Turfe, Clench, Medlay, Scriben, Puppy, Pan.
Tur.
What's that makes you all so merry, and loud,
Sirs, ha?
I could ha' heard you to my privy walk.
Cle.
A Contervarsie 'twixt your two learn'd Men here:
Annibal Puppy says, that Law and Poetry
Are both flat cheating; All's but writing and reading,
He says, be't Verse or Prose.
Tur.
I think in conzience,
He do' zay true? Who is't do thwart 'un, ha?
Med.
Why, my Friend Scriben, and't please your
Worship.
Tur.
Who, D'oge? my D'ogenes? a great Writer, marry!
He'll vace me down, me my self sometimes,
That Verse goes upon Veet, as you and I do:
But I can gi' 'un the hearing; zit me down,
And laugh at 'un; and to my self conclude,
The greatest Clerks are not the wisest Men
Ever. Here they' re both! What, Sirs, disputing,
And holding Arguments of Verse and Prose?
And no green thing afore the Door, that shews,
Or speaks a Wedding?
Scr.
Those were Verses now,
Your Worship spake, and run upon vive veet.
Tur.
Feet, vrom my Mouth, D'oge? Leave your,
'zurd uppinions:
And get me in some Boughs.
Scr.
Let 'em ha' Leaves first.
There's nothing green but Bays and Rosemary.
Pup.
And they're too good for strewings, your Maids say.
Tur.
You take up 'Dority still, to vouch against me.
All the twelve Smocks i' the house, zur, are your Authors.
Get some fresh Hay then, to lay under foot:
Some Holly and Ivy, to make vine the Posts:
Is't not Son Valentine's day? and Mrs. Awdrey,
Your young Dame to be married? I wonder Clay
Should be so tedious: He's to play Son Valentine!
And the Clown sluggard's not come fro' Kilborn yet?
Med.
Do you call your Son i' Law Clown, and't please your Worship?
Tur.
Yes, and vor worship too, my neighbour Medlay.
A Middlesex Clown, and one of Finsbury:
They were the first Colon's o' the Kingdom here:
The Primitory Colon's, my D'ogenes says.
VVhere's D'ogenes, my VVriter, now? VVhat were those
You told me, D'ogenes, were the first Colon's
O' the Countrey, that the Romans brought in here?
Scr.
The Colony. Sir, Colonus is an Inhabitant:
A Clown Original: as you'ld zay a Farmer, a Tiller o' th' Earth,
E're sin' the Romans planted their Colony first,
VVhich was in Meddlesex.
Tur.
VVhy so? I thank you heartily, good D'ogenes, you ha' zertified me.
I had rather be an ancient Colon, (as they zay) a Clown
of Middlesex:
A good rich Farmer, or High Constable.
I'ld play hun 'gain a Knight, or a good Squire;
Or Gentleman of any other County
I' the Kingdom.
Pan.
Out-cept Kent, for there they landed
All Gentlemen, and came in with the Conquerour,
Mad Julius Cæsar, who built Dover-Castle:
My Ancestor To-Pan, beat the first Kettle-Drum
Avore 'hun, here vrom Dover on the March:
VVhich piece of Monumental Copper hangs
Up, scour'd, at Hammer-smith yet; for there they came
Over the Thames, at a low Water-mark;
Vore either London, I, or Kingston-Bridge ——
I doubt were kursin'd.
Tur.
Zee, who is here: John Clay!
Zon Valentine, and Bridegroom! ha' you zeen
Your Valentine-Bride yet, sin' you came? John Clay?