he could not find in's heart to have my Master by cares. Chase chase. Newly gone forth forsooth. With my old Master your Father. As Officers at Court use Citizens that come without their Wives; scarce made him drink, but they are gone very lovingly together. Not only the old man. Unless he wore the invisible cloak. Fine Garters, Gloves, Glasses, Girdles what is't you buy, Alas mistress, this world is able to make any man mad. What is't you buy. What is't you lack sir! For your self sir! Then sir go no farther, here's the fairest in all Spain, fell low it and take mine for a dogskin. Nay Madam, the glove is most genuine for any young Ladies hand under the Cope, I assure you. Nay, the Leather is affable and apt to be drawn to any generous disposition. Stiff; as prolixious as you please: nay sir the sent is Aro maticall and most odorous, the musk upon my word Sir is per fect Cathayne, a Tumbasine odour upon my credit, not a grain either of your Salmindy Caram or Cubit musk. No adultery in the world in't, no sophistication but pure as it comes from the cod. You shall have all the beware opened i'th shop to please your worship, but you shall be fitted! Four double Pistolets. Good beware cannot be too deer: look upon the cost, Relish the sent, note the workmanship. The best in Sivell: Lack you no rich Tuskan Garters, We tian ventoyes Madam, I have masks most methodical, and fa cetious: assay this glove sir? You shall have a fine smooth skin please your feeling better, but all our Spanish Dons choose that which is most rough, for it holds out, sweat you never so hard. The price! Four Crowns, I have excellent Hungarian shag bans Madam for Ladies, cut out of the same piece that the great Turks To libant was made of. Do you want any French Codpiece points Sir, If they be black they are rotten indeed, sir do you want no rich spangled Morisco shoestrings. It comes to 4. 5. 6. in all, six double Pistolets, and a Spanish Ducat over. Madam, worshipful Done, pray sir offer, if any shop show you the Like beware. Do you hear Madam! I assure your worship, my master will be a looser by you. Mistress strike in with her. Make up that beware, look to shop. Nor I, it dropped from her somewhere else then. Are you, then make fast the shop door, and play out your set at Maw, for the Mistress of my Master's alley is trundled before, and my bowls must rub after. She's out a'th Alley, i'th Cranck belike, run, run, run. She's departed Sir. It may to a Lord, for a Lady had her away, I came back to fetch a Glove which dropped from the Lady, but before I could overtake them, they were all dropped from me; my Mistress is to me Sir, the needle in the bottle you wot where. What shall I call her? Strange news Sir! Yonders a Coach full of good faces. Yes to alight at our Gate; They are all coming up as boldly, as if they were Landlords and came for Rend, see else. She's fallen sick sir. Of the falling sickness; you and my Master have used her to run away, that she has showed you another light pair of heals, she's gone Sir. It may be she lies by this time, but I stand to my words, I say again She's gone sir; cast your Cap at her, but she's gone hur ried into a Coach drawn with four Horses. That runs on four wheels, the Caroach sir. I will sir, it's every men case i'th City, to have his wife stopped.— The honey of sweet Compliment so turn up your Tusks or Mochatoes, that they be not too stiff, to bristle a gainst my acquaintance. No Signior of the City: are you a Done of the City! Why. Let em pay us what they owe then, and pull on their shoes, and wee'll wait no more. But you are fuller of Apish-tricks. Why not; for though some of your Ladies invent the fashi on, some of our wives husbands are never paid for the stuff or making. I tell thee Signior! we of the City eat none of your Court butter, but some of your munch up our flatten milk cheese. Be not you too loud: for you might be good singers at Court but that most of you are spoiled in learning your pricksong. Be attentive, I will show you your Court Coranto pace, it consisteth of 5. bees and 3. cees; you borrow of any man, are brave on any terms, brag at any hand to pay, bellow at any that demands it, bite any Catchpole that fangs you, but carry neither Conscience nor coin in your whole pockets. And tell me Signior, tell me, why when you eat our good cheer i'th City, have you handsome wide chops, but me ting us at Court, none; your gum's glued up, your lips coap'd Like a Ferret, not so much as the corner of a Custard; if a cold cup, and a dry cheat loaf it's well. Go, go, you are Prodigals, and glad of the yellow A corns we leave our Sons. I will bless my self, when a Courtier owing me no more ney, comes near my door. You are ascended up to what you are, from the black Jack and bumbard distillation. Delicious Done. Yes Sir, for he gave Tormiella a Candied root once, and she swore 'twas the sweetest thing— Flexable as you can wish, the very bristles of the same Swine that are fattened in Virginia. Yes forsooth, she never put her hand into a sweeter thing. I have not passed by a Done, to touch whose hand mine own was never more troubled with a more terrible itch.