Bartholmew fayre : a comedie, acted in the yeare, 1614 by the Lady Elizabeths seruants, and then dedicated to King Iames, of most blessed memorie ; The diuell is an asse : a comedie acted in the yeare, 1616, by His Maiesties seruants ; The staple of newes : a comedie acted in the yeare, 1625, by His Maiesties seruants by the author, Beniamin Iohnson.

ACT. V. SCENE. I.

PENY-BOY. IV. to him THO. BARBER. after, PICKLOCKE.

Hee comes out in the patchd cloak his father left him.

NAy, they are fit, as they had been made for me, And I am now a thing, worth looking at! The same, I said I would be in the morning. No Rogue, at a Comitia of the Canters, Did euer there become his Parents Robes Better, then I do these: great foole! and begger! Why doe not all that are of those societies, Come forth, and gratulate mee one of theirs? Me thinkes, I should be, on euery side, saluted, Dauphin of beggers! Prince of Prodigalls! That haue so fall'n vnder the eares, and eyes, And tongues of all, the fable o'the time, Matter of scorne, and marke of reprehension! I now begin to see my vanity, Shine in this Glasse, reflected by the foile! Where is my Fashioner? my Feather-man? My Linnener? Perfumer? Barber? all? That tayle of Riot, follow'd me this morning? Not one! but a darke solitude about mee, Worthy my cloake, and patches; as I had The epidemicall disease vpon mee: And I'll sit downe with it.

THO.

My Master! Maker! How doe you? Why doe you sit thus o'the ground, Sir? Heare you the newes?

P. IV.

No, nor I care to heare none. Would I could here sit still, and slip away The other one and twenty, to haue this Forgotten, and the day rac'd out, expung'd, In euery Ephemerides, or Almanack. Or if it must be in, that Time and Nature Haue decree'd; still, let it be a day Of tickling Prodigalls, about the gills; Deluding gaping heires, loosing their loues, And their discretions; falling from the fauours Of their best friends, and parents; their owne hopes;

And entring the society of Canters.

THO.

A dolefull day it is, and dismall times Are come vpon vs: I am cleare vndone.

P. IV.

How, Thom?

THO.

Why? broke! broke! wretchedly broke!

P. IV.

Ha!

THO.

Our Staple is all to pieces, quite dissolu'd!

P. IV.

Ha!

THO.

Shiuer'd, as in an earth-quake! heard you not The cracke and ruines? we are all blowne vp! Soone as they heard th' Infanta was got from them, Whom they had so deuoured i'their hopes, To be their Patronesse, and soiourne with 'hem; Our Emissaries, Register, Examiner, Flew into vapor: our graue Gouernour Into a subt'ler ayre; and is return'd (As we doe heare) grand-Captaine of the Ieerers. I, and my fellow melted into butter, And spoyl'd our Inke, and so the Office vanish'd. The last hum that it made, was, that your Father, And Picklocke are fall'n out, the man o' Law.

Hee starts vp at this.

P. IV.

How? this awakes me from my lethargy.

THO.

And a great suite, is like to be betweene 'hem, Picklocke denies the Feofement, and the Trust, (Your Father saies) he made of the whole estate, Vnto him, as respecting his mortalitie, When he first laid this late deuice, to try you.

P. IV.

Has Picklock then a trust?

THO.

I cannot tell, Here comes the worshipfull—

PIC.

What? my veluet-heyre,

Picklocke enters.

Turn'd begger in minde, as robes?

P. IV.

You see what case, Your, and my Fathers plots haue brought me to.

P. C.

Your Fathers, you may say, indeed, not mine. Hee's a hard hearted Gentleman! I am sorie To see his rigid resolution! That any man should so put off affection, And humane nature, to destroy his owne! And triumph in a victory so cruell! He's fall'n out with mee, for being yours, And calls me Knaue, and Traytors to his Trust, Saies he will haue me throwne ouer the Barre—

P. IV.

Ha'you deseru'd it?

PIC.

O, good heauen knowes My conscience, and the silly latitude of it! A narrow minded man! my thoughts doe dwell All in a Lane, or line indeed; No turning, Nor scarce obliquitie in them. I still looke Right forward to th'intent, and scope of that Which he would go from now.

P. IV.

Had you a Trust, then?

PIC.

Sir, I had somewhat, will keepe you still Lord Of all the estate, (if I be honest) as I hope I shall. My tender scrupulous brest

Will not permit me see the heyre defrauded, And like an Alyen, thrust out of the blood, The Lawes forbid that I should giue consent, To such a ciuill slaughter of a Sonne.

P. IV.

Where is the deed? hast thou it with thee?

PIC.

No, It is a thing of greater consequence, Then to be borne about in a blacke boxe, Like a Low-countrey vorloffe, or Welsh-briefe. It is at Lickfingers, vnder locke and key.

P. IV.

O, fetch it hither.

PIC.

I haue bid him bring it, That you might see it.

P. IV.

Knowes he what brings?

PIC.

No more then a Gardiners Asse, what roots he carries,

P. IV.

I was a sending my Father, like an Asse, A penitent Epistle, but I am glad I did not, now.

PIC.

Hang him, an austere grape, That has no iuice, but what is veriuice in him.

P. IV.

I'll shew you my letter!

P••C.

Shew me a defiance!

Peny-boy runnes out to fetch his letter.

If I can now commit Father, and Sonne, And make my profits out of both. Commence A suite with the old man, for his whole state, And goe to Law with the Sonnes credit, vndoe Both, both with their owne money, it were a piece Worthy my night-cap, and the Gowne I weare, A Picklockes name in Law. Where are you Sir? What doe you doe so long?

P. IV.

I cannot find Where I haue laid it, but I haue laid it safe.

PIC

No matter, Sir, trust you vnto my Trust, 'Tis that that shall secure you, an absolute deed! And I confesse, it was in Trust, for you, Lest any thing might haue hapned mortall to him: But there must be a gratitude thought on, And aid, Sir, for the charges of the suite, Which will be great, 'gainst such a mighty man, As is our Father, and a man possest Of so much Land, Pecunia and her friends. I am not able to wage Law with him, Yet must maintaine the thing, as mine owne right, Still for your good, and therefore must be bold To vse your credit for monies.

P. IV.

What thou wilt, So wee be safe, and the Trust beare it.

PIC.

Feare not, 'Tis hee must pay arrerages in the end. Wee'l milke him, and Pecunia, draw their creame downe, Before he get the deed into his hands. My name is Picklocke, but hee••ll finde me a Padlocke.