PUPPY

What's that, a Horse? Can scorse nought but a Horse? I near read of hun, and that in Smith-veld Chartie: In the old Fabians Chronicles: nor I think In any new. He may be a Giant there, For I ought I know. Why, all's but writing, and reading, is it Scriben? An't be any more, it's mere cheating zure. Vlat cheating: all your Law, and Poets too. I'll zay't avore 'hun. And they're too good for strewings, your Maids say. Nor Zim: And he is in the right: He is high Constable. And who should read above un, or avore 'hun? The tallest man: who should be else, do you think? How? Cart? and Clown? Do you know whose term you speak to? Jade? Cart? and Clown? Oh for a lash of whipcord! Three-knotted coard! Do you hear friend, I would wish you, warrant your good, Tie up your brended Bitch there, your Don rusty Pannyer-hilt poinard: and not vex the youth With showing the teeth of it. We now are going To Church, in way of matrimony, some on us: Tha' rung all in already. If it had not, All the horn beasts are grazing in this close, Should not have pull' me hence, till this Ash-plant Had rung noon of your pate, Mr. Broome-beard. Sweet Goodman Clench, I pray you revise my Mr. I may not zit in the stocks, till the wedding be passed Dame. Mrs. Awdrey: I shall break the Bride-cake else. I thank you Sir, and I meet you at Kentish Town, I have the courtesy of hundred for you. Bless Master's son! Nay, Mrs. Awdrey will say nay to that. No, In-and-out? and you were out of your life, How should she do for a husband? who should fallen Aboard of her then, Ball? He's a Puppy? No; Hannibal has no breeding: well! I say little; But hitherto all goes well, pray it prove no better. Nay, stay sweet Mrs. Awdrey: here are none But one friend (as they zay) desires to speak A word, or two, cold with you: How do you veele Your self this frosty morning? It seems you are hight, good Mrs. Awdrey. Nay, you have cold my courage: I am passed it, I have done feeling with you. Oh you mistake! I meant not as you mean. Mrs. Awdrey, can you vind, I your heart to fancy Puppy? me poor Ball? Marry, he is gone With the picture of despair, to Paddington. Yes, Sir you'll look to Mrs. Bride the while? O, where's my Master? my Master? my Master? O Master! o Dame! o Dame! o Master! O John Clay! John Clay! John Clay! O John Clay! John Clay! John Clay! He hath lost, he hath lost. O Awdrey, Awdrey, Awdrey! I tell you Awdrey —do you understand me? Awdrey, sweet Master! Awdrey, my deer Dame— O the servingman! the servingman! the servingman! Gone with the servingman, gone with the servingman. I cannot tell, he bade me bring you word, The Captain lay at the Lion, and before I came again, Awdrey was gone with the servingman; I tell you, Awdrey is run away with the servingman. He hath lost— No, his wife by villainy. Dame, Mistress, though I do not turn the spit; I hope yet the Pigs-head. No, no service, But a reward for service. I wood to the vier? I shall piss it out first: You think to make me ene your ox, or ass; Or any thing. Though I cannot right my self On you; I'll sure revenge me on your meat. Why the door, and walls Do keep the house. Before my Lady? Lord have mercy upon me: If I do come before her, she will see The hand-som'st man in all the Town, pardee! Now stand I vore her, what zaith velvet she? Madam, my Master's. What you tread on, Madam. That Turf is my Master. Ball Puppy They call me at home: abroad, Hannibal Puppy. Help, help good Dame. A rescue, and in time. In stead of Bills, with Colstaves come; in stead of Spears, with Spits; Your slices serve for slicing swords, to save me, and my wits: A Lady, and her woman here, their Huisher eke by side, (But he stands mute) have plotted how your Puppy to divide. O Dame! And fellows o'the Kitchen! Arm, Arm, for my safety; if you love your Ball: Here is a strange thing, called a Lady, a Mad-dame: And a device of hers, yclept her woman; Have plotted on me, in the Kings highway, To steal me from my self, and cut me in halves, To make one Valentine to serve them both; This for my right-side, that my lefthand love. I thank you right-side: could my left as much, 'Twould make me a man of mark: young Hannibal! Brave Carthage Queen! And such was Dido: I will ever be Champion to her, who Juno is to thee. Dame, let me take this rump out of your mouth. Rumpe, and tail's all one. But I would use a reverence for my Lady: I would not zay surreverence, the tale Out of your mouth, but rather take the rumpe. What might they zay, when I were gone, if I Not weighed my wordz? This Puppy is a voole! Great Hannibal is and Ass; he had no breeding: No Lady gay, you shall not zay, That your Val. Puppy, was so unlucky, In speech to fail, as t'name a tail, Be as be may be, 'vore a fair Lady. Marry, it is two hours ago. You might have seen him too, if you had looked up. For it shined, as bright as day. Your sun, and our sun are they not all one? I had thought there had been no more suns, then one. I know not what you Ladies have, or may have. She may have twenty; but for a son, unless She mean precisely, Squire Tub, her zonne, He was here now; and brought my Mr. word That Justice Bramble had God Mrs. Awdrey. But whither he be gone, here's none can tell. Where wisemen should be; at the Ale, and Bride cake. I would this couple had their destiny, Or to be hanged, or married out of the way: Man cannot get the mount'nance of and Eggshell, Enter the neighbour to Turf, To stay his stomach. Vaith, warrant mine own partly, I have zup'd up so much broth, as would have covered A leg of Beef, over head and ears, in the porridge pot: And yet I cannot sussifie wild nature. Would they were once dispatched, we might to dinner. I am with child of a huge stomach, and long; Till by some honest Midwife-peice of Beef, I be delivered of it: I must go now, And hunt out for this Kilburne Calf, John Clay: Whom where to find, I know not, nor which way. News, news, Oh news— No Sir, the news is that I cannot find him. Thus is my Master, Toby Turf, the pattern Of all the painful a'ventures, now in print. I never could hope better of this match: This Bride-ale: For the night before to day, (Which is within men memory, I take it) At the report of it, and Ox did speak; Who died soon after: A Cow lost her Calf: The Bellwether was flayed for't: A fat Hog Was singed, and washed, and Shaved all over; to Look ugly against this day: The Ducks they quaked; The Hens too cackled: at the noise whereof, A Drake was seen to dance a headless round: The Goose was cut in the head, to hear it too: Brave Chant-it-cleare, his noble heart was done; His comb was cut: And two or three of his wives, Or fairest Concubines, had their necks broke, Ere they would zee this day: To mark the verven Heart of a beast, the very Big, the Big, This very Morning, as he was a roasting Cried out his eyes, and made a show as he would have bit in two the spit, as he would say; There shall no rost-meat be this dismal day. And zure, I think, If I had not God his tongue Between my teeth, and eat it, he had spoke it. Well, I will in, and cry too; never leave Crying, until our maids may drive a Buck With my salt tears at the next washing day. You see we trust you, Mr. Metaphor, With Mrs. Awdrey: pray you use her well, As a Gentlewoman should be used. For my partly, I do incline a little to the servingman; We have been of a coat—I had one Like yours: Till it did play me such a sleeveless errand, As I had nothing where to put mine arms in, And then I threw it off. Pray you go before her, Serving-man-like: and see that your nose drop not. As for example; you shall see me: mark, How I go afore her. So do you: sweet Miles, She for her own partly, is a woman cares not What man can do unto her, in the way Of honesty, and good manners. So farewell Fair Mrs. Awdrey: Farewell Mr. Miles. I have brought you thus far, onward o'your way: I must go back now to make clean the rooms, Where my good Lady has been. Pray you commend me To Bridegroom Clay; and bid him bear up stiff. Farewell fine Metaphor. Satin, in the name of velvet Satin, Dame! The Devil! Oh the Devil is in the bairn: Help, help, a legion—Spirit legion, Is in the bairn! in every straw a Devil. My name's Ball Puppy, I have seen the Devil Among the straw: Oh for a Cross! a Collop Of Friar Bacon, or a conjuring stick Of Doctor Faustus! Spirits are in the bairn. As ever Held fleshhook, Dame, or handled fire-fork rather: They have put me in a sweet pickle, Dame: But that my Lady- Valentine smells of musk, I should be ashamed to press into this presence. How? go with you Whither, into the Bairn? To whom, the Devil? Or to do what there? to be torn amongst 'hum? Stay for my Master, the High Constable, Or In-and-In, the Headborough; let them go, Into the Bairn with warrant, seize the Fiend; And set him in the stocks for his ill rule: It's not for me that am but flesh and blood, To meddle with one. Warrant I cannot, nor I will not. Now, now, even now they are tearing him in pieces Now are they tossing of his legs, and arms, Like Loggets at a Peartree: I'll to the hold, Peep in, and look whither he lives or die. Then pluck it off, and turn thy self away. Oh the Devil! the Devil! the Devil! The Squire hath him in his hand, and leads him Out by the Collar. The Devil he was: was this he was crawling Among the Wheat-straw? Had it been the Barley, I should have taken him for the Devil in drink; The Spirit of the Bride-ale: But poor John, Tame John of Clay, that sticks about the bunghole— I, I, John Clay. Hanged John? yes sure; unless, as with the Proverb, You mean to make the choice of your own gallows. Oh wonderful! and news was brought us here, You were at Pancridge, ready to be married. And I have lost my Mistress Dido Wisp, Who frowns upon her Puppy, Hannibal. Loss! lose on everyside! a public lose! Loss of my Master! lose of his Daughter! lose Of Favour, Friends, my Mistress! lose of all! My Master is found: Good luck, an't be thy will, Light on us all. Stay my deer Dido, and good Vicar Hugh, We have a business with you: In short, this If you dare knit another pair of strangers, Dido of Carthage, and her Countryman, Stout Hannibal stands to't. I have asked consent, And she hath granted. Not you that are without.