making Hair-buttons, Tooth-picks, and false Dice, which you learnt, of your
Comerogues of the Galleys.
[Jews and Officers run out again, Quartilla
following with a Paring-Shovel.
Qua.
Why Villains! Rogues! Jews! Is there no consideration of
a Ladies Honour?
1 Jew.
Keep her Honour to her self, and give us, our Goods.
Qua.
And thou Polacco!—Oh me!
[To Fieschi.
Fies.
I hope, your Lady had a good Night of it.
Qua.
Thou Devil Incarnate!
[Enter Boys, and Rabble, whooping.
Boys.
Picaro! Picaro! make haste Picaro! Execution, stays for ye.
Qua.
What was that? Picaro!
[Picaro appears above.
Pic.
I'm but buttoning my Coat, and will be with ye, instantly.
Boys.
Come down! come down! There will be no Sport, 'till you
come.
[Boys hollow, Qua. lays at 'em with her Paring-Shovel. They take it from her
Qua.
Ah Rogue! art thou there!—Have we refus'd Velasco, Tedesco,
di Parphar, di Laco!—
[She wrings her Hands.
Qua.
And now, to be shamm'd, by the Common-Hangman!
Enter Picaro, in a white Cap, Sleeves, Apron, tuck'd round his Waste, and
a large Knife stuck in it.
Boys.
Picaro! Picaro! Picaro! Picaro!
Qua.
Is this your Principi Polacco!—Poveraccia! Poveraccia, pec∣catrice
me!—I could eat thee.
—[To Fieschi.
Thou a Gentleman!—You said you'd make a Whore of me, too; but,
why don't you Sirrah? why dont ye?
[Clapping her Hands at him, and crying.
Fies.
The Fool, raves—And so Picaro; I hope you lik'd your Bedfellow?
Pic.
So well (Sir) I owe ye another Job; and that, for nothing—She
was such Flesh and Blood!
Her.
And shall I, see Honour thus trampled on, and yet wear trusty
Steel, on Thigh!—Let me, come at the Rogue—I'll pinck his
Doublet, and make a Sieve, of's Skin.
[Boys hollow, round him, and
twich him behind. He draws. They tye a Cracker to him.
Her.
Rogues, Scoundrels, Tatterdemallions!
[He whets his point on
the Floor. They, fire the Cracker, and hollow.
—I say—Rogues, Dogs in Doublets,—Were ye more renown'd, than
Palmerin of England; or valiant, than his Cousin, D'Oliva: More un∣daunted,
than the twelve Peers of France; or greater Bullies, than King
Arthur's Round-Table Men: More adventurous, than Valentine and Or∣son;
or Invincible, than Don Bellamis of Greece: Nay—were the whole
Mirrour of Knighthood contracted in ye—I'd make ye know—
[As
he is ranting, Picaro and another, slip the Paring-Shovel between his
Legs, hoise him on their Shoulder, carry him round the Stage, and
Exeunt the Boys hollowing▪ Manet Fieschi.
Fies.
'Twas somewhat sharp, but just—Her Treachery,
Deserv'd no better from me—And, now no more,
But a long, long Farewel, to every thing
That looks like Woman; 'till, some worthy Action,