The vvorkes of Beniamin Ionson. The second volume.: Containing these playes, viz. 1 Bartholomew Fayre. 2 The staple of newes. 3 The Divell is an asse

ACT II. SCENE III.

Puppy. Awdrey. Hilts.

Pup.

Nay, stay sweet Mrs. Awdrey: here are none But one friend (as they zay) desires to speake A word, or two, cold with you: How doe you veele Your selfe this frosty morning?

Awd.

What ha' you To doe to aske, I pray you? I am a cold.

Pup.

It seemes you are hot, good Mrs. Awdrey.

Awd.

You lie; I am as cold as Ice is: Feele else.

Pup.

Nay, you ha' coold my courage: I am past it, I ha' done feeling with you.

Awd.

Done with me? I doe defie you. So I doe, to say You ha' done with me: you are a ••awcy Puppy.

Pup.

O you mistake! I meant not as you meane.

Awd.

Meant you not knavery; Puppy? No: not I. Clay meant you all the knavery, it seemes,

Who rather, then he would be married to you, Chose to be wedded to the Gallowes first.

Awd.

I thought he was a dissembler; he would prov•• A slippery Merchant i' the frost. Hee might Have married one first, and have beene hang'd after, If hee had had a mind to't. But you men, Fie on you.

Pup.

Mrs. Awdrey, can you vind, I your heart to fancie Puppy? me poore Ball?

Awd.

You are dispos'd to jeere one, Mr. Hanniball.

Enter Hilts.

Pitty o' me! the angry man with the beard!

Hil.

Put on thy hat, I looke for no despect. Where's thy Master?

Pup.

Marry, he is gone With the picture of despaire, to Paddington.

Hil.

Pr'y thee run after 'hun, and tell 'hun he shall Find out my Captaine, lodg'd at the red-Lyon In Paddington; that's the Inne. Let 'un aske Vor Captaine Thum's; And take that for thy paines: He may seeke long enough else. Hi•• thee againe.

Pup.

Yes, Sir you'll looke to Mrs. Bride the while?

Hil.

That I will: prethee haste.

Awd.

What Puppy? Puppy?

Hil.

Sweet Mrs. Bride, Hee'll come againe presently. Here was no subtile device to get a wench. This Chanon has a brave pate of his owne! A shaven pate! And a right monger, y' vaith! This was his plot! I follow Captaine Thum's? Wee rob'd in Saint Iohn's wood? I' my tother hose! I laugh, to thinke what a fine fooles finger they have O this wise Constable, in pricking out This Captaine Thum's to his neighbours: you shall see The Tile-man too set fire on his owne Kill, And leap into it, to save himselfe from hanging. You talke of a Bride-ale, here was a Bride-ale broke, I' the nick. Well: I must yet dispatch this Bride, To mine owne master, the young Squire, and then My taske is done. Gen'woman! I 'have in sort Done you some wrong, but now Ile doe you what right I can: It's true, you are a proper woman; But to be cast away on such a Clowne-pipe As Clay; me thinkes, your friends are not so wise As nature might have made 'hem; well, goe too: There's better fortune comming toward you, A••' you doe not deject it. Take a voole's Counsell, and doe not stand i' your owne light. It may prove better then you thinke for: Looke you.

Awd.

Alas Sir, what is't you would ha' me doe? I'ld faine doe all for the best, if I knew how.

Hil.

Forsake not a good turne, when 'tis offered you; Faire Mistris Awdrey, that's your name, I take it.

Awd.

No Mistris, Sir, my name is Awdrey.

Hil.

Well, so it is, there is a bold young Squire,

The blood of Totten, Tub, and Tripoly—.

Awd.

Squire Tub, you meane? I know him: he knowes me too.

Hil.

He is in love with you: and more, he's mad for you.

Awd.

I, so he told me: in his wits, I thinke. But hee's too fine for me; and has a Lady Tub to his Mother. Here he comes himselfe!