SCRIBEN

Did he not write his name, Sim Valentine? Warrant I have met no Sin in Finsbury books; And yet I have writ them six or seven times over. You should do well to study Records, Fellow Ball, both Law and Poetry. There's another reading now: My Mr. reads it Son, and not Sin Valentine. And he will know't, and shew't too by his place Of being high Constable, if no where else. I can give you Sir, A Roman story of a petty-Constable, That had a Daughter, that was called Virginia, Like Mrs. Awdrey, and as young as she; And how her Father bore him in the business, against Justice Appius, a Decemvir in Room, And Justice of Assize. I can tell you A thousand, of great Pompei, Caesar, Trajan, All the high Constables there. Lord! what a world of business The Squire dispatches! Those were verses now, Your worship spoke, and run upon vive feet. Let them have leaves first. There's nothing green but Baize, and Rosemary. The Coloni. Sir, Colonus is and Inhabitant: A Clown original: as you'd zay a Farmer, a Tiller o'th' Earth, Ere since the Roman planted their Colony first, Which was in Midlesex. Dictator, and high Constable Were both the same. One Rasis was a great Arabic Doctor. Vaith, I cannot tell If mine were kyrsind, or no. But, zure he had A kyrsin name, that he left me, Diogenes. A mighty learned man, but pest'lence poor. Warrant, h'had no house, save and old Tub, to dwell in, (I vind that in records) and still he turned it In the winds teeth, as't blue on his backside, And there they would lie routing one at other, A week, sometime. That was avore Sir Peter Tub, or his Lady. Two words, Cyning and Staple, make a Constable: As wee'd say, A hold, or stay for the King. I, upon record! The Clock dropped twelve at Maribone. And's Governor, Mr. Basket. Hilts, do you know 'hun, a valiant wise vellow! Az tall a man on his hands, as goes on veet. Bless you Mass' Basket. And zome a thousand, when the Muster day comes. A mumming, or a show. With vizards, and fine clothes. Hee'll do't alone Sir, He will join with no man: Though he be a Joiner, in design he calls it. He must be sole Inventer: In-and-In. Draws with no other in's project, hee'll tell you, It cannot else be feazeable, or conduce: Those are his ruling words? Pleaze you to hear 'hun? He scorns the motion, trust to him alone. Are you revised o'that? A man may have wit, and yet put off his hat. All their colours. He has his whistle Of command: Seat of authority! And virge to interpret, tipped with silver, Sir You know not him. We will not back, And leave our Dame.