Knockhum. [To them.
WHat! my little lean Ursla! my she-Bear! art
thou alive yet? with thy litter of Pigs, to grunt
out another Bartholmew Fair? ha!
Urs.
Yes, and to amble afoot, when the Fair is done,
to hear you groan out of a Cart, up the heavy Hill.
Kno.
Of Holborn, Ursla, mean'st thou so? for what?
for what, pretty Urs?
Urs.
For cutting Half-penny Purses: or stealing little
penny Dogs, out o' the Fair.
Kno.
O! good words, good words, Urs.
Jus.
Another special enormity. A cut-purse of the
Sword, the Boot, and the Feather! those are his
marks.
Urs.
You are one of those Horse-leaches that gave
out I was dead, in Turn bull-street, of a surfeit of Bottle
Ale and Tripes?
Kno.
No, 'twas better Meat Urs: Cows Udders, Cows
Udders!
Urs. Well, I shall be-meet with your mumbling Mouth
one day.
Kno.
What? thou'lt poyson me with a Neust in a Bot-
tle of Ale, will't thou? or a Spider in a Tabacco-pipe,
Urs? Come, there's no malice in these fat Folks, I never
fear thee, and I can scape thy lean Moon-calf here. Let's
drink it out, good Urs, and no vapours!
Jus.
Dost thou hear, Boy? (there's for thy Ale, and
the remnant for thee) speak in thy faith of a Faucet,
now; is this goodly Person before us here, this Vapours,
a Knight of the Knife?
Moo.
What mean you by that, Master Arthur?
Jus.
I mean a Child of the Horn-thumb, a Babe of
booty, Boy, a Cutpurse.
Moo.
O Lord, Sir! far from it. This is Master Dan.
Knockhum: Jordane the Ranger of Turnbull. He is a
Horse-courser, Sir.
Jus.
Thy Dainty Dame, though, call'd him Cutpurse.
Moo.
Like enough, Sir, she'll do forty such things in
an hour (an you listen to her) for her recreation, if the
toy take her i' the greasie Kerchief: it makes her fat you
see. She battens with it.
Jus.
Here might I ha' been deceiv'd, now, and ha'
put a Fools blot upon my self, if I had not play'd an af-
Game o' discretion.
[Ursla comes in again dropping.
Kno.
Alas poor Urs, this's an ill season for thee.
Urs.
Hang your self, Hackney-man.
Kno.
How? how? Urs, Vapours, motion breed Va-
pours?
Urs.
Vapours? never tusk, nor twirle your Dibble,
good Jordane, I know what you'll take to a very drop.
Though you be Captain o' the Roarers, and fight well
at the case of p*ss-pots, you shall not fright me with
your Lyon-chap, Sir, nor your Tusks; you angry? you
are hungry: come, a Pigs-head will stop your Mouth,
and stay your Stomach at all times.
Kno.
Thou art such another mad merry Urs, still!
Troth I do make conscience of vexing thee, now i' the
Dog-days, this hot weather, for fear of foundring thee
i' the Body, and melting down a Pillar of the Fair. Pray
thee take thy Chair again, and keep state; and let's have
a fresh Bottle of Ale, and a Pipe of Tabacco; and no
Vapours. I'll ha' this Belly o' thine taken up, and thy
Grass scour'd, Wench; look, here's Ezekiel Edgworth;
a fine Boy of his inches, as any is i' the Fair! has still
Money in his Purse, and will pay all, with a kind heart,
and good Vapours.