BOWYER

If you can judge of colours (Madam) this is he. Painter, stand forth. Let me alone to give the Painter destruction, I know him as well as the Beggar knows his dish: he wears a white Scarf in his hat, and and Orange tawny feather up on his arm. Orange tawny and Azure, all's one, all is but fea there, there is no difference I am sure but in colour. Not so, isle prove the contrary: You are fair, and I am foul, is that all the difference between you and I? there's another thing in it, if you mark it well. Tarry, sir, tarry, we want the length of your nose: nay, if you will not hear, isle be so bold as follow your nose. Sir, tarry, tarry. I have run till I sweat, sweat till my shirt cleaves to my back, cried till I am hoarse, and am hoarse till I cannot cry, and yet he will not come back. Stand, give the word along, stand. Lieutenant. Is the watch set in the Kings quarter yet? Zounds, what foolish Canaanits were they, to run in debt to their eyes for and hours sleep, sooner then they needed? Sergeant. Anon sir! s'hart, the Rogue answers Like a Drawer: but 'tis the trick of most of these Sergeants, all clincum, clancum. Gods dynes, I am and Onion, if I had not rather serve foremost in the forlorn hoop of a battle, or run point blank against the mouth of a double charged Can non, then come under the arrests of some of their pewter pessels: zounds, 'tis hotter a great deal then hell mouth, & Dives burning in Sulphur: but thou art none of the genea logy of them. Where must we watch to night? Thats the next way to have all our throats cut. You, Rafe Nod? zounds, soldiers, follow my disci pline, say your prayers, you are all dead men, all dust and a shes, all worms meat. Do you make him Sentronell? s'hart, heel nod presently: and he do not sleep sitting upon the point of a Spanish needle, Dick Bowyer's a very shuttlecock. Nod! zounds, he is one of the nine sleepers, a very Dormouse: & I had a Pageant to present, of the seven deadly sins, he should play Sloth: and he did not sleep when he should speak his partly, I am a Badger. Zounds, you Rogue, do not you know that? I'll tell you: s'hart, and I lie, call me Iebuzite. Once as I was figh ting in S. Georges fields, and blind Cupid seeing me, and taking me for some valiant A chilles, he took his shaft, and shot me right into the left heel, and ever since, Dick Bow year hath been lame: but my heart is as found as a bell, heart of Oak, spirit, spirit. Lieutenant, discharge Nod, and let Cricket stand Sentronell, till I come. On afore, strike Drum, march soldiers, keep your place, Nod: lusty my hearts, for the honour of England, & our brave General, the Earl of Pembroke. So, I have dis charged my self of these. Hight shot! now to my love: some may say, the tale of We nus loving Mars, is a fable: but he that is a true soldier, and a Gent. as Dick Bowyer is, & he do not love some varlet or other, zounds, he is worse then a gaping Oyster without li quor. There's a pretty sweet faced mother that waits on the princess, that I have some mind to; but a whorso ̄ Achitophel, a parasite, a rogue, one whose face looks worse the ̄ a Tailors cushion, of old shreds & colours; zounds, Like a weavers leg, in and old ditch feeding horseleeches, & this trotter is my ry val, & loves Thomasin: his name is Peter de Lions; but s'hart (I will not swear neither) if I do not turn Rich. Cor de Lion with him, if I do not tear out his heart and eat it with mus tard, Enter Pe ter, and Thomasin let him say Dick Bowyer's a Mackarell. Yonder he comes with my Property would`worser in hand. Zou ̄ ds, I say nothing: but isle hear what they say, and determine afterwards. And I do not spoil that humour, so— A good Rogue, by Jesu. Zounds, what a Philistine is this? what a dictionary of proper names hath the Rogue God together? heart, his tongue crawls as fast as the Cheese does in Germany. I'll pierce you for this, you Lobster. Captain? s'hart, and thou hast under thy charge, any other then Pigmies, I am Gogmagog. Dost thou hear (sowgelder?) and I do not with six Cranes (well marshalled) overrun thee and thy hundred and fifty, say Dick Bow yer's a coward. Peace (good Thomasin) silence, sweet socket. Peter, dost see this sword? this sword killed Sarlaboys, that was one Rogue: now it shall kill thee, that's two Rogues. Whoreson puttock, no garbage serve you but this? have at you. I'll be hanged then. Dost thou hear, noble Gene rall? Dick Bowyer knows what belongs to service: we did not draw of any malice, by this element of iron & steel, but to measure which of our swords were longest. I'll save you for once, you Sarazen, because I see yowl hang scurui lie: but the next time— Never fear (General) if Julius Caesar rise up against us, ever he do my Lord any wrong, zounds, isle be cut smaller then potherbs. I'll to the trenches, come Thomasin. Leere not, Lobster, lest I thum that russeting face of yours with my sword hilt, till that it look as pyde coloured as the Rainbow. By Jesu isle do it, and therefore follow me not. There is no toil to this walking of the Round: S'hart, I have been stumbling up and down all this night, Like a Brewers horse, that has never a good eye in his head: 'Tis as dark as Pitch. I can resemble our Camp to nothing better then hell, save that in hell they are always waking, and here the villains are as drow sie as swine. Lieutenant Nod! why, you might have shot a double Cannon in his ear, and never have wakte him: I iogd, and I iogd; I shouted, and I shouted; and yet the mongrel snorted, you might hear him to Dover: at last, I dragged him by the heals into a ditch of water, and there left the Lobster crawling. A the tother side, Core be king appointed to stand Sentynell upon the Wallounes quarter, s'hart, the Loach gets me into a Sutlers both, and there sits me drinking for Ioanes best cap: but by this hand, and as Dick Bowyer is a Soldier, and a Cavaliero, he shall fit in the bolts for it to morrow. My comfort is in these extremities, that I brought Thomasin to her La die Tent, leaving her newcome Lover to pick straws: but soft, qui vou la? Stand. Know, or not know, without the word you pass not. So, ally, ally, Monseur. I saw him not. As much to you. Zounds, these Frenchmen think to outface us with a carded of ten: but, and his beard were made of brass, Dick Bowyer will make him know the discipline of war. Here comes another. Some call me so, what then? O, good morrow, my Lord, good morrow. Even now, my Lord, he passed along this way. Nay questionless, he was alone, my Lord. Faith, scurvily, my Lord, Like a green cheese, or the inside of a rotten Pumpian. I thank your Lordship. To see the difference be tween these French Curs, and our English Cavaliers: there's as much bounty in them, as there's Marchpane in a dish of Almond butter. I might have stood here till my teeth chatter in my head, ever the tother Launceprisado would have said, Here, Captain Bowyer, there's a Car dicue, to wash down melancholy. But had I known as much, I would have basted him, till his bones had rattled in his skin. How now Master's, what calf are you dragging to the slaughterhouse there? would? So, Lieutenant Core, you are crept from your cups at last, I'll talk with you anon: but, sirrah, to you: From whence come you? So, what's your name? S'hart, what a name's that! the Hedgehog mocks us: Bow wow, quotha? whatkin art thou to the generation of Dogs? Zounds, he calls us curs, hang the hotchpotch up in a fathom or two of match. Well, sirrah, whom do you serve? And honourable Lady, sir: let him go: 'tis against the law of arms to stay him. My name's Dick Bowyer. How now, Core? how can you answer your being a tippling, when you should stand Sentinel? Thou art always dry: the whoreson Maltworm has a throat Like the burning Climb, or a Glass-makers Furnace: But your remove from thence has saved you from the bolts. How now, what Water-Spanyell have we here? Oh notable Rogue! did not I find thee asleep, and threw thee into a ditch? Yet saw me not, no more then a Molewarp: this is and egregious Rogue. By this flesh and blood, many one that lies in his graven, was not half so senseless: but the Watch breaks up, every one to his quarter, away. And what was he? A scapart, oryour Country man Gargantua, that stuffed every button of his coat with a load of hay? God's-heart, we have me a fellow; here's all mouth, he speaks nothing but Monarch. Dost thou hear, King? give me leave to encounter this puckfist: and if I do not make him cry Peccavi, say Dick Bowyer's a powdered Mackrell. Zounds, I think he has a patten to take up all the Shields ith Country, hang me if thou wantest work, heeres for Navarre, the earl of Pembrok & Cavaliero Bowier: (Fight A thousand pound to a Tailors bodkin, this fellow has a familiar: but howsoever, thou mayest thank my lame leg: theres my shield. Navarre down too! God's-heart, this fellow hath the trick of it: If he be not a witch or some Devil, let me be stickt into a Carbinado. Heart, stand to it? here's some of us knows how to run away, and they be put to it: Though we have lost our brave General, the Earl of Pembroke, ye here's Cavaliero Bowyer, Core and Nod, by Jesu, found Cards; and Mahound and Termagant come against us, weel fight with them. Couragio, my hearts, S. George for the honour of England. That's a trick, by Jesu, to mock and Ape: we'll none of that. By Jesu, & you go this way, you must pay custom. Zounds, you Pickthatch Cavaliero petticote-monger, can you find time now to be catching Thomasin? come, deliver, or by Zenacrib, & the life of king Charlemayne, isle thrash your coxcomb, as they do hens at Shrouetyde: no, will you not do, you Tan-fat? zounds, then have at you. Zounds, never run for the matter, a scratched face can not serve your turn, we must have bloody noses: sta ̄ worser on your guard: & I do not make haggasse puddings of your guts, I'll never dominier in the long Alleys again. Do: have at you in earnest: S. George, you rogue. So, there's for your prolixities: there's for Though masin: the Thornbackly slave, and he were made of any thing but gristles, I am a pumpian: God's-heart, he had no met tle in him: yet how the villain crak't and dominierd when he was living: ah, sirrah, never g than for the matter, 'tis Captain Bowyer that speaks it. When thou meetest the great Devil, commend me to him, and say, I sent him thee for a new years gift: and there's one Sarlaboys to, as arrant a bloodsucker, and as notable a coward, as ever drew weapon in a bawdy house: he carries my mark a bout him: if Dick Bowyer be not writ a bountiful be nefactor in hell for my good deeds, in sending thither such Canibals, I am a Rabbit-sucker: yet I scorn to vaunt of my deeds too. They found a retreat: farewell, Peter, and learn hereafter what it is to be rival to and English gentle man, Cavaliero Bowyer, one of the Nine worthies. Not we, by this beard: not we, by the life of Pharo. A pox a peace, it keeps our Ancient whole; but s'hart our gaberdines go to wrack: but futra: 'tis well known, since Dick Bowyer came to France, he hath showed himself a gentleman & a Cavaliero, and sets fear at's heals: and I could escape (a pox on it) th'other thing, I might haps return safe & found to England; but what remedy? all flesh is grass, and some of us must needs be scorched in this hight Con trey. Lieutenant Core, prithee led my Band to their quar ter, and the Rogues do not as they should, cram thy self, good Core, down their throats, and choke them. Who stand Sentronell to night, sir? And you squeeze me, I may haps grow saucy with you, you whoreson burned Pudding pie, you dry Parsnip: kiss me, Thomasin: so, dare you stand to your word now, and squeeze me?