MEDLEY

That our High Constable, Mr. Tobias Turf, and his Dame were married. I think you are right. But what was that Zin Valentine? Did you ever know they, Goodman Clench? Cle. Zin Valentine, He was a deadly Zin, and dwelled at High-gate, As I have herd, but it was avore my time: He was a Cooper too, as you are. Medlay, And In-an-In: A woundy, brag young vellow: As the port went o'hun, then, and in those days. Why my friend Scriben, an't please your worship. Do you call your Son in Law Clown, an't please your worship? And I the jolly Joiner, for mine own sake. Right! warrant a man have his hour, and a dog his day. I would be Mr. Constable, if' che could win. If the Pies Come not in piping hight, you have lost that Proverb. But sir, You must obey the Queens high Officers. You must, and you will. As right as a Club, still. Zure this angry man Speaks very near the mark, when he is pleased. Speak man, but do not convesse, nor be avraid. Master's, take heed, let's not vind too many: One's enough to stay the Hangmans stomach. There is John Clay, who is yvound already; A proper man: A Tile-man by his trade: A man as one would zay, moulded in clay: As spruce as any neighbours child among you: And he (you zee) is taken on conspition, And two, or three (they zay) what call you them? Such as the Justices of Coram nobis Grant— (I forget their names, you have many on them, Mr. High Constable they come to you.) I have it at my tongues end — Cunni-borroughes, To bring him straight avore the zessions house. I, I, thick same! you know one well enough. No John, you are come of too good personage; I think my Gossip Clench, and Mr. Turf Both think, you would ra attempt no such voule matter. Luck grant he bring not news he shall be hanged. What of John Clay, Ball Puppy? His life for velonie? Or Pancridge Earl. The tother of Warwick -Castle. High Constable was more, though! He laid Dick: Tator by the heals. Sleep Mistress Awdrey, dream on proper men. Faith, all go hang our selves: I know no other way to escape the Law. Indeed, there is a woundy luck in names, Sirs, And a main mystery, and a man knew where. To vind it. My God-sires name, I'll tell you, Was In-and-In Shittle, and a Weaver he was, And it did fit his craft: for so his Shittle Went in, and in, still: this way, and then that way. And he named me, In-and In Medlay: which serves A Joiners craft, because that we do lay Things in and in, in our work. But, I am truly Architectonicus professor, rather: That is (as one would zay) and Architect. Yes, you have done woundy cures, Gossip Clench. But what was yours D'oge? Thence came A Tale of a Tub; And the virst Tale of a Tub, old D'ogenes Tub. He is more: A Gentleman and a half; almost a Knight; Within zixe inches: That's his true measure. To a streak, or less: I know his d'ameters, and circumference: A Knight is six diameters; and a Squire Is vive, and zomewhat more: I know't by compass, And scale of man. I have upon my rule here, The just perportions of a Knight, a Squire; With a tame Justice, or and Officer, rampant, upon the bench, from the high Constable Down to the Headborough, or Tithingman; Or meanest Minister o'the peace, God save one. No, that's a bookcase: Scriben can do that. That's writing and reading, and records. And all are sworn, as vingars of one hand, To hold together against the breach of the peace; The High Constable is the Thumb, as one would zay, The holdfast of the rest. 'Ile warrant one for a groat: I have his measures here in Rithmetique. How he should bear un self in all the lines Of's place, and office: Let's zeeke one out. No zure; The Justice Dare not conzent to that. Hee'll zee one forth coming. You are right, D'oge! Zet down to a minute, now it's a 'most vowre. I can do nothing, I. They'll tell you so. If it conduce To the design, what ere is feazeable: I can express a Washhouse (If needs be) With a whole pedigree of Tubs. If I might see the place, and had surveyed it; I could say more: For all Invention, Sir, Comes by degrees, and on the view of nature; A world of things, concur to the design, Which make it feazible, if Art conduce. Since I first Joined, or did inlay in wit, some vorty year. Surveyed the place Sir, and designed the ground, Or stand still of the work: And this it is. First, I have fixed in the earth, a Tub; And and old Tub, Like a Saltpeter Tub, Preluding by your Father's name Sir Peeter, And the antiquity of your house, and family, Original from Saltpeter. I have a little knowledge in design, Which I can vary Sir to Infinite. I do. I stand not on my Latin, I'll invent, But I must be alone then, joined with no man. This we do call the Standstill of our work. I mean my self still, in the plural number, And out of this we raise our Tale of a Tub. But I the Author. Now, Sir this Tub, I will have captain with paper: A fine oiled Lanterne-paper, that we use. Which in it does contain the light to the business. And shall with the very vapour of the Candle, Drive all the motions of our matter about: As we present them. For example, first The worshipful Lady Tub. Your Squire-ships Mother, passes by (her Huisher, Mr. Pol-marten bareheaded before her) In her velvet Gown. Oh we do nothing, if we clear not that. Give me the brief of your subject. Leave the whole State of the thing to me. Sir, I will render feazible, and facile, What you expect. He is a learned man: I think there are but view of the Inns of Court, The rest fol low. Or the Inns of Chancery Like him. Thus rise I first, in my light linen breeches, Medlay ap pears above the Curtain. To run the meaning over in short speeches. Here is a Tub; A Tub of Totten-Court: And ancient Tub, hath called you to this sport: His Father was a Knight, the rich Sir Peeter; Who God his wealth by a Tub, and by Saltpeter: And left all to his Lady Tub; the mother Of this bold Squire Tub, and to no other. Now of this Tub, and's deeds, not done in ale, He draws the Curtain, and discovers the top of the Tub. Hill. have Peace. Loud Mu sick. Observe, and you shall see the very Tale. Here Canon Hugh, first brings to Totten-Hall The high Constables council, tells the Squire all; Which, though discovered (give the Devil his endue:) The wise of Finsbury do still pursue. Then with the Justice, does he counterplot, And his Clarke Metaphor, to cut that knot: While Lady Tub, in her sad velvet Gown, Missing her son, does seek him up and down. Yes, I have expressed it here in figure, and Miss tris Wisp her woman, holding up her train. Here the high Constable, and Sages walk To Church, the Dame, the Daughter, Bridemaids talk, Of wedding business; till a fellow in comes, Relates the robbery of one Captain Thum's: Charges the Bridegroom with it: Troubles all, And gets the Bride; who in the hands does fallen Of the bold Squire, but thence soon is taken By the sly Justice, and his Clarke profane In shape of Pursuivant; which he not long Holds, but betrays all with his trembling tongue: As truth will break out, and show, &c. The careful Constable, here drooping comes, In his deluded search, of Captain Thum's. Puppy brings word, his Daughter's run away. With the tall Servingman. He frights Groom Clay, Out of his wits. Returns then the Squire, Mocks all their pains, and gives Fame out a Liar: For falsely charging Clay, when 'twas the plot, Of subtle Bramble, who had Awdrey God, Into his hand, by this winding device. The Father makes a rescue in a trice: And with his Daughter, Like Saint George on foot, Comes home triumphing, to his deer Heart root. And tell's the Lady Tub, whom he meets there, Of her sons courtesies, the Bachelor. Whose words had made them fallen the Huy and Cry. When Captain Thum's coming to ask him, why He had so done? He cannot yield him cause: But so he runs his neck into the Laws. The Laws, who have a noose to crack his neck, As Justice Bramble tells him, who does peck A hundredth pound out of his purse, that comes Like his teeth from him, unto Captain Thum's. Thum's is the Vicar in a false disguise: And employs Metaphor, to fetch this prize. Who tells the secret unto Basket-Hilts, For fear of beating. This the Squire quilts Within his Cap; and bids him but purloin The wench for him: they two shall share the coin. Which the sage Lady in her aforesaid Gown Breaks off, returning unto Kentish-town, To seek her Wisp; taking the Squire along, Who finds Clay John, as hidden in straw throng. The last is known, and needs but small infusion Into your memories, by leaving in These Figures as you fit. I, In-and-In, Present you with the show: First of a Lady Tub, and her son, of whom this Masque here, made I. Then Bridegroom Pol, and Mistress Pol the Bride: With the sub-couple, who fit them beside. Then Justice Bramble, with Sir Hugh the Canon: And the Bride's Parents, which I will not stan'on, Or the lost Clay, with the recovered Giles: Who thus unto his Master, him 'conciles, On the Squires word, to pay old Turf his Club, And so does end our Tale, here, of a Tub.