Trouble-all, Knockhum, Whit, Quarlous, Edgworth, Bristle,
Waspe, Haggise, Justice, Busy, Pure-craft.
BY what Warrant do's it say so?
Kno.
Ha! mad Child o' the Pye-pouldres, art thou
there? fill us a fresh Kan, Urs, we may drink together.
Tro.
I may not drink without a Warrant, Captain.
Kno.
'Slood, thou'll not stale without a Warrant,
shortly. Whit, Give me Pen, Ink and Paper. I'll draw
him a Warrant presently.
Tro.
It must be Justice Overdoo's?
Kno.
I know, Man, Fetch the Drink, Whit.
Whi.
I pre dee now, be very brief, Captain; for de
new Ladies stay for dee.
Kno.
O, as brief as can be, here 'tis already. Adam
Overdoo.
Tro.
Why, now, I'll pledge you, Captain.
Kno.
Drink it off. I'll come to thee, anon, again.
Qua.
Well, Sir. You are now discharg'd: beware of
being spi'd hereafter.
[Quarlous to the Cut-purse.
Edg.
Sir, will it please you, enter in here, at Ursla's;
and take part of a Silken Gown, a Velvet Petticoat, or a
wrought Smock; I am promis'd such: and I can spare
any Gentleman a moiety.
Qua.
Keep it for your Companions in beastliness, I
am none of 'em, Sir. If I had not already forgiven you
a greater trespass, or thought you yet worth my beating,
I would instruct your manners, to whom you made your
offers. But go your ways, talk not to me, the Hangman
is only fit to discourse with you; the hand of Beadle is
too merciful a punishment for your Trade of life. I
am sorry I employ'd this Fellow; for he thinks me such:
Fascinus quos inquinat, æquat. But, it was for sport. And
would I make it serious, the getting of this License is
nothing to me, without other circ*mstances concur.
I do think how impertinently I labour, if the word be
not mine, that the ragged Fellow mark'd: And what
advantage I have given Ned Win-wife in this time now,
of working her, though it be mine. He'll go near to
form to her what a debauch'd Raskal I am, and fright
her out of all good conceit of me: I should do so by
him, I am sure, if I had the opportunity. But my hope
is in her temper, yet; and it must needs be next to de-
spair, that is grounded on any part of a Womans dis-
cretion. I would give by my troth, now, all I could spare
(to my Cloathes, and my Sword) to meet my tatter'd
Sooth-sayer again, who was my judge i' the question, to
know certainly whose word he has damn'd or sav'd.
For, till then, I live but under a Reprieve. I must seek
him. Who be these?
Wasp with the Officers.
Was.
Sir, you are a welsh Cuckold, and a prating
Runt, and no Constable.
Bri.
You say very well. Come put in his Leg in the
middle Roundel, and let him hole there.
Was.
You stink of Leeks, Metheglyn, and Cheese.
You Rogue.
Bri.
Why, what is that to you, if you sit sweetly in
the Stocks in the mean time? if you have a mind to
stink too, your Breeches sit close enough to your bum.
Sit you merry, Sir.
Qua.
How now, Numps?
Was.
It is no matter, how; pray you look off.
Qua.
Nay, I'll not offend you, Numps. I thought you
had sat there to be seen.
Was.
And to be sold, did you not? pray you mind
your business, an' you have any.
Qua.
Cry you mercy, Numps. Do's your Leg lie high
enough?
Bri.
How now, Neighbour Haggise, what says Justice
Overdoo's Worship to the other offenders?
Hag.
Why, he says just nothing, what should he say?
Or where should he say? He is not to be found, Man.
He ha' not been seen i' the Fair, here, all this live-long
day, never since seven a Clock i' the Morning. His
Clerks know not what to think on't. There is no Court
of Pie-poulders yet. Here they be return'd.
Bri.
What shall be done with 'em, then? in your dis-
cretion?
Hag.
I think we were best put 'em in the Stocks in
discretion (there they will be safe in discretion) for
the valour of an hour, or such a thing, till his Worship
come.
Bri.
It is but a hole matter if we do, Neighbour Hag-
gise, come, Sir, here is company for you, heave up the
Stocks.
[As they open the Stocks, Wasp puts his Shooe
on his Hand, and slips it in for his Leg.
Was.
I shall put a trick upon your welsh diligence,
perhaps.
Bri.
Put in your Leg, Sir.
Qua.
What, Rabby Busy! is he come?
[They bring Busy, and put him in.
Bus.
I do obey thee, the Lyon may roar, but he
cannot bite. I am glad to be thus separated from the
Heathen of the Land, and put a part in the Stocks for
the Holy Cause.
Was.
What are you, Sir?
Bus.
One that rejoyceth in his Affliction, and sit-
teth here to prophesie the Destruction of Fairs and
May-games, Wakes and Whitson-ales, and doth sigh and
groan for the reformation of these abuses.
Was.
And do you sigh and groan too, or rejoyce in
your affliction?
Jus.
I do not feel it, I do not think of it, it is a thing
without me: Adam, thou art above these battries, these
contumelies. In te manca ruit fortuna, as thy Friend Ho-
race says; thou art one, Quem neque pauperies, neque mors,
neque vincula terrent. And therefore as another Friend
of thine says, (I think it be thy Friend Persius) Non te
qusiveris extra.
Qua.
What's here! a Stoick i' the Stocks? the Fool is
turn'd Philosopher.
Bus.
Friend, I will leave to communicate my Spirit with
you, if I hear any more of those superstitious Relicks, those
Lists of Latin, the very Rags of Rome, and Patches of Popery.
Was.
Nay, an' you begin to quarrel, Gentlemen, I'll
leave you. I ha' paid for quarrelling too lately: look
you, a device, but shifting in a Hand for a Foot. God
b' w' you.
[He gets out.
Bus.
Wilt thou then leave thy Brethren in tribulation?
Was.
For this once, Sir.
Bus.
Thou art a halting Neutral; stay him there, stop
him, that will not endure the heat of Persecution.
Bri.
How now, what's the matter?
Bus.
He is fled, he is fled, and dares not sit it out.
Bri.
What, has he made an escape, which way? fol-
low, Neighbour Haggise.
Pur.
O me! in the Stocks! have the wicked pre-
vail'd?
Bus.
Peace religious Sister, it is my Calling, comfort
your self, an extraordinary Calling, and done for my
better standing, my surer standing, hereafter.
Tro.
By whose Warrant, by whose Warrant, this?
[The Mad-man enters.
Qua.
O, here's my Man, dropt in, I look'd for.
Jus.
Ha!
Pur.
O good Sir, they have set the faithful here to
be wonder'd at; and provided holes for the holy of the
Land.
Tro.
Had they Warrant for it? shew'd they Justice
Overdoo's Hand? if they had no Warrant, they shall an-
swer it.
Bri.
Sure you did not lock the Stocks sufficiently,
Neighbour Toby!
Hag.
No! see if you can lock 'em better.
Bri.
They are very sufficiently lock'd, and truly, yet
some thing is in the matter.
Tro.
True, your Warrant is the matter that is in que-
stion, by what Warrant?
Bri.
Mad Man, hold your Peace, I will put you in his
room else, in the very same hole, do you see?
Qua.
How! is he a Mad-man!
Tro.
Shew me Justice Overdoo's Warrant, I obey you.
Hag.
You are a mad Fool, hold your Tongue.
Tro.
In Justice Overdoo's name, I drink to you, and
here's my Warrant.
[Shews his Can.
Jus.
Alas poor Wretch! how it earns my Heart for
him!
Qua.
If he be mad, it is in vain to question him. I'll
try though. Friend, there was a Gentlewoman, shew'd
you two names, some hour since, Argalus and Palemon,
to mark in a Book, which of 'em was it you mark'd?
Tro.
I mark no name, but Adam Overdoo, that is the
name of names, he only is the sufficient Magistrate; and
that name I reverence, shew it me.
Qua.
This Fellow's mad indeed: I am further off
now, than afore.
Jus.
I shall not breath in peace, till I have made him
some amends.
Qua.
Well, I will make another use of him, is come
in my head: I have a Nest of Beards in my Trunk; one
something like his.
Bri.
This mad fool has made me that I know not
whether I have lock'd the Stocks or no, I think I lock'd
'em.
[The Watch-men come back again. The mad-man
fights with 'em, and they leave open the Stocks.
Tro.
Take Adam Overdoo in your mind, and fear no-
thing.
Bri.
'Slid, madness it self, hold thy peace, and take
that.
Tro.
Strikest thou without a Warrant? take thou
that.
Bus.
We are delivered by miracle; Fellow in Fet-
ters, let us not refuse the means, this madness was of
the Spirit: The malice of the Enemy hath mock'd it
self.
Pur.
Mad do they call him! the World is mad in
error, but he is mad in truth: I love him o' the sudden,
(the cunning Man said all true) and shall love him
more and more. How well it becomes a Man to be mad
in truth! O, that I might be his yoke-fellow, and be
mad with him, what a many should we draw to mad-
ness in truth, with us!
Bri.
How now! all scap'd? where's the Woman? it
is Witchcraft! Her Velvet Hat is a Witch, o' my Con-
science, or my Key! t' one. The Mad-man was a De-
vil, and I am an Ass; so bless me, my Place, and mine
Office.
[The Watch missing them are affrighted.