HILTS

Cham not blind Sir With too much light. I can spy that At's little a hold, as another, through a Millstone. It i'no sand? nor Buttermilk? If't be, Ich'am no zive or watering pot, to draw Knots in your' casions. If you trust me, so: If not, praforme it your zelves. 'Cham no men wife, But resolute Hilts: you'll vind me i'the Buttery. Well overtaken, Gentlemen! I pray you, Which is the Queens High Constable among you? It is no matter what I think, young Clown: Your answer favours of the Cart. No: nor I care not: Whose Jade may you be? Do you mutter? Sir, snorle this way; That I may hear, and answer what you say, With my schoole-dagger, about your Costard Sir. Look to't, young growse: I'll lay it on, and sure; Take't off who's will. Go too: I will not bore him and ace on't. What? Rowle-powle? Maple-face? All fellows? That would I feign zee, quoth the blind George Of Holloway: Come Sir. Tell me of no Queen, or Keysar: I must have A leg, or a haunch of him, ere I go. Why must I, Goodman Must? Are you so? what then? This's a wise Constable! where keeps he school? But as survere as he is; Let me Sir tell him, He shall not lay his man by the he es for this. This was my quarrel: And by his office leave, If't carry 'hun for this, it shall carry double; Warrant he shall carry me too. Let 'hun mend his manners then, and know his betters: It's all I ask 'hun: and it'll be his own; And's Master's too, another day. I vore 'hun. Gramercy, good high Constables Him. But hear you? Mass: Constable, I have other manner of matter, To bring you about, then this. And so it is, I do belong to one o'the Queens Captains; A Gent'man of the Field, one Captain Thum's: I know not, whither you know 'hun, or no: It may be You do, and it may be you do not again. Nor I neither in faith. It skills not much; my Captain, and my self, Having occasion to come riding by, here, This morning, at the corner of Saint John is wood, Some mile of this Town, were set upon By a sort of country fellows: that not only Beatrice us, but robbed us, most sufficiently; And bound us to our behaviour, hand and foot; And so they left us. Now, Done Constable, I am to charge you in her Majesties name, As you will answer it at your apperill, That forthwith you raise Hue and Cry in the Hundred, For all such persons as you can dispect, By the length and breadth, of your office: warrant I tell you, The lose is of some valve, therefore look to't. Tut, Pancridge me no Pancridge, if you let it Slip, you will answer it, and your Cap be of wool; Therefore take heed, you'll feel the smart else, Constable. Theev's kind, I have told you. Men of our make. Troth no: there were so many of hun, all Like So one another: Now I remember me, There was one busy fellow, was their Leader; A blunt squat swad, but lower then your self, He' had on a Leather Doublet, with long points. And a pair of pin'd-up breech's, Like pudding bags: With yellow stockings, and his hat turned up With a silver Clasp, on his leere side. John Clay? what's he, good Mistress? How! your husband, pretty one? Oh you are well 'prehended: know you me Sir? You did not? where were your eyes then? out at washing? Well, Mr. Constable, this your fine Groom here, Bridegroom, or what Groom else, soere he be, I charge him with the felony; and charge you To carry him back forthwith to Paddington, Unto my Captain, who stays my return there: I am to go to the next Justice of peace, To get a warrant to raise Huy and Cry, And bring him, and his fellows all afore 'hun. Fare you well Sir, and look to 'hun I charge you, As yo'll answer it. Take heed; the business If you defer, may prejudicial you More then you thinke-for, zay I told you so. Hilts goes out Put on thy hat, I look for no despect. Where's thy Master? Pr'y thee run after 'hun, and tell 'hun he shall Find out my Captain, lodged at the read- Lion In Paddington; that's the Inn. Let one ask Warrant Captain Thum's; And take that for thy pains: He may seek long enough else. Him thee again. That I will: prithee haste. Sweet Mrs. Bride, Hee'll come again presently. Here was no subtle device to get a wench. This Canon has a brave pate of his own! A Shaved pate! And a right monger, you vaith! This was his plot! I follow Captain Thum's? We robbed in Saint John is wood? In my tother hose! I laugh, to think what a fine fools finger they have Oh this wise Constable, in pricking out This Captain Thum's to his neighbours: you shall see The Tile-man too set fire on his own Kill, And leap into it, to save himself from hanging. You talk of a Bride-ale, here was a Bride-ale broke, In the neck. Well: I must yet dispatch this Bride, To mine own master, the young Squire, and then My task is done. Gen'woman! I have in sort Done you some wrong, but now I'll do you what right I can: It's true, you are a proper woman; But to be cast away on such a Clowne-pipe As Clay; me thinks, your friends are not so wise As nature might have made them; well, go too: There's better fortune coming towards you, A ' you do not deject it. Take a voole's counsel, and do not stand in your own light. It may prove better then you think for: Look you. Forsake not a good turn, when it's offered you; Fair Mistress Awdrey, that's your name, I take it. Well, so it is, there is a bold young Squire, The blood of Totten, Tub, and Tripoli —. He is in love with you: and more, he's mad for you. What ails you? You do not know when yo'are well, I think: You'd have the Calf with the white face, Sir, would you? I have her for you here; what would you more? No more of it, quoth you? I do not care, If some on us had not herd so much of't, I tell you true; A man must carry, and fetch, Like Bungy is dog for you. A Spaniel. And scarce be spit in the mouth for't. A good Dog Deserves, Sir, a good bone, of a free Master: But, and your turns be served, the devil a bit You care for a man after, ere a Lard of you. Like will to Like, i'faith, quoth the scabbed Squire To the mangy Knight, when both met in a dish Of buttered vish. One bade, there's never a good; And not a barrel better Hearing among you. Vaith, would I had a few more geances on't: And you say the word, send me to Jericho. Out-cept a man were a Post-horse, I have not known The Like on't; yet, and he had kind words, 'Twould never irk 'hun. But a man may break His heart out in these days, and get a flap With a foxtail, when he has done. And there is all. Tut, keep your land, and your gold too Sir: I Seek neither—neither of 'hun. Learn to get More: you will know to spend that zum you have Early enough: you are assured of me. I love you too too well, to live of the spoil: For your own sake, were there were no worse then I. All is not Gold that glisters: I'll to Pancridge. You mean to make a Hoiden, or a Hare Oh me, to hunt Counter thus, and makes these doubles: And you mean no such thing, as you send about? Where's your sweetheart now, I marl? I know you of old! never halt afore a Cripple. Will you have a Cawdle? where's your grief, Sir? speak? How then, Sir? what if I do? peradventure yea: Peradventure nay, what's that to you Sir? Say. How? Say me that again. He must? How? how? stand by a little, sirrah, you With the badge of your breast. Let's know Sir what you are? A Purs'yvant? your name Sir? What is't? speak? Pray you, Let us alone. You are a Purs'yvant? Would! and who made you one? tell true, or my will Shall make you nothing, instantly. Speak then the truth, And the whole truth, and nothing but the truth. Well, bless thee: I do wish thee grace, to keep Thy Master's secrets, better, or be hanged. Thine own wish, save, or choke thee; Come away. As good ene never a whit, as never the better. This was because we rose on the wrong side: But as I am now here, just in the midway, I'll zet my sword on the pommel, and that line The point valles too, wee'll take. whither it be To Kentish-town, the Church, or home again. Let me alone? I'll use him in his kind. I am neither neck, nor in the neck: therefore You lie Sir Metaphor. Lie so Sir. Thou liest of the ground. Dost thou know me? What is my name then? Basket? what? The Great? what? Great is my patience, to forbear thee thus, Thou Scrape-hill, Skoundrell, and thou skum of man; Uncivil, orenge-tawny-coated Clarke: Thou camest but half a thing into the world, And wast made up of patches, parings, shreds: Thou, that when last thou Wertenberg put out of service, Travaild'st to Hamsted Heath, on and Ash-we'nsday, Where thou didst stand six weeks the Jack of Lent, For boys to hoorle, three throws a penny, at thee, To make thee a purse: Seest thou this, bold bright blade? As minced meat for a pie. I'll set thee in earth All save thy head, and thy right arm at liberty, To keep thy hat off, while I question thee, What? why? and whither thou Wertenberg going now With a face, ready to break out with business? And tell me truly, lest I dashed in pieces. It's sheathed, stand up, speak without fear, or wit. No, not I; Thy breeches yet are honest. This heartless fellow; shame to servingmen; Stain of all livories; what fear makes him do! How sordid, wretched, and unworthy things; Betray his Master's secrets, open the closet Of his devises, force the foolish Justice, Make way for your Love, plotting of his own: Like him that digs a trap, to catch another, And falls into't himself! But that this poor white-livered Rogue should do't? And merely out of fear? Who, but a fool, will refuse money proffered? If he come empty-headed, let him count To go back empty-headed; I'll not leave him So much of brain in's pate, with pepper and vinegar, To be served in for sauce, to a Calves head. I'll seal az much With my hand, as I dare say now with my tongue; But if you get the Lass from Dargison, What will you do with her? Hast thou the money Miles? 'slid my Lady! my Lady! Sir, and you were my Master ten times over, And Squire to boot; I know, and you shall pardon me: Send me among Devils? I zee you love me not: Hell be at their game: I'll not trouble them. And they were Giants, it were another matter. But Devils! No, if I be torn in pieces, What is your warrant worth? I'll see the Fiend Set fire of the bairn, ere I come there. Cocks precious Master, you are not mad indeed? You will not go to hell before your time? No, not afraid: But by your leave, I'll come no near the bairn. Heaven protect my Master. I tremble every joint till he be back. I would not be in my Master's coat for thousands. Where man? where? If this be all your Devil, I would take In hand to conjure him: But hell take me If ere I come in a right Devils walk, If I can keep me out on't. Thank you good D'oge. D'oge Scriben, the great Writer Sir of Chalcot. The wisest heads o'the hundred. Medlay the Joiner, Headborough of Islington, Pan of Belsize, and Clench the Leach of Hamsted. The High Constables counsel, here of Finsbury, Wise men of Finsbury: make place for a Squire, I bring to your acquaintance, Tub of Totten. Squire Tub, my Master, loves all men of virtue. And longs (az one would zay) till he be one on you. Scriben, the great Writer. Supper is ready, Sir. My Lady calls for you. He's come within. what are they, Jack? And are the Table merry? He has lost his wench already: As good be hanged. I faith, Black Jack, he should have been her Bridegroom: But I must go to wait of my wise Master's. Jack, you shall wait on me, and see the Mask anon: I am half Lord Chamberlin, in my Master's absence. In-and-In. The Maker of Islington: Come go with me To the sage sentences of Finsbury. Did I not make him to confess all to you? Oh, how am I beholden to the Inventer, That would not, on record against me enter! My slackness here, to enter in the bairn, Well In-and-In, I see thou canst discern! You'll clap a dog of wax as soon, old Blurt? Come, spare not me, Sir; I am no men wife: I care not, I, Sir, not three skips of a Louse for you, And you were ten tall Constables, not I. Let Kentish-town, or Pancridge come to us, If either will: I will go home again.