CLENCH

Why, it's thirty year, eene as this day now: Zin Valentines day, of all days cursin'd, look you; And the zame day of the month, as this Zin Valentine, Or I am vowly deceived. At the Cock and Hen, in High-gate. You have 'fresh'd my rememory well in't! neighbour Pan: He had a place, in last King Harry is time, Of sorting all the young couples; joining them: And putting them together; which is, yet, Praform'd, as on his day— Zin Valentine; As being the Zin of the shire, or the whole County: I am old Rivet still, and bear a brain, The Clench, the Varrier, and true Leach of Hamsted. A Contervarsie, betwixt your two learned men here: Hannibal Puppy says, that Law and Poetry Are both flat cheating; All's but writing and reading, He says, be't verse or prose. They zaid, your worship had sured her to Squire Tub Of Totten-Court here; all the hundred rings on't. I'll have Tom Tiler, For our John Clay is sake, and the Tile kills, zure. And then it's done warrant ever, as they say. 'Tis right: he has spoke as true as a Gun; believe it. Nay, pray you Gentleman—. Zomething must be, to save authority, Puppy. And Gossip— In Kentish Town, a very survere man. Vaith do: my Gossip Turf zaies well to you John. Faith Gossip Turf, you have, you say, Remission, To comprehend all such, as are dispected: Now, would I make another privy search Through this Town, and then you have zearch'd two towns. The world forfend, I hope, it is not so well. Or our Shore ditch Duke. One of Southampton —. As I am a Varrier, and a Visicarie: Horse-smith of Hamsted, and the whole Town Leach—. And I can zee the stale once, through a Vrine-hole, I'll give a shrewed guess, be it man, or beast. I cured and Alewife once, that had the staggers Worse then five horses, without roweling. My God-phere was a Rabian, or a Jew, (You can tell D'oge! ) They called un Doctor Rasi. He was King Harry is Doctor, and my God-phere. The Squire is a fine Gentleman! Zure, you can gage 'hun. All Constables are truly John's for the King, What ere their names are; be they Tony, or Roger. I wonder, where the Queens High Constable is! I veare, they have made 'hun away. Here comes Squire Tub. His worship's wel'cun to our company: Would't were wiser for 'hun. A disguise, neighbour, Is the true word: There stands the man, can do't Sir. Medlay the Joiner, In-and-In of Islington, The only man at a disguise in Midlesex. He can do all Sir. It will be glorious, If In-and-In will undertake it, Sir: He has a monstrous medlay wit of his own. He has put you to it, Neighbour In-and-In. You have seen none of his works Sir? All the Cries of the City: And all the trades in their habits. Care to fit one then. The Squire commends one. He does Like all well.