LADY TUB

Is the Nag ready Marten? call the Squire. This frosty morning we will take the air, About the fields: for I do mean to be Somebodies Valentine, in my Velvet Gown, This morning, though it be but a beggar-man. Why stand you still, and do not call my son? Will have him called? Wherefore did I, Sir, bid him Be called, you Weasel, Vermin of and Huisher? You will return your wit to your first style Of Marten Polecat, by these stinking tricks, If you do use them: I shall no more call you Pol-marten, by the title of a Gentleman, Pol-marten goes out. If you go on thus— Be quick then, In your come off: and make amends you Stote! Was ever such a Full-mart for and Huisher, To a great worshipful Lady, as my self; Who, when I herd his name first, Martin Poleat, A stinking name, and not to be pronounced Without a reverence. In any Ladies presence; my very heart eene earned, seeing the Fellow Young, pretty and handsome; being then I say, A Basket-Carrier, and a man condemned To the Saltpeter works; made it my suit To Mr. Peeter Tub, that I might change it; And call him as I do now, by Pol-marten, To have it found Like a Gentleman in and Office, And made him mine own Foreman, daily waiter, And he to serve me thus! Ingratitude! Beyond the Coursenes yet of any Clownage, Shown to a Lady! what now, is he stirring? Hev urns. And comes he then? Gone? whither? ask the Porter: Where's he gone? And hour ago! what business could he have, So early? where is his man, grave Basket Hilts? His Guide, and Governor? Is he gone too? Oh that same surly knave, Is his right hand: and leads my son amiss. He has carried him to some drinking match, or other: Pol-marten, I will call you so again; I'am friends with you now. Go get your horse, and ride To all the Towns about here, where his haunts are; And cross the fields to meet, and bring me word; He cannot be gone far, being a foot. Be curious to inquire him: and bid Wisp My woman come, and wait on me. The love We Mother's bear our Sons, we have bought with pain, Makes us oft view them, with too careful eyes, And overlook them with a jealous fear, Out-fitting Mother's. How now Wisp? have you A Valentine yet: I'm taking th'aire to choose one. What kind of one is that? Out of that vanity, That takes the foolish eye: Any poor creature, Whose want may needs my alms, or courtesy; I rather wish; so Bishop Valentine, Left us example to do deeds of Charity; To feed the hungry; cloth the naked, visit The weak, and sick; to entertain the poor; And give the dead a Christian Funeral; These were the works of piety he did practice, And bade us imitate; not look for Lovers, Or handsome Images to please our senses. I pray thee Wisp, deal freely with me now: We are alone, and may be merry a little: though art none of the Court-glories; nor the wonders For wit, or beauty in the City: tell me, What man would satisfy thy present fancy? Had thy ambition leave to choose a Valentine, Within the Queens Dominion, so a subject. You'd spare me, And let me hold my wits? Come, Let's walk: wee'll hear the rest, as we go on: You are this morning in a good vein, Dido: Would I could be as merry. My sons absence Troubles me not a little: though I seek These ways to put it off; which will not help: Care that is entered, once into the breast, Will have the whole possession, ere it rest. Pol-Marten, see, the streets are strewed with herbs, And here hath been a wedding, Wisp, it seems! Pray heaven, this Bridal be not for my son! Good Marten, knock: knock quickly: Ask for Turf. My thoughts misgive me, I am in such a doubt— Sirrah, whoseman are you? And who's thy Master? I tread on and old Turf. A merry fellow! what's thy name? Come hither, I must kiss thee, Valentine Puppy. Wisp! have you God you a Valentine? To me He is so, and such. Let's share him equally. Turf is wife, rebuke him not: Your man does please me With his conceit. Hold: there are ten old nobles, To make thee merrier yet, half- Valentine. Dido, shall make that good; or I will for her. Here Dido Wisp, there's for your Hannibal: He is your Countryman. as well as Valentine. Turf is wife, I come thus far to seek thy husband, Having some business to impart unto him. Is he at home? That somewhat eases my suspicious breast. Tell me, Turf is wife, when was my son with Awdrey? How long is't, since you saw him at your house? Leave jesting, tell us, when you saw our son. Since you saw him? Mean my son. Fool, thou mistakest; I asked thee, for my son. Marten, I wonder at this strange discourse: The fool it seems tells true; my son the Squire Was doubtless here this morning. For the match, I'll smother what I think, and staying here, Attend the sequel of this strange beginning, Turf is wife; my people, and I will trouble thee: Until we hear some tidings of thy husband. The rather, for my party Valentine. But can you not resolve me where he is? Nor about what his purposes were bent? Fair maid, in faith, speak truth, and not dissemble: Do's he not often come, and visit you? A sober Maid! call for my woman Marten. Oh let her rest! We will cross over to Canterbury, in the interim; And so make home. Farewell good Turf, and thy wife. I wish your daughter joy. It's strange, a motion, but I know not what, Comes in my mind, to leave the way to Totten, And turn to Kentish-town, again my journey: And see my son Pol-marten with his Awdrey: Ere while we left her at her father's house: And hath he thence removed her in such haste! What shall I do? shall I speak faite, or chide? Mine you were once, though scarcely now your own. At prayers, I think you were: what, so devout Of late, that you will shrive you to all Confessors You meet by chance? Come, go with me, good Squire, And leave your linen: I have now a business, And of importance, to impart unto you. It must be now, my business lies this way. Squire, these excuses argue more your gilded. You have some new device now, to project, Which the poor Tile-man scarce will thank you for. What? will you go? 'Tis very well; but Squire take you no care. I'll send Pol-marten with her, for that office. You shall along with me; it is decreed. That friend shall stay for you, or you for him. Pol-marten; Take the Maiden to your care; Commend me to her Father. Tut, tell not me of following. No whispering: you forget your self, And make your love too palpable: A Squire? And think so meanly? fallen upon a Cow-shard? You know my mind. Come, I'll to Turf is house, And see for Dido, and our Valentine. They all go out but Pol-marten and Awdrey. Pol-marten, look to your charge; I'll look to mine. And as I told thee, she was intercepted By the Squire here, my son: and this bold Ruffian His man, who safely would have carried her Unto her Father; and the Canon Hugh; But for more care of the security, My Huisher hath her now, in his grave charge. Your mind runs much on Pancridge. Well, young Squire, The black Ox never trod yet Oh your foot: These idle Fantasies will forsake you one day. Come Mrs. Turf, will you go take a walk Over the fields to Pancridge, to your husband? Basket, I pray thee see what is the miracle! I pray thee Tripoli, look, what is the matter? John Clay at Pancrace, is there to be married. But how came Clay thus hid here in the straw, When news was brought, to you all he was at Pancridge; And you believed it? Where's the Squire? Is he gone hence? Haste, haste, good Valentine. Oh, here's the Squire! you slipped us finely son! These manners to your Mother, will commend you; But in and other age, not this: well Tripoli, Your Father, good Sir Peter (rest his bones) Would not would done this: where's my Huisher Martin? And your fair Mrs. Awdrey? Neighbour Turf have patience, I can assure you that your Daughter is safe, But for the moneys I know nothing of. Yes, Justice Bramble I met the maiden in the fields by chance, In the Squires company my son: How he Lighted upon her, himself best can tell. You told me, Squire, a quite other tale, But I believed you not, which made me send Awdrey another way, by my Pol-marten: And take my journey back to Kentish-town, Where we found John Clay hidden in the bairn, To escape the Huy and Cry; and here he is. Married! to whom? Whom hath she married? That he is Turf, and a Gentleman, I have made him. I wish them Much joy, as they have given me hearts ease. A right good motion, Squire; which I yield to: And thank them to accept it. Neighbour Turf, I'll have you merry, and your wife: And you, Sir Hugh, be pardoned this your happy error. By Justice Preamble, your friend and patron. After the hoping of your pardon, Madam, For many faults committed. Here my wife, And I do stand expecting your mild doom. I wish thee joy Pol-marten; and thy wife: As much, Mrs. Pol-marten. Thou hast tricked her Up very fine, me thinks. I give her what she wears. I know all women Love to be fine. Thou hast deserved it of me: I am extremely pleased with thy good fortune. Welcome good Justice Preamble; And Turf, Look merrily on your Daughter: She has married A Gentleman. Neighbours, all welcome: Now does Totten-Hall Show Like a Court: and hence shall first be called so. Your witty short confession Mr. Vicar, Within hath been the Prologue, and hath opened Much to my sons device, his Tale of a Tub.