The Wits, or, Sport upon sport. Part I in select pieces of drollery, digested into scenes by way of dialogue : together with variety of humors of several nations, fitted for the pleasure and content of all persons, either in court, city, countrey, or camp : the like never before published.

The three Merry Boyes.

ARGUMENT.

The King a Tyrant, employes them to kill his Elder Brother, the Pantler betrayes it, but the business being done, they all suffer, &c.

ACTORS NAMES.

• Yeoman of the Wine Cellar,
• Cook, Butler,
• Pantler,
• Guard, and
• Boyes.

Enter the Master Cooke, Butler, Pantler, Yeomen of the Cellar with a Iack of Beere, &c.

COok.

A hot day, a hot day, vengeance hot day boyes, give me some drink, this fire's a plaguy fretter: body of me I am dry still, give me the Jack boy, this wooden skiff holds nothing.

Pant.

And faith Master, what brave new meates? for here will be old eating.

Cook.

Old and young boy; let 'em all eat, I have it; I have ballasse for their bellies, if they eat a Gods name, let them have ten tire of teeth a peece, I care not.

Butler.

But what new rare munition.

Cook.

Pish, a thousand; I'le make your Pigges speak French at Table, and a fat Swan come sailing out of Eng∣land with a Challenge; I'le make you a Dish of Calves-feet dance the Canaries, and a consort of cram'd Capons fidle to 'em; a Calves-head speak an Oracle, and a douzen of Larkes rise from the Dish and •…•…ing all super time; 'tis no∣thing boyes: I have framed a fortification out of Rie past which is impregnable, and against that, for two long hours together, two douzen of Marrow-bones shall play con∣tinually; for fish, I'le make you a standing lake of white broth, and Pikes come plo•…•…ghing up the plums before

them; Arion like a Dolphin, playing lachrymo, and brave King Herring with his Oyle and Onyon crown'd with a Lem•…•…n pill, his way prepar'd with his strong Guard of Pilchers.

Pantl.

I marry Master.

Cooke.

All these are nothing: I'le make you a stuble Goose turn o'th toe thrice, do a cross point presently, and sit down agen, and cry come eat me: These are for mirth: now Sir, for matter of mourning, I'le bring you in the Lady loyne of Veal, with the long love she bore the Prince of Orange.

All.

Thou Boy, thou.

Cooke.

I have a trick for thee too, and a rare trick, and I have done it for thee.

Yeoman.

What's that good Master?

Cooke.

'Tis a Sacrifice: a full Vine bending like an Arch, and under the blown God Bacchus, sitting on a Hogshead, his Alter-beer: before that plump Vintner kneeling and offering incense to his deity, which shall be only red sprats and pilchers.

Butler.

This when the Tables drawn, to draw the Wine in.

Cook.

Thou hast it right, and then comes thy song Butler.

Pantl.

This will be admirable.

Yeom.

Oh Sir most admirable.

Cooke.

If you'l have the Pasty speak, 'tis in my power, I have fire enough to work it; what friends hast thou to day? no Citizens?

Pantl.

Yes fa∣ther, the old crew.

Cooke.

By the Masse true Wenches: sirrah set by a Chine of Beefe, and a hot Pasty, and let the Joll of st•…•…rgeon be corrected: and do you marke Sir, stalke me to a Pheasant, and see if you can shout her in the Celler.

Pantl.

God a mercy lad, send me thy roaring bottles, and with such Nectar I will see 'em fill'd that all thou speak'st shall be pure helicon.

Butler.

But what was't we did promise to Monsiure Latorch.

Yeoman.

Do you ask that now?

Pantl.

I'le tell you It is to be all villaines, knaves and Traytors.

Cooke.

Fine wholsome titles.

Butler.

But if you dare go forward.

Cooke.

May be hang'd drawn and quarter'd.

Pantl.

Very true Si•…•….

Cooke.

What a goodly swing I shall give the Gallowes? yet I think too, this may be do•…•…e, and yet we may be rewarded, not with a Rope, but wit•…•… a Royal Master: and yet we may be hang'd too.

Yeoman.

Say it were done; who is't done for? is it not for •…•…lio? and fo•…•… his right?

Cooke.

And yet we may be hang'd too?

Butler.

Or say he take it, say we be dis∣cover'd? Is not the same mam found to protect us? are we not his?

Yeom.

Sure he will never fail us.

Cooke.

If he do, friends, we shall find that will hold us; & yet methinks, this Prologue to our purpose, the Crowns were given, should promise more: 'Tis easily done, as easy as a man would roast an Egge, if that be all; for look you, Gentlemen, here stand my brothes, my finger slips a little, down drops a Dosse, I stir him with my Ladle, and there's a Dish for a Duke: Ol•…•…a podrida, here stands a Bak'd meat, he wants a little seasoning, a foolish mistake; my Spice-box, Gentlemen, and put in some of this, the matter's ended; dredge you a dish of Plo•…•…ers, there's the a•…•…t on't.

Yeoman.

Or as I fill my Wine.

Cooke.

'Tis very true Sir, blessing it with your hand, thus quick and neatly first, when 'tis past and done once, 'tis as easy for him to thank us for it, and reward us.

Pantl.

But 'tis a damn'd sin.

Cooke.

Oh never feare that, the fire's my playfellow, and now I am resolv'd boyes.

Butler.

Why then have with you.

Yeoman.

The same for me.

Pantl.

For me too.

Cooke.

And now no more our worships, but our Lord∣ships.

Pantl.

Not this year on my knowledg, I'le un-Lord you.

Exeunt.

Enter Guard.

Guard.

Make roome before there, roome for the Prisoners.

1▪ Boy.

Are these the Youths?

Cooke.

These are the Youths you look for, and pray my honest friends

be not too hasty, there will be nothing done till we come I assure you.

2. Boy.

Here's a wise hanging, are there no more?

Butler.

Do you hear, you may come in for your share, if you please.

3. Boy.

Afore, afore, Boyes here's enough to make us sport.

Yeoman.

Pox take you, do you call this sport? are these your recreations? must we be hang'd to make you mirth.

Cooke.

Do you hear Sir? you custard pate, we go to't, for high treason, an Honourable fault: thy foolish father was hang'd for stealing sheep.

•…•…. Boy.

Away Boyes, away.

Cooke.

Do you see how that sneaking Rogue looks now? you, chip, Pantler, peaching Rogue, that provided us these Neck-laces: you poor Rogue, you costive Rogue you.

Pantler.

Pray, pray, fellowes.

Cooke.

Pray for thy crusty Soul? where's your reward now goodman manchet for your fine discovery? I do beseech you Sir, where are your dollers? draw with your fellowes and be hang'd.

Yeoman.

You must now, for now he shall be hang'd first, that's his comfort, a place too good for thee thou meal-mouth'd Rascall.

Cooke.

Hang hansomely, for shame come leave your praying, you peaking knave, and be like a good Courtier; die daringly, and like a man; no prea∣ching, with I beseech you take example by me, I liv'd a lewd man, good people; pox on't: die me as if thou had'st din'd, say grace, and Heaven be with you.

Guard.

Come will you forward?

Cooke.

Good Mr. Sheriffe, your leave to, this hasty work was ne're done well, give us so much time as but to Sing our own ballads for wee'l trust no man, nor no time but our own, 'twas done in Ale too, your penny pot Poets, are such pelting theeves, they ever hang men twice, we have it here Sir, and so must every Merchant of our Voyage, he'l make a sweet return else of his Credit.

Yeo.

One fit of our mirth, and then we are for you.

Guard.

Make hast then, dispatch.

Yeo.

There's day enough Sir.

Cooke.

Come Boyes, sing cheerfully, we shall ne're sing younger; we have chosen a lewd tune too, because it should like well.

Song.

Yeo.

Come, fortune's a Whore I, care not who tells her, Would offer to strangle a Page of the Celler, That should by his Oath, to any mans thinking, And place, have had a defence for his drinking; But thus she does still, when she pleases to palter Instead of his wages, she gives him a Halter.

Chorus.

Three merry boys & three merry boys & three merry boys are we As ever did sing in a bempen string, under the Gallow Tree.

2.

Butler.

But I that was so lusty, And ever kept my Bottles, That neither they were musty, And seldome less then Pottles; For me to be thus stopt now, With 'hem instead of Corke Sir, And from the Gallowes topt now, Shews that there is a Forke Sir, In death, and this the token Man may be two wayes killed, Or like the Bottle broken, Or like the Wine, be spilled.

Chorus.

And three merry Boyes, &c.

3.

Cooke.

Oh yet but look on the Master Cooke, the glory of the Kitchin,

In sowing whose fate, at so loftly a rate, no Taylor e're had stitching, For though he makes the man, the Cooke he makes the Dishes; The which no Taylor can, wherein I have my wishes, That I who at so many a feast have pleas'd so many tasters Should now my selfe come to be drest a dish for you my Masters.

Chorus.

And three merry Boyes, &c.

Cooke.

There's a few copies for you; now farewell friends: and good Mr. Sheriffe let me not be printed with a Brass pot on my head.

Butler.

March fair, march fair, afore good Captain Pantler.

Pantler.

Oh man, or beast, or you at least That were or brow or Autler, Prick up your eares, unto the teares Of me poor Paul the Pantler, That thus am clipt, because I chipt The cursed crust of Treason: With loyal knife! Oh dolefull strife To hang thus without reason.

Exeunt