Ben Jonson

"A Tale of a Tub ACT 2. SCENE 3."

Puppy, Awdrey, Hilts.

Nay, stay, sweet Mrs. Awdrey: here are none
But one Friend (as they zay) desires to speak
A word or two, cold with you: How do you veel
Your self this frosty morning?

What ha' you
To do to ask, I pray you? I am a cold.

It seems you are hot, good Mrs. Awdrey.

You lye; I am as cold as Ice is: Feel else.

Nay, you ha' cool'd my Courage: I am past it,
I ha' done feeling with you.

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

O you mistake! I meant not as you mean.

Meant you not Knavery?

No, not I.

meant you all the Knavery, it seems,
Who rather than he would be married to you,
Chose to be wedded to the Gallows first.

I thought he was a dissembler; he would prove
A slippery Merchant i' the Frost. He might
Have married one first, and have been hang'd after,
If he had had a mind to't. But you men,
Fie on you.

Mrs. Awdrey, can you vind
I' your heart to fancy Puppy? me poor Ball?

You are dispos'd to jeer one, Mr. Hannibal.

[Enter Hilts.

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

Put on thy Hat, I look for no despect.
Where's thy Master?

Marry, he is gone
With the Picture of Despair, to Paddington.

Pr'y thee run after 'un, and tell 'un he shall
Find out my Captain lodg'd at the Red Lyon
In Paddington; that's the Inn. Let 'un ask
Vor Captain Thum's; And take that for thy pains:
He may seek long enough else. Hie thee again.

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

That I will: prethee haste.

What, Puppy? Puppy?

Sweet Mrs. Bride, he'll come again presently.
Here was no subtle device to get a Wench.
This Chanon has a brave pate of his own!

A shaven pate! and a right monger, y' vaith!
This was his plot! I follow Captain Thum's?
We robb'd in Saint John's Wood? I' my t'other Hose!
I laugh to think what a fine Fool's finger they have
O' this wise Constable, in pricking out
This Captain Thum's to his Neighbours: you shall see
The Tile-man too set fire on his own Kill,
And leap into it, to save himself from hanging.
You talk of a Bride-ale, here was a Bride-ale broke
I' the nick. Well: I must yet dispatch this Bride,
To mine own master, the young Squire, and then
My task is done. Gen'woman! I have in sort
Done you some wrong, but now I'll do you what right
I can: It's true, you are a proper Woman;
But to be cast away on such a Clown-pipe
As Clay; me thinks your Friends are not so wise
As Nature might have made 'em; VVell, go too:
There's better Fortune coming toward you,
An' you do not deject it. Take a vool's
Counsel, and do not stand i' your own light.
It may prove better than you think for: Look you.

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

Forsake not a good turn when 'tis offered you;
Fair Mistris Awdrey, that's your Name, I take it.

No Mistris, Sir, my Name is Awdrey.

VVell, so it is, there is a bold young Squire,
The Blood of Totten, Tub, and Tripoly ——

Squire Tub, you mean? I know him: he knows
me too.

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

I, so he told me: in his VVits, I think.
But he's too fine for me; and has a Lady

to his Mother. Here he comes himself!

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