DRUM

Come Timothy Twedle, tickle thy Pipe on the green, as I have tippled the Pot in the Seller, and the hoy for the honour of High-gate, you old Trojan. I, I; and Sir Edward, and the yellow toothd, sunk-eyed, gouty shankt Usurer Maman, my young Mistress's and all are coming to the green, lay Cum shions, lay the Cushions, would the wenches! And please your Wor. the Morris have taken their liquour. Trip up their heals or so? one of them hath undertaken to dance the Morris from Hygate to Hollo way on his heals, with his hands upwards. Yes sir, 'tis easier for him to dance on his head than his heals, for indeed his heals are turned rank rebels, they will not obey, but they are tumbling down the hill a pace. Hark you sir, theres but two Lambs, a dozen Capons, half a score couple of Rabbots, three Tarts, and four Tansies, for supper, and therefore I beseech you give him Jack Drums entertainment: Let the Jebusite de partly in peace. I for any Christian, but for a yawning usurer 'tis but a bit, a morsel, if you table him, heel devour your whole Lordship, he is a quicksand, a Goodwin, a Gulf, as hungry as the Jaws of a Jail, he will waste more substance then Ireland soldiers: A Die, a Drab, and a paunch-swolne Usurer, devour whole Monar chies: Let him pass sweet knight, let him pass. A clubfisted Usurer. Yes sir. A little back wind, saving your wor. sir. He's over the shoes, yet heel hold out uva ter, for I have liquored him soundly. Rely on me Christopher, I will be thy staff, And thy Master's nose shall be thy lantern & candlelight Your Drum will found a call sir presently. Sir, she is either invisible, or deaf, for I can neither see her, nor she hear me. 'Tis easier to find wit in ballating, honesty in Brokers, Virginity in Shordich, then to hear of my Mistress. A Servingman quoth you? Heart, and if I serve any thats flesh and blood, would I might never taste my liquore more: stand bore whilst he makes water, out vppont, I'll to Ireland, and there I'll Tan, ran, ty, ry, dan, Sa, sa, sa, sa: Nay 'tis the only life. I, I, he's a very good honest man: for theres not a hair betwixt him and heaven. Welcome Basilisco, thou wilt carry level, and knock ones brains out with thy pricking wit. Kiss me sweet wench, kiss me. Out you French Dog, touch my Love, and I'll— I'll touch you, I'll slash you, I'll vench you. Heart touch my love, touch my Winifride? Why then my cholers down. John foe de King. Fontra for you. Truly Mistress Winifride, as I would be will ling to be thankful, and thankful to find you willing to prostrate your fair parts to my pleasure, so I hope you will remember your promise, and promise what you now remember, if you have forgotten, I would be glad to put you in mind of it. Well then be constant Winifride, and you shall find me faithful Jack Drum: and so taking leave of your lips, I betake me to the tuition of the Sack. Gentlemen my M. desires you to come supp with him, I was sent to invite you, and this itching goat, would needs ease my legs & carry me: I hope you'll come, and so I take my leave. I, I am gulled, but if I quit her not, well. O Sir, M. Mamon is in a City of Jury, called Bethlehem, Alias plain Bedlam: the price of whips is migh tily risen since his brain was pitifully overtumbled, they are so fast spent upon his shoulders.