TUB

I should call him too: Sir Peter Tub was his father, a Salt-peeter-man; Who left his Mother, Lady Tub of Totten- Court, here, to revel, and keep open house in; With the young Squire her son, and's Governor Basket- Hilts, both by sword, and dagger: Domine, Armiger Tub, Squire Tripoli, Expergiscere. I dare not call aloud, lest she should hear me; And think I conjured up the spirither, son, In Priests-lack- Latin: Oh she is jealous Of all mankind for him. Canon, i'st you? At the Win dor. He comes down in his night Gown. I come, I stoop unto the call; Sir Hugh! What news of him? And why all these? And what must he do? What is't Sir Hugh? Basquet shall be called: Hilts, can you see to rise? Open your tother eye, And view if it be day. He will have the last word, though he talk Bilk for't. Why nothing, a word signifying Nothing; and borrowed here to express nothing. Yes, till we hear a finer. What's your device now, Canon Hugh? That's the way, You have thought to get a new one, If Hilts Be close enough to carry it; there's all. A testy Clown: but a tender Clown, as wool: And melting as the Weather in a Thaw: Hee'll weep you, Like all April: But he' ull roar you Like middle March afore: He will be as mellow, And tipsy too, as October: And as grave, And bound up Like a frost (with the new year) In January; as rigid, as he is rustic. Stay, Sir Hugh; Take a good Angel with you, for your Guide: And let this guard you homeward, as the blessing, To our devise. Oh you are a trusty Governor! Quietness, Hilts, and hear no more of it. What's he? Nay Hilts! I pray thee grow not fram-pull now. Turn not the bade Cow, after thy good soap. Our plot hath hitherto taken good effect: And should it now be troubled, or stopped up, 'Twould prove the utter ruin of my Hope's. I pray thee haste to Pancridge, to the Canon: And give him notice of our good success; Will him that all things be in readiness. Fair Awdrey, and my self, will cross the fields, The nearest path. Good Hilts, make thou some haste, And meet us on the way. Come gentle Awdrey. Nay, say not so Hilts: hold thee; there are Crowns— My love bestows on thee, for thy reward. If Gold will please thee, all my land shall drop In bounty thus, to recompense thy merit. See, how his love does melt him into Tears! And honest faithful servant is a Jewel. Now the adventurous Squire hath time, and leisure, To ask his Awdrey how she do's, and hear A grateful answer from her. She not speaks: Hath the proud Tiran, Frost, usurped the seat Of former beauty in my Loves fair cheek; Staining the rose at tincture of her blood, With the dull die of blew-congealing cold? No, sure the weather dares not so presume To hurt and object of her brightness. Yet, The more I view her, she but looks so, so. Would? give me leave to search this mystery! Oh now I have it: Bride, I know your grief; The last nights cold, hath bred in you such horror Of the assigned Bridegrooms constitution, The Kilborne Clay-pit; that frostbitten marl; That lump in courage: melting cake of Ice; That the conceit thereof hath almost killed thee. But I must do thee good wench, and refresh thee. Thou sayest true, sweet; In have been too slack in deeds. Why, did you ever love me, gentle Awdrey? Yes, Clay, and Kilburne; Awdrey, You must hate them. And for my sake, shall yield you that gratuity. What are those Awdrey? What was it? Speak gentle Awdrey, thou shalt have it yet. Troth I could wish my wench a better with ; But what she wants there, her face supplies. There is a pointed lustre in her eye Hath shot quite through me, and hath hit my heart: And thence it is, I first received the wound, That rankles now, which only she can cure. Fain would I work my self, from this conceit; But, being flesh, I cannot. I must love her, The naked truth is: and I will go on, Were it for nothing, but to cross my Rival's. Come Awdrey: I am now resolved to have thee. Arrest me, Varlet? Are you there, Justice Bramble? where's your warrant? Well, at your pleasure, Justice. I am wronged: Sirrah, what are you have arrested me? Well Purs'yvant, go with me: I'll give you bail. I thank you Mr. Bramble. I doubt, or fear, you will make her the balance To weigh your Justice in. Pray ye do me right, And led not her, at least out of the way. Justice is blind, and having a blind Guide, She may be apt to slip aside. I see my wooing will not thrive. Arrested! As I had set my rest up, for a wife? And being so fair for it, as I was.—. Well, fortune, Thou art a blind Bawd, and a Beggar too, To cross me thus; and let my only Rival, To get her from me? That's the spite of spites. But most I muse at, is, that I, being none OF the Court, am sent for thither by the Council! My heart is not so light, as't was In the morning. O Hilts! Nay Basket, never storm; I am arrested here, upon command From the Queens Council; and I must obey. But that which most torments me, is this, That Justice Bramble hath God hence my Awdrey. What says he? Oh wonderful! well Basket, let him rise: And for my free escape, forge some excuse. I'll post to Paddington, to acquaint old Turf, With the whole business, and so stop the marriage. What, in a passion Turf? Turf, I am privy to thy deep unrest: The ground of which, springs from and idle plot, Cast by a Suitor, to your daughter Awdrey — And thus much, Turf, let me advertise you; Your daughter Awdrey, met I on the way, With Justice Bramble in her company: Who means to marry her at Pancridge Church. And there is Canon Hugh, to meet them ready: Which to prevent you must not trust delay; But winged speed must cross their sly intent: Then High thee. Turf, haste to forbid the Banes. I cannot choose, but smile, to see thee troubled With such a bald, halfe-hatched circumstance! The Captain was not robbed, as is reported; That trick the Justice craftily devised, To break the marriage with the Tile-man Clay. The Huy, and Cry, was merely counterfeit: The rather may you judge it to be such, Because the Bridegroom, was described to be One of the thieves, first in the velonie. Which, how far it's from him, yourselves may guess: 'Twas Justice Bramble is fetch, to get the wench. Believe me Turf, As I am a Squire: or less, a Gentleman. I'll follow him aloof, to see the event. Hilts, how dost thou Like of this our good days work? Shall we to Pancridge, or to Kentish-town, Hilts? Faith Basket, our success hath been but bade, And nothing prospers, that we undertake; For we can neither meet with Clay, nor Awdrey, The Canon Hugh, nor Turf the Constable: We are Like men that wander in strange woods, And lose our selves in search of them we seek. Enter Metam phor. Stay, stay thy hand: here's Justice Brambles Clarke, The unlucky Hare hath crossed us all this day. I'll stand aside while thou pump'st out of him His business, Hilts; and how he's now employed. Now on my life, this is the Chanon's plot! Miles, I have herd all thy discourse to Basket. Wilt thou be true, and I'll reward thee well, To make me happy, in my Mistress Awdrey? Then do thy message to the Mistress Turf, Tell her thy token, bring the money hither, And likewise take young Awdrey to thy charge: Which done, here, Metaphor, we will attend, And intercept thee. And for thy reward, You two shall share the money; I the Maid: If any take offence, I'll make all good. I on my Squireship, shalt thou: and my land. Make haste then: we will wait here thy return. This luck unlooked for, hath revived my Hope's, Which were oppressed with a dark melancholy. In happy time, we lingered on the way, To meet these summons of a better found, Which are the essence of my souls content. So would I have it. And hope it'll prove a jest to twit the Justice with. And hope of money, Hilts. A valiant man will nibble at that bait. And sent by so good chance. Pray heaven he speed. Thou servest him rightly, Hilts. Wee'll think of that When once we have her in possession, Governor. Welcome again my Awdrey: welcome Love: You shall with me; in faith deny me not. I cannot brook the second hazard Mistress. Nay Awdrey, I possess you for this time: Sirs; Take that coin between you, and divide it. My pretty sweating give me now the leave To challenge love, and marriage at your hands. Was then my Lady Mother at your house? Let's have a word aside. And this all, fair Madam, you took me now a little tardy. Madam, I pray you, spare me but and hour; Please you to walk before, I follow you. Will not and hour hence, Madam, excuse me? I have taken a charge upon me, To see this Maid conducted to her Father, Who, with the Canon Hugh, stays her at Pancrace, To see her married to the same John Clay. I have a little business, with a friend Madam. I will follow you. I'll but speak A word. Madam, it's late, and Pancridge is in your way: I think your Ladyship forgets your self. How! Spirits in the bairn? Basket, go see. Go see; I warrant thee there's no such matter. Come, go with me: I'll led. Why standest thou man? Why art thou thus afraid? That shall I Madam. This was the spirit reveld in the Bairn. Well meant Hilts. He was here Madam, but now. I Pray thee good Pol-marten, show thy diligence, And faith in both: Get her, but so disguised, The Canon may not know her, and leave me To plot the rest: I will expect thee here. who's that? And, who the rest? Prezent me to them, Hilts, Squire Tub of Totten. I long (as my man Hilts said, and my Governor) To be adopt in your society. Can any man make a Masque here in this company? But who shall write it? Yes Mr. In-and-In, I have herd of you; I'd have a toy presented, A Tale of a Tub, a story of my self, You can express a Tub. No, one Will be enough to note our name, and family: Squire Tub of Totten, and to show my adventures This very day. I'd have it in Tubs -Hall, At Totten-Court, my Lady Mother's house, My house indeed, for I am heir to it. You say well, witty Mr. In-and-In. How long have you studied Engine? A pretty time! Basket, go you and wait On Master In-and-In to Totten-Court, And all the other wise Master's; show them the Hall: And taste the language of the buttery to them; Let them see all the Tubs about the house, That can raise matter, till I come—which shall be a Within and hour at least. Spare for no cost, either in boards, or hoops, To architect your Tub: have you never a Cooper At London called Vitruvius? send r him; Or old John Haywood, call him to you, to help. I not see'hem, No creature, but the four wise Master's here, Of Finsbury Hundred, came to cry their Constable, Who they do say is lost. I intercepted her, as coming hither, To her Father, who sent for her, by Miles Metaphor, Justice Preambles Clarke. And had your Ladyship Not hindered it, I had paid fine Mr. Justice For his young warrant, and new Purs'yvant, He served it by this morning. Was not my Mother's man, Pol-marten, with you? And a strange Gentlewoman in his company, Of late here, Canon? Dispatched them! how do you mean? And do you know What you have done, Sir Hugh? You have ended all the Quarrel. Awdrey is married. Your Pol-marten, Madam. A Groom was never dreamed of. Then Madam, I'll entreat you now remit Your jealousy of me; and please to take All this good company home with you, to supper: Wee'll have a merry night of it, and laugh. Come, come, my Mother is pleased. I pardon all, Pol-marten in, and wait upon my Lady. Welcome good Guests: see supper be served in, With all the plenty of the house, and worship. I must confer with Mr. In-and-In, About some alterations in my Masque; Send Hilts out to me: Bid him bring the Council Of Finsbury hither. I'll have such a night Shall make the name of Totten-Court immortal: And be recorded to posterity. Oh Mr. In-and-In, what have you done? Good y faith, You have shown reading, and antiquity here, Sir. And Infinitum Sir you mean. Who are those we? you now joined to your self. No, Mr. In-and-In, my Tale of a Tub. By your leave, I am Tub, the Tale's of me, And my adventures! I am Squire Tub, Subjectum Fabulae. The Workman Sir! the Artificer! I grant you. So Skelton -Lawreat; was of Elinour Bumming: But she the subject of the Rout, and Tunning. Right worshipful, I pray you, I am worshipful my self. But how shall the Spectators? As it might be, I, or Hilts, know it's my Mother? Or that Pol-marten there that walks before her. Well, I will leave all to him: I'll send it you in writing. Hilts, be't your care, To see the Wise of Finsbury made welcome: The Squire goes out. Let them want nothing. Iz old Rosin sent for? Then cry a Hall, a Hall! It's merry in Tot tenham Hall, when beards wag all. Come Father Rozin with your Fiddle now, and music. And two tall-toters; Flourish to the Masque. Let my Masque show it self: And In-and-In, The Architect, appear; I hear the whistle. Hill. Peace. With her Pol-marten bore before her. I'the next page, report your second strain. Oh thou hast made him kneel there in a corner, I see now: there is simple honour for you Hilts! True; In-and-In hath done you right, you see. Thy third I pray thee, witty In-and-In. On with your last, and come to a Conclusion. That only verse, I altered for the better, in non-Latin alphabet grated. I thank you Sir: But whither must I go now?