Chapter XXVII: Act III: Scene I

_Gray’s Inn Fields._

_Enter_ LAXTON _and Coachman_.

LAX. Coachman.
COACH. Here, sir.
LAX. There’s a tester[1015] more; prithee drive thy
coach to the hither end of Marybone-park, a fit place
for Moll to get in.
COACH. Marybone-park, sir?
LAX. Ay, it’s in our way, thou knowest.
COACH. It shall be done, sir.
LAX. Coachman.
COACH. Anon, sir.
LAX. Are we fitted with good phrampel[1016] jades?
COACH. The best in Smithfield, I warrant you, sir.
LAX. May we safely take the upper hand of any coached
velvet cap, or tuftaffety jacket? for they keep a
vild[1017] swaggering in coaches now-a-days; the
highways are stopt with them.
COACH. My life for yours, and baffle[1018] ’em too, sir:
why, they are the same jades believe it, sir, that have
drawn all your famous whores to Ware.
LAX. Nay, then they know their business; they need no
more instructions.
COACH. They’re so used to such journeys, sir, I never
use whip to ’em; for if they catch but the scent of a
wench once, they run like devils. [_Exit._[1019]
LAX. Fine Cerberus! that rogue will have the start of a
thousand ones; for whilst others trot a’ foot, he’ll
ride prancing to hell upon a coach-horse. Stay, ’tis now
about the hour of her appointment, but yet I see her
not. [_The clock strikes three._] Hark! what’s this?
one, two, three: three by the clock at Savoy; this is
the hour, and Gray’s Inn Fields the place, she swore
she’d meet me. Ha! yonder’s two Inns-a’-court men with
one wench, but that’s not she; they walk toward
Islington out of my way. I see none yet drest like her;
I must look for a shag ruff, a freize jerken, a short
sword, and a safeguard,[1020] or I get none. Why, Moll,
prithee, make haste, or the coachman will curse us anon.

_Enter_ MOLL, _dressed as a man_.

MOLL. O, here’s my gentleman! If they would keep their
days as well with their mercers as their hours with
their harlots, no bankrout[1021] would give seven score
pound for a sergeant’s place; for would you know a
catchpoll rightly derived, the corruption of a citizen
is the generation of a sergeant. How his eye hawks for
venery! [_Aside._]—Come, are you ready, sir?
LAX. Ready? for what, sir?
MOLL. Do you ask that now, sir?
Why was this meeting ’pointed?
LAX. I thought you mistook me, sir: you seem to be some
young barrister;
I have no suit in law, all my land’s sold;
I praise heaven for’t, ’t has rid me of much trouble.
MOLL. Then I must wake you, sir; where stands the
coach?
LAX. Who’s this? Moll, honest Moll?
MOLL. So young, and purblind?
You’re an old wanton in your eyes, I see that.
LAX. Thou’rt admirably suited for the Three Pigeons at
Brainford.[1022] I’ll swear I knew thee not.
MOLL. I’ll swear you did not; but you shall know me
now.
LAX. No, not here; we shall be spied, i’faith; the coach
is better: come.
MOLL. Stay. [_Puts off her cloak._
LAX. What, wilt thou untruss a point,[1023] Moll?
MOLL. Yes; here’s the point [_Draws her sword._
That I untruss; ’t has but one tag, ’t will serve though
To tie up a rogue’s tongue.
LAX. How!
MOLL. There’s the gold
With which you hir’d your hackney, here’s her pace;
She racks hard, and perhaps your bones will feel it:
Ten angels[1024] of mine own I’ve put to thine;
Win ’em, and wear ’em.
LAX. Hold, Moll! mistress Mary——
MOLL. Draw, or I’ll serve an execution on thee,
Shall lay thee up till doomsday.
LAX. Draw upon a woman! why, what dost mean, Moll?

MOLL. To teach thy base thoughts manners: thou’rt one
of those
That thinks each woman thy fond flexible whore;
If she but cast a liberal[1025] eye upon thee,
Turn back her head, she’s thine; or amongst company
By chance drink first to thee, then she’s quite gone,
There is no means to help her: nay, for a need,
Wilt swear unto thy credulous fellow-lechers,
That thou art more in favour with a lady
At first sight than her monkey all her lifetime.
How many of our sex, by such as thou,
Have their good thoughts paid with a blasted name
That never deserv’d loosely, or did trip
In path of whoredom beyond cup and lip!
But for the stain of conscience and of soul,
Better had women fall into the hands
Of an act silent than a bragging nothing;
There is no mercy in’t. What durst move you, sir,
To think me whorish? a name which I’d tear out
From the high German’s throat,[1026] if it lay
leiger[1027] there
To despatch privy slanders against me.
In thee I defy all men, their worst hates
And their best flatteries, all their golden witchcrafts,
With which they entangle the poor spirits of fools,
Distressed needle-women and trade-fallen wives;
Fish that must needs bite, or themselves be bitten:
Such hungry things as these may soon be took
With a worm fasten’d on a golden hook:
Those are the lecher’s food, his prey; he watches
For quarrelling wedlocks[1028] and poor shifting
sisters;
’Tis the best fish he takes. But why, good fisherman,
Am I thought meat for you, that never yet
Had angling rod cast towards me? ’cause, you’ll say,
I’m given to sport, I’m often merry, jest:
Had mirth no kindred in the world but lust,
O shame take all her friends then! but howe’er
Thou and the baser world censure my life,
I’ll send ’em word by thee, and write so much
Upon thy breast, ’cause thou shalt bear’t in mind,
Tell them ’twere base to yield where I have conquer’d;
I scorn to prostitute myself to a man,
I that can prostitute a man to me;
And so I greet thee.
LAX. Hear me——
MOLL. Would the spirits
Of all my sland[er]ers were clasp’d in thine,
That I might vex an army at one time! [_They fight._
LAX. I do repent me; hold!
MOLL. You’ll die the better Christian then.
LAX. I do confess I have wronged thee, Moll.
MOLL. Confession is but poor amends for wrong,
Unless a rope would follow.
LAX. I ask thee pardon.
MOLL. I’m your hir’d whore, sir!
LAX. I yield both purse and body.
MOLL. Both are mine,
And now at my disposing.
LAX. Spare my life!
MOLL. I scorn to strike thee basely.
LAX. Spoke like a noble girl, i’faith!—Heart, I think I
fight with a familiar,[1029] or the ghost of a fencer.
Sh’as wounded me gallantly. Call you this a lecherous
viage?[1030] here’s blood would have served me this
seven year in broken heads and cut fingers; and it now
runs all out together. Pox a’ the Three Pigeons![1031] I
would the coach were here now to carry me to the
chirurgeon’s. [_Aside, and exit._
MOLL. If I could meet my enemies one by one thus,
I might make pretty shift with ’em in time,
And make ’em know she that has wit and spirit,
May scorn
To live beholding[1032] to her body for meat;
Or for apparel, like your common dame,
That makes shame get her clothes to cover shame.
Base is that mind that kneels unto her body,
As if a husband stood in awe on’s wife:
My spirit shall be mistress of this house
As long as I have time in’t.—O,

_Enter_ TRAPDOOR.

Here comes my man that would be: ’tis his hour.
Faith, a good well-set fellow, if his spirit
Be answerable to his umbles:[1033] he walks stiff,
But whether he’ll stand to’t stiffly, there’s the point:
Has a good calf for’t; and ye shall have many a woman
Choose him she means to make her head by his calf:
I do not know their tricks in’t. Faith, he seems
A man without; I’ll try what he’s within.
TRAP. She told me Gray’s Inn Fields, ’twixt three and
four;
I’ll fit her mistress-ship with a piece of service:
I’m hir’d to rid the town of one mad girl.
[MOLL _jostles him_.
What a pox ails you, sir?
MOLL. He begins like a gentleman.
TRAP. Heart, is the field so narrow, or your eyesight—
Life, he comes back again!
MOLL. Was this spoke to me, sir?
TRAP. I cannot tell, sir.
MOLL. Go, you’re a coxcomb!
TRAP. Coxcomb?
MOLL. You’re a slave!
TRAP. I hope there’s law for you, sir.
MOLL. Yea, do you see, sir? [_Turns his hat._
TRAP. Heart, this is no good dealing! pray, let me know
what house you’re of.
MOLL. One of the Temple, sir. [_Fillips him._
TRAP. Mass, so methinks.
MOLL. And yet sometime I lie about Chick Lane.
TRAP. I like you the worse because you shift your
lodging so often: I’ll not meddle with you for that
trick, sir.
MOLL. A good shift; but it shall not serve your turn.
TRAP. You’ll give me leave to pass about my business,
sir?
MOLL. Your business? I’ll make you wait on me
Before I ha’ done, and glad to serve me too.
TRAP. How, sir? serve you? not if there were no more men
in England.
MOLL. But if there were no more women in England,
I hope you’d wait upon your mistress then?
TRAP. Mistress?
MOLL. O, you’re a tried spirit at a push, sir!
TRAP. What would your worship have me do?
MOLL. You a fighter!
TRAP. No, I praise heaven, I had better grace and more
manners.
MOLL. As how, I pray, sir?
TRAP. Life, ’thad been a beastly part of me to have
drawn my weapons upon my mistress; all the world would
’a cried shame of me for that.
MOLL. Why, but you knew me not.
TRAP. Do not say so, mistress; I knew you by your wide
straddle, as well as if I had been in your belly.
MOLL. Well, we shall try you further; i’ th’ mean time
We give you entertainment.
TRAP. Thank your good mistress-ship.
MOLL. How many suits have you?
TRAP. No more suits than backs, mistress.
MOLL. Well, if you deserve, I cast off this, next
week,
And you may creep into’t.
TRAP. Thank your good worship.
MOLL. Come, follow me to St. Thomas Apostle’s:
I’ll put a livery cloak upon your back
The first thing I do.
TRAP. I follow, my dear mistress. [_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

GALLIPOT’S _Shop_.

_Enter_ MISTRESS GALLIPOT _as from supper_, GALLIPOT
_following her_.

GAL. What, Pru! nay, sweet Prudence!
MIS. G. What a pruing keep you! I think the baby would
have a teat, it kyes[1034] so. Pray, be not so fond of
me, leave your city humours; I’m vexed at you, to see
how like a calf you come bleating after me.
GAL. Nay, honey Pru, how does your rising up before all
the table shew, and flinging from my friends so
uncivilly! fie, Pru, fie! come.
MIS. G. Then up and ride, i’faith!
GAL. Up and ride? nay, my pretty Pru, that’s far from my
thought, duck: why, mouse,[1035] thy mind is nibbling at
something; what is’t? what lies upon thy stomach?
MIS. G. Such an ass as you: hoyda, you’re best turn
midwife, or physician! you’re a ’pothecary already, but
I’m none of your drugs.
GAL. Thou art a sweet drug, sweetest Pru, and the more
thou art pounded, the more precious.
MIS. G. Must you be prying into a woman’s secrets, say
ye?
GAL. Woman’s secrets?
MIS. G. What! I cannot have a qualm come upon me, but
your teeth water[1036] till your nose hang over it!
GAL. It is my love, dear wife.
MIS. G. Your love? your love is all words; give me
deeds: I cannot abide a man that’s too fond over me,—so
cookish! Thou dost not know how to handle a woman in her
kind.
GAL. No, Pru? why, I hope I have handled—
MIS. G. Handle a fool’s head of your own,—fie, fie!
GAL. Ha, ha, ’tis such a wasp! it does me good now to
have her s[t]ing me, little rogue!
MIS. G. Now, fie, how you vex me! I cannot abide these
apron husbands;[1037] such cotqueans![1038] you overdo
your things, they become you scurvily.
GAL. Upon my life she breeds: heaven knows how I have
strained myself to please her night and day. I wonder
why we citizens should get children so fretful and
untoward in the breeding, their fathers being for the
most part as gentle as milch kine. [_Aside._]—Shall I
leave thee, my Pru?
MIS. G. Fie, fie, fie!
GAL. Thou shalt not be vexed no more, pretty, kind
rogue; take no cold, sweet Pru. [_Exit._
MIS. G. As your wit has done. Now, master Laxton, shew
your head; what news from you? would any husband suspect
that a woman crying, _Buy any scurvy-grass_, should
bring love-letters amongst her herbs to his wife? pretty
trick! fine conveyance! had jealousy a thousand eyes, a
silly woman with scurvy-grass blinds them all.
Laxton, with bays[1039]
Crown I thy wit for this, it deserves praise:
This makes me affect thee more, this proves thee wise:
’Lack, what poor shift is love forc’d to devise!—

To th’ point. [_Reads letter._] _O sweet creature_—a
sweet beginning!—_pardon my long absence, for thou shalt
shortly be possessed with my presence: though Demophoon
was false to Phyllis, I will be to thee as Pan-da-rus
was to Cres-sida;[1040] though Æneas made an ass of
Dido, I will die to thee ere I do so. O sweetest
creature, make much of me! for no man beneath the silver
moon shall make more of a woman than I do of thee:
furnish me therefore with thirty pounds; you must do it
of necessity for me; I languish till I see some comfort
come from thee. Protesting not to die in thy debt, but
rather to live, so as hitherto I have and will_,
_Thy true Laxton ever_.
Alas, poor gentleman! troth, I pity him.
How shall I raise this money? thirty pound!
’Tis thirty sure, a 3 before an 0;
I know his threes too well. My childbed linen,
Shall I pawn that for him? then if my mark
Be known, I am undone; it may be thought
My husband’s bankrout.[1041] Which way shall I turn?
Laxton, what with my own fears and thy wants,
I’m like a needle ’twixt two adamants.

_Re-enter_ GALLIPOT _hastily_.

GAL. Nay, nay, wife, the women are all up—Ha! how?
reading a’ letters? I smell a goose, a couple of capons,
and a gammon of bacon, from her mother out of the
country. I hold my life—steal, steal[1042]—— [_Aside._
MIS. G. O, beshrew your heart!
GAL. What letter’s that? I’ll see’t.
[MIS. G. _tears the letter_.
MIS. G. O, would thou hadst no eyes to see the downfal
Of me and thyself! I am for ever,
For ever I’m undone!
GAL. What ails my Pru?
What paper’s that thou tear’st?
MIS. G. Would I could tear
My very heart in pieces! for my soul
Lies on the rack of shame, that tortures me
Beyond a woman’s suffering.
GAL. What means this?
MIS. G. Had you no other vengeance to throw down,
But even in height of all my joys——
GAL. Dear woman——
MIS. G. When the full sea of pleasure and content
Seem’d to flow over me?
GAL. As thou desir’st
To keep me out of Bedlam, tell what troubles thee!
Is not thy child at nurse fallen sick, or dead?
MIS. G. O, no!
GAL. Heavens bless me! are my barns and houses
Yonder at Hockley-hole consum’d with fire?
I can build more, sweet Pru.
MIS. G. ’Tis worse, ’tis worse!
GAL. My factor broke? or is the Jonas sunk?
MIS. G. Would all we had were swallow’d in the waves,
Rather than both should be the scorn of slaves!
GAL. I’m at my wit’s end.
MIS. G. O my dear husband!
Where[1043] once I thought myself a fixed star,
Plac’d only in the heaven of thine arms,
I fear now I shall prove a wanderer.
O Laxton, Laxton! is it then my fate
To be by thee o’erthrown?
GAL. Defend me, wisdom,
From falling into frenzy! On my knees,
Sweet Pru, speak; what’s that Laxton, who so heavy
Lies on thy bosom?
MIS. G. I shall sure run mad!
GAL. I shall run mad for company then. Speak to me;
I’m Gallipot thy husband—Pru—why, Pru!
Art sick in conscience for some villanous deed
Thou wert about to act? didst mean to rob me?
Tush, I forgive thee: hast thou on my bed
Thrust my soft pillow under another’s head?
I’ll wink at all faults, Pru: ’las, that’s no more,
Than what some neighbours near thee have done before!
Sweet honey Pru, what’s that Laxton?
MIS. G. O!
GAL. Out with him!
MIS. G. O, he’s born to be my undoer!
This hand, which thou call’st thine, to him was given,
To him was I made sure[1044] i’ th’ sight of heaven.
GAL. I never heard this thunder.
MIS. G. Yes, yes, before
I was to thee contracted, to him I swore:
Since last I saw him,[1045] twelve months three times
told
The moon hath drawn through her light silver bow;
For o’er the seas he went, and it was said,
But rumour lies, that he in France was dead:
But he’s alive, O he’s alive! he sent
That letter to me, which in rage I rent;
Swearing with oaths most damnably to have me,
Or tear me from this bosom: O heavens, save me!
GAL. My heart will break; sham’d and undone for ever!
MIS. G. So black a day, poor wretch, went o’er thee
never!
GAL. If thou should’st wrestle with him at the law,
Thou’rt sure to fall. No odd slight?[1046] no
prevention?
I’ll tell him thou’rt with child.
MIS. G. Umh!
GAL. Or give out
One of my men was ta’en a-bed with thee.
MIS. G. Umh, umh!
GAL. Before I lose thee, my dear Pru,
I’ll drive it to that push.
MIS. G. Worse and worse still;
You embrace a mischief, to prevent an ill.
GAL. I’ll buy thee of him, stop his mouth with gold:
Think’st thou ’twill do?
MIS. G. O me! heavens grant it would!
Yet now my senses are set more in tune,
He writ, as I remember, in his letter,
That he in riding up and down had spent,
Ere he could find me, thirty pounds: send that;
Stand not on thirty with him.
GAL. Forty, Pru!
Say thou the word, ’tis done: we venture lives
For wealth, but must do more to keep our wives.
Thirty or forty, Pru?
MIS. G. Thirty, good sweet;
Of an ill bargain let’s save what we can:
I’ll pay it him with my tears; he was a man,
When first I knew him, of a meek spirit,
All goodness is not yet dried up, I hope.
GAL. He shall have thirty pound, let that stop all:
Love’s sweets taste best when we have drunk down gall.

_Enter_ TILTYARD, MISTRESS TILTYARD, GOSHAWK, _and_
MISTRESS OPENWORK.

God’s-so, our friends! come, come, smooth your cheek:
After a storm the face of heaven looks sleek.
TILT. Did I not tell you these turtles were together?
MIS. T. How dost thou, sirrah?[1047] why, sister
Gallipot——
MIS. O. Lord, how she’s chang’d!
GOS. Is your wife ill, sir?
GAL. Yes, indeed, la, sir, very ill, very ill, never
worse.
MIS. T. How her head burns! feel how her pulses work!
MIS. O. Sister, lie down a little; that always does me
good.
MIS. T. In good sadness,[1048] I find best ease in that
too. Has she laid some hot thing to her stomach?
MIS. G. No, but I will lay something anon.
TILT. Come, come, fools, you trouble her.—Shall’s go,
master Goshawk?
GOS. Yes, sweet master Tiltyard.—Sirrah Rosamond, I hold
my life Gallipot hath vext his wife.
MIS. O. She has a horrible high colour indeed.
GOS. We shall have your face painted with the same red
soon at night, when your husband comes from his rubbers
in a false alley: thou wilt not believe me that his
bowls run with a wrong bias.
MIS. O. It cannot sink into me that he feeds upon stale
mutton abroad, having better and fresher at home.
GOS. What if I bring thee where thou shalt see him stand
at rack and manger?
MIS. O. I’ll saddle him in’s kind, and spur him till he
kick again.
GOS. Shall thou and I ride our journey then?
MIS. O. Here’s my hand.
GOS. No more.—Come, master Tiltyard, shall we leap into
the stirrups with our women, and amble home?
TILT. Yes, yes.—Come, wife.
MIS. T. In troth, sister, I hope you will do well for
all this.
MIS. G. I hope I shall. Farewell, good sister. Sweet
master Goshawk.
GAL. Welcome, brother, most kindly welcome, sir.
ALL. Thanks, sir, for our good cheer.
[_Exeunt all but_ GALLIPOT _and_ MIS. GALLIPOT.
GAL. It shall be so: because a crafty knave
Shall not outreach me, nor walk by my door
With my wife arm in arm, as ’twere his whore,
I’ll give him a golden coxcomb, thirty pound.
Tush, Pru, what’s thirty pound? sweet duck, look
cheerly.
MIS. G. Thou’rt worthy of my heart, thou buy’st it
dearly.

_Enter_ LAXTON _muffled_.

LAX. Uds light, the tide’s against me; a pox of your
’pothecaryship! O for some glister to set him going!
’Tis one of Hercules’ labours to tread one of these city
hens, because their cocks are still crowing over them.
There’s no turning tail here, I must on. [_Aside._
MIS. G. O husband, see he comes!
GAL. Let me deal with him.
LAX. Bless you, sir.
GAL. Be you blest too, sir, if you come in peace.
LAX. Have you any good pudding tobacco, sir?
MIS. G. O, pick no quarrels, gentle sir! my husband
Is not a man of weapon, as you are;
He knows all, I have open’d all before him,
Concerning you.
LAX. Zounds, has she shewn my letters? [_Aside._
MIS. G. Suppose my case were yours, what would you do?
At such a pinch, such batteries, such assaults
Of father, mother, kindred, to dissolve
The knot you tied, and to be bound to him;
How could you shift this storm off?
LAX. If I know, hang me!
MIS. G. Besides a story of your death was read
Each minute to me.
LAX. What a pox means this riddling? [_Aside._
GAL. Be wise, sir; let not you and I be tost
On lawyers’ pens; they have sharp nibs, and draw
Men’s very heart-blood from them. What need you, sir,
To beat the drum of my wife’s infamy,
And call your friends together, sir, to prove
Your precontract, when sh’as confest it?
LAX. Umh, sir,
Has she confest it?
GAL. Sh’as, ’faith, to me, sir,
Upon your letter sending.
MIS. G. I have, I have.
LAX. If I let this iron cool, call me slave.
[_Aside._
Do you hear, you dame Prudence? think’st thou, vile
woman,
I’ll take these blows and wink?
MIS. GAL. Upon my knees. [_Kneeling._
LAX. Out, impudence!
GAL. Good sir——
LAX. You goatish slaves!
No wild fowl to cut up but mine?
GAL. Alas, sir,
You make her flesh to tremble; fright her not:
She shall do reason, and what’s fit.
LAX. I’ll have thee,
Wert thou more common than an hospital,
And more diseas’d.
GAL. But one word, good sir!
LAX. So, sir.
GAL. I married her, have lien with her, and got
Two children on her body; think but on that:
Have you so beggarly an appetite,
When I upon a dainty dish have fed
To dine upon my scraps, my leavings? ha, sir?
Do I come near you now, sir?
LAX. Byrlady,[1049] you touch me!
GAL. Would not you scorn to wear my clothes, sir?
LAX. Right, sir.
GAL. Then, pray, sir, wear not her; for she’s a
garment
So fitting for my body, I am loath
Another should put it on: you’ll undo both.
Your letter, as she said, complain’d you had spent,
In quest of her, some thirty pound; I’ll pay it:
Shall that, sir, stop this gap up ’twixt you two?
LAX. Well, if I swallow this wrong, let her thank you:
The money being paid, sir, I am gone:
Farewell. O women, happy’s he trusts none!
MIS. G. Despatch him hence, sweet husband.
GAL. Yes, dear wife:
Pray, sir, come in: ere master Laxton part,
Thou shalt in wine drink to him.
MIS. G. With all my heart.— [_Exit_ GALLIPOT.
How dost thou like my wit?
LAX. Rarely: that wile,
By which the serpent did the first woman beguile,
Did ever since all women’s bosoms fill;
You’re apple-eaters all, deceivers still. [_Exeunt._

SCENE III.

_Holborn._

_Enter_ SIR ALEX. WENGRAVE, SIR DAVY DAPPER, _and_ SIR
ADAM APPLETON _on one side, and_ TRAPDOOR _on the
other_.

S. ALEX. Out with your tale, sir Davy, to sir Adam:
A knave is in mine eye deep in my debt.
S. DAVY. Nay, if he be a knave, sir, hold him fast.
[SIR D. DAPPER _and_ SIR A. APPLETON _talk apart_.
S. ALEX. Speak softly; what egg is there hatching now?
TRAP. A duck’s egg, sir, a duck that has eaten a frog; I
have cracked the shell, and some villany or other will
peep out presently: the duck that sits is the bouncing
ramp,[1050] that roaring girl my mistress; the drake
that must tread is your son Sebastian.
S. ALEX. Be quick.
TRAP. As the tongue of an oyster-wench.
S. ALEX. And see thy news be true.
TRAP. As a barber’s every Saturday night. Mad Moll——
S. ALEX. Ah——
TRAP. Must be let in, without knocking, at your back
gate.
S. ALEX. So.
TRAP. Your chamber will be made bawdy.
S. ALEX. Good.
TRAP. She comes in a shirt of mail.
S. ALEX. How? shirt of mail?
TRAP. Yes, sir, or a male shirt; that’s to say, in man’s
apparel.
S. ALEX. To my son?
TRAP. Close to your son: your son and her moon will be
in conjunction, if all almanacs lie not; her black
saveguard[1051] is turned into a deep slop, the holes of
her upper body to button-holes, her waistcoat to a
doublet, her placket[1052] to the ancient seat of a
cod-piece, and you shall take ’em both with standing
collars.
S. ALEX. Art sure of this?
TRAP. As every throng is sure of a pick-pocket; as sure
as a whore is of the clients all Michaelmas term, and of
the pox after the term.
S. ALEX. The time of their tilting?
TRAP. Three.
S. ALEX. The day?
TRAP. This.
S. ALEX. Away; ply it, watch her.
TRAP. As the devil doth for the death of a bawd; I’ll
watch her, do you catch her.
S. ALEX. She’s fast: here weave thou the nets. Hark.
TRAP. They are made.
S. ALEX. I told them thou didst owe me money: hold it
up; maintain’t.
TRAP. Stiffly, as a puritan does contention.—Pox, I owe
thee not the value of a halfpenny halter.

S. ALEX. Thou shalt be hang’d in it ere thou ’scape
so:
Varlet, I’ll make thee look th[o]rough a grate!

TRAP. I’ll do’t presently, through a tavern grate:
drawer! pish. [_Exit._

S. ADAM. Has the knave vex’d you, sir?
S. ALEX. Ask’d him my money,
He swears my son receiv’d it. O, that boy
Will ne’er leave heaping sorrow’s on my heart,
Till he has broke it quite!
S. ADAM. Is he still wild?
S. ALEX. As is a Russian bear.
S. ADAM. But he has left
His old haunt with that baggage?
S. ALEX. Worse still and worse;
He lays on me his shame, I on him my curse.
S. DAVY. My son, Jack Dapper, then shall run with him
All in one pasture.
S. ADAM. Proves your son bad too, sir?
S. DAVY. As villany can make him: your Sebastian
Doats but on one drab, mine on a thousand;
A noise of fiddlers,[1053] tobacco, wine, and a whore,
A mercer that will let him take up more,
Dice, and a water-spaniel with a duck,—O
Bring him a-bed with these: when his purse gingles,
Roaring boys[1054] follow at’s tail, fencers and
ningles,[1055]
Beasts Adam ne’er gave name to; these horse-leeches suck
My son; he being drawn dry, they all live on smoke.
S. ALEX. Tobacco?
S. DAVY. Right: but I have in my brain
A windmill going that shall grind to dust
The follies of my son, and make him wise,
Or a stark fool. Pray lend me your advice.
S. ALEX. } That shall you, good sir Davy.
S. ADAM. }
S. DAVY. Here’s the springe
I ha’ set to catch this woodcock in: an action
In a false name, unknown to him, is enter’d
I’ th’ Counter to arrest Jack Dapper.
S. ALEX. } Ha, ha, he!
S. ADAM. }
S. DAVY. Think you the Counter cannot break him?
S. ADAM. Break him?
Yes, and break’s heart too, if he lie there long.
S. DAVY. I’ll make him sing a counter-tenor sure.
S. ADAM. No way to tame him like it; there he shall
learn
What money is indeed, and how to spend it.
S. DAVY. He’s bridled there.
S. ALEX. Ay, yet knows not how to mend it.
Bedlam cures not more madmen in a year
Than one of the Counters[1056] does; men pay more dear
There for their wit than any where: a Counter!
Why, ’tis an university, who not sees?
As scholars there, so here men take degrees,
And follow the same studies all alike.
Scholars learn first logic and rhetoric;
So does a prisoner: with fine honey’d speech
At’s first coming in he doth persuade, beseech
He may be lodg’d with one that is not itchy,
To lie in a clean chamber, in sheets not lousy;
But when he has no money, then does he try,
By subtle logic and quaint sophistry,
To make the keepers trust him.
S. ADAM. Say they do.
S. ALEX. Then he’s a graduate.
S. DAVY. Say they trust him not.
S. ALEX. Then is he held a freshman and a sot,
And never shall commence;[1057] but being still barr’d,
Be expuls’d from the Master’s side[1058] to th’
Two-penny ward,
Or else i’ th’ Hole beg plac’d.[1059]
S. ADAM. When then, I pray,
Proceeds a prisoner?
S. ALEX. When, money being the theme,
He can dispute with his hard creditors’ hearts,
And get out clear, he’s then a master of arts.
Sir Davy, send your son to Wood Street college,
A gentleman can no where get more knowledge.
S. DAVY. There gallants study hard.
S. ALEX. True, to get money.
S. DAVY. Lies[1060] by th’ heels, i’faith: thanks,
thanks; I ha’ sent
For a couple of bears shall paw him.
S. ADAM. Who comes yonder?
S. DAVY. They look like puttocks;[1061] these should
be they.

_Enter_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.

S. ALEX. I know ’em,
They are officers; sir, we’ll leave you.
S. DAVY. My good knights,
Leave me; you see I’m haunted now with sprites.[1062]
S. ALEX. ] Fare you well, sir. [Exeunt.
S. ADAM. ]
CUR. This old muzzle-chops should be he by the fellow’s
description.—Save you, sir.
S. DAVY. Come hither, you mad varlets; did not my man
tell you I watched here for you?
CUR. One in a blue coat,[1063] sir, told us, that in
this place an old gentleman would watch for us; a thing
contrary to our oath, for we are to watch for every
wicked member in a city.
S. DAVY. You’ll watch then for ten thousand: what’s thy
name, honesty?
CUR. Sergeant Curtleax I, sir.
S. DAVY. An excellent name for a sergeant, Curtleax:
Sergeants indeed are weapons of the law;
When prodigal ruffians far in debt are grown,
Should not you cut them, citizens were o’erthrown.
Thou dwell’st hereby in Holborn, Curtleax?
CUR. That’s my circuit, sir; I conjure most in that
circle.
S. DAVY. And what young toward whelp is this?
HAN. Of the same litter; his yeoman, sir; my name’s
Hanger.

S. DAVY. Yeoman Hanger:
One pair of shears sure cut out both your coats;
You have two names most dangerous to men’s throats;
You two are villanous loads on gentlemen’s backs;
Dear ware this Hanger and this Curtleax!
CUR. We are as other men are, sir; I cannot see but he
who makes a shew of honesty and religion, if his claws
can fasten to his liking, he draws blood: all that live
in the world are but great fish and little fish, and
feed upon one another; some eat up whole men, a sergeant
cares but for the shoulder of a man. They call us knaves
and curs; but many times he that sets us on worries more
lambs one year than we do in seven.
S. DAVY. Spoke like a noble Cerberus! is the action
entered?
HAN. His name is entered in the book of unbelievers.
S. DAVY. What book’s that?
CUR. The book where all prisoners’ names stand; and not
one amongst forty, when he comes in, believes to come
out in haste.
S. DAVY. Be as dogged to him as your office allows you
to be.
BOTH. O sir!
S. DAVY. You know the unthrift, Jack Dapper?
CUR. Ay, ay, sir, that gull, as well as I know my
yeoman.
S. DAVY. And you know his father too, sir Davy Dapper?
CUR. As damned a usurer as ever was among Jews: if he
were sure his father’s skin would yield him any money,
he would, when he dies, flay it off, and sell it to
cover drums for children at Bartholomew fair.
S. DAVY. What toads are these to spit poison on a man to
his face! [_Aside._]—Do you see, my honest rascals?
yonder Greyhound is the dog he hunts with; out of that
tavern Jack Dapper will sally: sa, sa; give the counter;
on, set upon him!
BOTH. We’ll charge him upo’ th’ back, sir.
S. DAVY. Take no bail; put mace[1064] enough into his
caudle; double your files, traverse your ground.
BOTH. Brave, sir.
S. DAVY. Cry arm, arm, arm!
BOTH. Thus, sir.
S. DAVY. There, boy, there, boy! away: look to your
prey, my true English wolves; and so I vanish.
[_Exit._
CUR. Some warden of the sergeants begat this old fellow,
upon my life: stand close.
HAN. Shall the ambuscado lie in one place?
CUR. No; nook thou yonder. [_They retire._

_Enter_ MOLL _and_ TRAPDOOR.

MOLL. Ralph.
TRAP. What says my brave captain male and female?
MOLL. This Holborn is such a wrangling street!
TRAP. That’s because lawyers walk[1065] to and fro in’t.
MOLL. Here’s such jostling, as if every one we met were
drunk and reeled.
TRAP. Stand, mistress! do you not smell carrion?
MOLL. Carrion? no; yet I spy ravens.
TRAP. Some poor, wind-shaken gallant will anon fall into
sore labour, and these men-midwives[1066] must bring him
to bed i’ the counter: there all those that are great
with child with debts lie in.
MOLL. Stand up.
TRAP. Like your new Maypole.
HAN. Whist, whew!
CUR. Hump, no.
MOLL. Peeping? it shall go hard, huntsmen, but I’ll
spoil your game. They look for all the world like two
infected malt-men coming muffled up in their cloaks in a
frosty morning to London.
TRAP. A course, captain; a bear comes to the stake.

_Enter_ JACK DAPPER _and_ GULL.

MOLL. It should be so, for the dogs struggle to be let
loose.
HAN. Whew!
CUR. Hemp.
MOLL. Hark, Trapdoor, follow your leader.
J. DAP. Gull.
GULL. Master?
J. DAP. Didst ever see such an ass as I am, boy?
GULL. No, by my troth, sir; to lose all your money, yet
have false dice of your own; why, ’tis as I saw a great
fellow used t’other day; he had a fair sword and
buckler, and yet a butcher dry beat him with a cudgel.
TRAP.[1067] Honest servant, fly!
MOLL. Fly, master Dapper! you’ll be arrested else.
J. DAP. Run, Gull, and draw.
GULL. Run, master; Gull follows you.
[_Exeunt_ DAPPER _and_ GULL.
CUR. [MOLL _holding him_] I know you well enough; you’re
but a whore to hang upon any man!
MOLL. Whores, then, are like sergeants; so now hang
you.—Draw, rogue, but strike not: for a broken pate
they’ll keep their beds, and recover twenty marks[1068]
damages.
CUR. You shall pay for this rescue.—Run down Shoe Lane
and meet him.
TRAP. Shu! is this a rescue, gentlemen, or no?
MOLL. Rescue? a pox on ’em! Trapdoor, let’s away;
[_Exeunt_ CURTLEAX _and_ HANGER.’s
I’m glad I’ve done perfect one good work to-day.
If any gentleman be in scrivener’s bands,
Send but for Moll, she’ll bail him by these hands.
[_Exeunt._