Ben Jonson

"Bartholomew Fayre Act 2. Scene 5"

Win-wife, Quarlous.          [To them.


WE are here before 'em, methinks.

Quar.
All the better, we shall see 'em come in
now.

Lea.
What do you lack, Gentlemen, what is't you
lack? a fine Horse? a Lyon? a Bull? a Bear? a Dog,
or a Cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew-bird? or an
Instrument? what is't you lack?

Quar.
'Slid! here's Orpheus among the Beasts, with his
Fiddle, and all!

Tra.
Will you buy any comfortable Bread, Gen-
tlemen?

Quar.
And Ceres selling her Daughters Picture, in
Ginger-work!

Win.
That these People should be so ignorant to
think us chapmen for 'em! do we look as if we would
buy Ginger-bread? or Hobby-horses?

Quar.
Why, they know no better Ware than they
have, nor better Customers than come. And our very
being here makes us fit to be demanded, as well as o-
thers. Would Cokes would come! there were a true
customer for 'em.

Kno.
How much is't? thirty Shillings? who's yonder!
Ned Winwife? and Tom Quarlous, I think! yes, (gi' me it
all) (gi' me it all) Master Winwife! Master Quarlous!
will you take a Pipe of Tabacco with us? do not dis-
credit me now, Zekiel.

Win.
Do not see him! he is the roaring Horse-courser,
pray thee let's avoid him: turn down this way.

Quar.
'Slud


Quar.
'Slud, I'll see him, and roar with him too, and
he roar'd as loud as Neptune; pray thee go with me.

VVin.
You may draw me to as likely an inconveni-
ence, when you please, as this.

Quar.
Go to then, come along, we ha' nothing to do,
man, but to see sights now.

Kno.
Welcome Master Quarlous, and Master Win-wife!
will you take any froth, and smoak with us?

Quar.
Yes, Sir, but you'l pardon us, if we knew not of
so much familiarity between us afore.

Kno.
As what, Sir?

Quar.
To be so lightly invited to Smoak and Froth.

Kno.
A good Vapour! will you sit down, Sir? this is
Old Ursla's Mansion, how like you her Bower? here you
may ha' your Punck and your Pig in State, Sir, both pi-
ping hot.

Quar.
I had rather ha' my Punck cold, Sir.

Jus.
There's for me, Punck! and Pig!

Urs.
What Mooncalf, you Rogue?

[She calls within.


Moo.
By and by, the Bottle is almost off, Mistris; here
Master Arthur.

Urs.
I'll part you, and your Play-fellow there, i' the
garded Coat, an' you sunder not the sooner.

Kno.
Master Win-wife, you are proud (me thinks) you
do not talk, nor drink, are you proud?

Win.
Not of the company I am in, Sir, nor the place,
I assure you.

Kno.
You do not except at the Company! do you!
are you in Vapours, Sir?

Moo.
Nay, good Master Dan. Knockhum, respect my
Mistris Bower, as you call it; for the Honour of our
Booth, none o' your Vapours here.

Urs.
Why, you thin lean Polecat you, and they have
a mind to be i' their Vapours, must you hinder 'em?
what did you know, Vermine, if they would ha' lost a
Cloak, or such a Trifle? must you be drawing the Air
of Pacification here? while I am tormented within i'the
fire, you Weasel?

[She comes out with a fire-brand.


Moo.
Good Mistris, 'twas in the behalf of your Booth's
Credit that I spoke.

Urs.
Why! would my Booth ha' broke, if they had
fal'n out in't, Sir? or would their heat ha' fir'd it? In,
you Rogue, and wipe the Pigs, and mend the Fire, that
they fall not, or I'll both baste and roast you till your
Eyes drop out, like 'em. (Leave the Bottle behind you,
and be curst a while.)

Quar.
Body o' the Fair! what's this? Mother o' the
Bawds?

Kno.
No, she's Mother o' the Pigs, Sir, Mother o' the
Pigs.

Win.
Mother o' the Furies, I think, by her Fire-
brand.

Quar.
Nay, she is too fat to be a Fury, sure some wal
ing Sow of Tallow!

VVin.
An inspir'd Vessel of Kitchin-stuff!

Quar.
She'll make Excellent Geer for the Coachma-
kers here in Smithfield, to anoint Wheels and Axel-trees
with.

[She drinks this while.


Urs.
I, I, Gamesters, mock a plain plump soft Wench
o' the Suburbs, do, because she's juicy and wholesome:
you must ha' your thin pinch'd Ware, pent up i' the
compass of a Dog-Collar, (or 'twill not do) that looks
like a long lac'd Conger, set upright, and a green feather,
like Fennel i' the Joll on't.

Kno.
Well said, Urs, my good Urs; to 'em Urs.

Quar.
Is she your Quag-mire, Dan. Knockhum? is this
your Bog?

Nig.
We shall have a quarrel presently.

Kno.
How, Bog? Quagmire? foul Vapours! humh!

Quar.
Yes, he that would venture for't, I assure him,
might sink into her, and be drown'd a week, e're any
Friend he had could find where he were.

VVin.
And then he would be a fort'night weighing up
again.

Quar.
'Twere like falling into a whole Shire of But-
ter: they had need be a Team of Dutchmen should draw
him out.

Kno.
Answer 'em, Urs, where's thy Bartholmew-wit
now, Urs, thy Bartholmew-wit?

Urs.
Hang 'em, rotten, Roguy Cheaters, I hope to
see 'em plagu'd one day (pox'd they are already, I am
sure) with lean Play-house Poultry, that has the Bony
Rump, sticking out like the Ace of Spades, or the point
of a Partizan, that every Rib of 'em is like the Tooth
of a Saw: and will so grate 'em with their Hips and
Shoulders, as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie
with a hurdle.

Quar.
Out upon her, how she drips! She's able to
give a Man the Sweating Sickness with looking on
her.

Urs.
Marry look off, with a patch o' your face, and
a Dozen i' your Breech, tho they be o' Scarlet, Sir. I ha'
seen as fine out-sides as either o' yours, bring lowsie Li-
nings to the Brokers, e're now, twice a week.

Quar.
Do you think there may be a fine new
Cucking-stool i' the Fair, to be purchas'd? one large
enough, I mean. I know there is a Pond of Capacity
for her.

Urs.
For your Mother, you Rascal, out you Rogue,
you Hedge-bird, you Pimp, you Pannier-man's Ba-
stard, you.

Quar.
Ha, ha, ha.

Urs.
Do you sneer, you Dogs-head, you Trendle Tail!
you look as you were begotten a' top of a Cart in Har-
vest-time, when the Whelp was hot and eager. Go,
snuff after your Brother's b*tch, Mrs. Commodity;
that's the Livery you wear, 'twill be out at the El-
bows shortly. It's time you went to't for the to'ther
Remnant.

Kno.
Peace, Urs, peace, Urs, they'll kill the poor
Whale, and make Oil of her. Pray thee go in.

Urs.
I'll see 'em pox'd first, and pil'd, and double
pil'd.

Win.
Let's away, her Language grows greasier than
her Pigs.

Vrs.
Does't so, Snotty-nose? good Lord! are you
sniveling? You were engendred on a She-beggar, in a
Barn, when the bald Thrasher, your Sire, was scarce
warm.

Win.
Pray thee let's go.

Quar.
No, faith: I'll stay the end of her now: I know
she cannot last long; I find by her Similies she wanes a
pace.

Urs.
Does she so? I'll set you gone. Gi' me my Pig-
pan hither a little. I'll scald you hence, and you will
not go.

Kno.
Gentlemen, these are very strange Vapours! and
very idle Vapours! I assure you.

Quar.
You are a very serious Ass, we assure you.

Kno.
Humh! Ass? and serious? nay, then pardon
me my Vapour. I have a foolish Vapour, Gentlemen:
any man that does vapour me the Ass, Master Quar-
lous


Quar.
What then, Master Jordan?

Kno.
I do vapour him the lie.

Quar.
Faith, and to any man that vapours me the lie,
I do vapour that.

Kno.
Nay then, Vapours upon Vapours.

Edg. Nig.
'Ware the Pan, the Pan, the Pan, she
comes with the Pan, Gentlemen. God bless the Wo-
man.

[Ursla comes in with the Scalding-Pan.

[They fight.

Urs.
Oh.

Era.
What's the matter?

Jus.
Goodly woman!

[She falls with it.

Moo.
Mistress!

Urs.
Curse of Hell, that ever I saw these Fiends, oh!
I ha' scalded my Leg, my Leg, my Leg, my Leg. I
ha' lost a Limb in the Service! run for some Cream
and Sallad Oil, quickly. Are you under-peering,
you Baboon? rip off my Hose, an' you be men, men,
men.

Moo.
Run you for some Cream, good Mother Jone.
I'll look to your Basket.

Lea.
Best sit up i' your Chair, Ursla. Help, Gen-
tlemen.

Kno.
Be of good cheer, Urs, thou hast hindred me
the currying of a Couple of Stallions here, that abus'd
the good Race-Bawd o' Smithfield; 'twas time for 'em
to go.

Nig.
I'faith, when the Pan came, they had made you
run else. (This had been a fine time for purchase, if you
had ventur'd.)

Edg.
Not a whit, these fellows were too fine to carry
Money.

Kno.
Nightingale, get some help to carry her Leg out
o' the Air; take off her Shooes; body o' me, she has the
Mallanders, the Scratches, the Crown Scab, and the Quit-
ter Bone i' the to'ther Leg.

Urs.
Oh, the Pox! why do you put me in mind o'
my Leg thus, to make it prick and shoot? would you ha'
me i'the Hospital afore my time?

Kno.
Patience, Urs, take a good heart, 'tis but a Bli-
ster as big as a Windgall; I'll take is away with the white
of an Egg, a little Honey and Hogs Grease, ha' thy Pa-
sterns well roll'd, and thou shalt pace again by to mor-
row. I'll tend thy Booth, and look to thy Affairs the
while: Thou shalt sit i' thy Chair, and give Directions,
and shine Ursa major.

A B C D E F G H I J K L M N O P Q R S T U V W X Y Z #
Copyright © 2018 Bee Lyrics.Net