The Benefice - A Comedy
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Project Note
This is licensed under Creative Commons CC BY-NC-ND. This license allows reusers to copy and distribute the material in any medium or format in unadapted form only, for noncommercial purposes only, and only so long as attribution is given to the creator.
The source of this document is the Early English Books Online (EEBO-TCP) website. Those books were transcribed in a character for character manner and can be very cumbersome to read since there was no standard spelling during that time. Many spelling variations such as "unlesse", "vnlesse", and "vnles" regularly appear.
This project was conceived to clean up those books as much as possible and make them more accessible to the interested reader, leading to the creation of a massive list of variant spellings and their corrections. This was used to clean up the text, but is of course only as complete as the list itself. Because of the nature of the original transcription, some words have missing characters or places where the original language (e.g., Greek) was not transcribed. This effort does not change that. Be aware that the original transcription can also be faulty and in some cases entire sentences may be missing.
Although this is no substitute for a properly compared, proofed, and scholarly edition, I believe that the result is a document which is far more accessible, particularly for searching for terms using standard spelling. The document has been cleaned and presented in what I hope is a pleasing and useful format for the vast majority of Christian brothers and sisters who just want access to read these spiritually nourishing works.
However, a word of warning: The Puritans were a very diverse group of people and their age was characterized with godliness, but also much upheaval, disputation and strife. They disagreed on many doctrines and some of these works contain less orthodox or Scriptural views than others. The reader is strongly advised to read with discernment, particularly if it is unknown whether author is trustworthy.
This project took a huge amount of time and skill to bring to fruition. I would particularly like to thank David Jonescue for the initial list of Puritans he found on EEBO and the concept behind this project as well as the continuous, unceasing efforts toward seeing this complete. Without his labor, this would not be available. Alex Sarrouf was invaluable in providing the initial list of over 7,000 spelling variations he had identified and corrected, as well as continuing to review more than 16,000 additions to that list for any typos.
Logan West
(with David Jonescue and Alex Sarrouf)
www.puritansearch.org
THE BENEFICE. A COMEDY.
By R. W. D. D. Author of ITER BOREALE. Written in his Younger Days: Now made Public for promoting Innocent Mirth.
Licensed and Enter'd.
LONDON, Printed, to be Sold by R. Ianeway, in Queens-Head Court in Pater-Noster-Row. M.DC.LXXXIX.
TO THE READER.
'TIs now several Years since these Papers, of the most Ingenious Dr. R. Wild 's first fell into my Hands. Which (having been the occasion of so much Innocent Mirth and Diversion, not only to myself, but to all I ever communicated them to) I thought fit, at length (lest I should seem either Envious or Injurious to others) not any longer to engross the Pleasure of them wholly to myself; but to invite the Public to share in this, no contemptible Priviledg, by the Publication hereof: Which, without the least Diminution, Addition, or Alteration, is here presented to thee in the Author's own Words.
A further Recommendation being needless, to what will so assuredly Recommend itself, being Read; I shall only add, That if Pure Wit, Harmless Jest, True Mirth, and Good Design are taking, I need not doubt but what followeth here, will highly Please, and Oblige thee to the Publisher,
Farewell.
Dramatis Personae.
| INvention. | |
| Furor Poeticus, | An Humorous Poet. |
| Pedanto, | A School-Master. |
| Comaedia, | A Girl. |
| Ceres, | The Goddess of Harvest. |
| Marchurch, | The Patron of a Living. |
| Ursley, | His Kitchen Wench. |
| Mar-Pudding, | A Cotquean; Nephew to Marchurch. |
| Book-Worm, | A Young Divine. |
| Sir Homily, | An Old Curat. |
| Hob-Nail, | Marchurch's hind-Servant. |
| Phantastes, | A mere Scholar, newly come from the University. |
| Goodman Scuttle, | A New-English Basket-Maker. |
| Two Watchmen. | |
| A School-Boy. | |
| Tinker, and a Gypsie his Wife. |
Scena profi • gentis arbitrio.
THE BENEFICE.
ACT the First.
FVror, Furor. So—Ho—Ho. 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 ,— 〈 in non-Latin alphabet 〉 .
Good Master Invention — Oh— You are too quick for me. You are in as much haste as a Scholar to get a Wife, or an Heir to Sell his Land. Hey Presto— Whip and away ; your Brains are as nimble as if Projections and Monopolies were alive again.
Come Furor, you know I have a deal of Work to do; since my name was Invention, I never knew such a busy time.— Let me see my Table-Book; What Business have I to dispatch?
I have a Plot for that. Let them put their Heads through an Hempen Rosary, and say three Ave Mary 's with a Wry-mouth; and I will be their Bondslave they need not fear afterwards.
Memorandum, I must invent a Plot how the Scots may get more Money, when that they have is gone.
Pish— That's easy. Let them come for it.
Arm's for a Welch-Man.
Two Trees Rampant, and another Crossant, a Ladder Ascendant, an Hangman Couchant, the Rope Pendant, and the Fields Sable, &c.
To help a Chamber-Maid to her Maiden-Head.
If she be Handsome, she shall have mine.
Memorandum, Parson T. M. must have a Sermon made against Christmas, Pret. 2 s. 4 d. Hem.— Mr. &c. would learn to Preach after the New Cut.
And that's not the short Cut, I am sure.
Item, I must find out a Cure for one that's sick of two Livings.
Let the Incumbent sweat three Weeks for Anger; suck his Thumbs with Patience; be soundly Cup'd twenty four Hours: After that, take the Wax of an old Commission for a Divine to be a Justice of Peace ; and to it add a Quart of Abel 's Wine, a Pound of Brumfield 's Soap that hath scaped a Scouring, with an handful of Goring 's Tobacco-roots; mix them with the Oil of Lambs Grease, boil them in a Corner'd-Cap from an Arch-Bishop to a Bishop, from that to Dean, from that to an Arch-Deacon, from that to a Prebend, and so to a Commissary (if you can Decoct them so low) then strain it through a Lawn-Sleeve ; let it cool: Fiat Emplaistrum. Lay this to one of his Temples, and his Plurisy will leave him.
Item, I must find out, How many Religions there be in London.— Item, Whether Strafford be dead with his Head off.— Item, I must make Verses for a young Gentleman, upon a Louse that was found in his Mistress's Head, six Foot long, upon the fifth of November last.
—Avaunt Six-footed Monster, if I catch thee, My Pollux Onix quickly shall dispatch thee.
Brother Furor, where are we?— What Place is this? It should be a Conventicle, with so many Heads and Faces in it, and all together in a Barn too.
Hark— Here's a School, I think.
Ay, and here's the old one in his Form, as sad as if he had two Livings, and had Sold one of them: He looks as Melancholy, as if some Woman had Scratch'd him by the Face, for whipping her Boy; Or if he were studying to Decline.— Hist— Hist.— Come hither little Boy.
Now Gentlemen, what's your Pleasure?
Prithee what's thy Master studying on? He's so close at it.
Why, He's making a Play, for an Exclusion.
And hath he done it?
Done it! I think he hath gnawed three Quills to the Hilts for a Line or two. The Frost hath gotten into his Nose I think; and till his Brains be thawed, we shall not have a Drop more done in it. I think, if the Clasps and Keepers of Hope, did not hold up the Breeches of Discretion, He'd doit in's Hose: And yet he hath all the Play Books in the Country to help him. Like the Cuckooe, he sucks other's Eggs: Here he steals a Word, and there he filches a Line, as we Boys do for Theams. He hath studied himself out of his Wits about it, and if it should not take, (I hope it will not) I believe it will be his last. He'll run away for shame.
And why doest thou hope it will not take?
Why? Because I have never a Part in it.— But he shall come short of a Christmas Dinner, my Mother says. Kissing goes by Favor, she says.— Pray ye Gentlemen step in to him, while I run home to Breakfast.
By your leave Sir,— God bless your Learning.
Marry, and Soust Hog's Head is no ill Meat, Furor.
Gentlemen you are welcome. Ye take me at a hard Task here.
Why? Prithee Pedanto what's thy Negotium ?
Why Gentlemen, my Trade is to teach Wild-Geese how t • fly in the Figure of Criss-Cross-Row.— That is to say in English, I am a School-master; and here against Christmas, I am blowing my Nose for a Dialogue.
A Dialogue? What's that? It's neither Prologue, nor Epilogue, nor Tragedy, nor Comedy, nor Pastoral, nor Satyr, nor Masque, nor Morrice-Dance.— What's a Dialogue?
Why Gentlemen, a Dialogue is a Poetical Pudding, or the Muses Hodg-Podg; a Discourse like that between Dr. Faustus and the Devil, or two or three Men in a Pig-Market.— That's a Dialogue.
May I be so bold as to peruse your Library?
Yes Sir, if you please; see the Books I have borrowed for the Business.
Plautus.
And yet he came off in his last Act, like a Costive Man from the Stool, without wiping. His Splay-feet were too broad for Verse. He'd been a pretty Fellow, but that they fed him with Mill-Corn and Pottage.— So take him Jailor.
Ben. Johnson.
Pritty! Pritty!— An ordinary Wit would make him Piss and Stink at th'Stake like an old Bear.— And then damnable tedious and costly too.— Every half quarter of an Hour a glass of Sack must be sent of an Errand into his Guts, to tell his Brains they must come up quickly, and help out with a Line.— So take him Jailor.
Shakspear.
Pish.— I never read any of him but in Tobacco-papers, and the bottom of Pigeon-Pies.— But he had been a Curate to the Stage so long, that he could not choose but get some ends and bottoms;— I, and they were his Fees too;—
Beaumont and Fletcher.
A pair of Journey-Men. They write both with a Quill.—
Tom Randolph's Poems.
Take him Jailor.
These Authors are as good as you can have.— Have you done the Dialogue?
Alas! Gentlemen, I am allowed no fuel to my Sacred fire of Poetry; but I am fain to Curb and Curtail my Fancy. I scorn a Dialogue, as I do Toys and Pamphlets.— I had intended to have had my Scene, Delphi, Apollo and the Nine Muses should have been in a Masque. — But we have no Clothes, unless we would dress them like Gypsies, or Butter-Queens with Baskets on their Arms.— I would have had an Oracle, Priest, Poet and Notaries. — And that Oracle should have told Fortunes; All these Poet 's Ghosts should have come in their Winding-Sheets; — But in truth, we have not so much Linnen in the Town as would have dressed them.— I had much ado to borrow an old Doublet to act a Tinker in; and am fain to pay for Hair to make Beards of, as if the Horse-Tail was the Golden-Fleece.
Difficile est Satyram non scribere.
I would some Prentice would light on it to cross his Master's Debt-Books when he's Drunk. Or some Elder-Brother find it, to Subscribe to Ten in the' Hundred. Or it would serve a whole Corporation to set their Marks to a Petition against Bishops. May it be so full of Teeth, as to write a Libel first, and then the Sentence against the Libellor's Ears.—
But my Credit lies at stake, Gentlemen. There's never an empty Head of my Trade hereabouts, but ventures to be Witty; and therefore something must be done; and something in English too, because here's Gentlemen will be present at it; and something for the Times; and all out of Nothing.
And something shall be done.— Furor, shall we conjure?
Furor shall conjure; and I will raise the Poets, and charm their Quills to write a Satyr for thee. A Satyr, that shall Sting, and Lash, and Scratch; sharp like a Razor, that shall make Men hang themselves. And those Nine Brats of Helicon, shall leave their Horse-Pool, to come and grease thy Buskins with their Sweat.
—Speak, —shall it be a Tragedy or a Comedy; a Pastoral or Satyr? Invention can do anything.
Furor Poeticus can do more, you Rogue. I made an Alderman a Poet once, and he never said Grace afterward, but it was in Rhyme; nor wore his Holy-day Breeches but in Meeter.
Then for Apollo 's sake, charm open that Trunk; there lies Comaedia, a most Pritty Girl. There she lies Fetter'd in that fatal Trunk, and hath done ever since Dialogues came in, and Latin-Speeches under every Sign-post.— Raise her good Furor ; raise her from her Vrn. —
I will wake her; and then thou shalt get her out.
Do.—
Oh— Oh— Oh.— Who calls?
Come now, I will get her out, I will warrant thee.
What? My Servant Invention! And Furor my Companion! — Thanks to you both for my Liberty.— Who is this?
A true Well-wisher to your Ladyship, and one that desires your Help.
I am a Stranger to this Place and him. The Prentices Seven Champions scared me so, that I fled hither for safety.— But he being a Friend of yours, I will do what he will command me.
A cast of thine Office, sweet Rogue.— Sirrah, speak to her.— Let him kiss thy hand, Wench.— Come.— Swear him first.— Come you little Pedanto ; if you be a Poet,— you shall Swear,— That you will never Drink but till two a Clock in the Morning.— Item, — You shall never be Master of more than one Suit at a time; and lie in Bed while that is Loused, and put into the Fashion. — Item, You shall keep three or four to admire you, and so pay for the Shot.— Item, Endeavor to get more Comaedians.— Item, Get the Pox in Policy, that no Man may make a Bridge of your Nose.— Item, Be sure to die in Debt.
I will do my Endeavor.
You two pass your words for him?
Yes, yes.
This is, fair Lady, but the second Year of Schooling, and I am not provided with old Verses and Knacks, as they are at Stamford, and those stale Places, (where Verses on the Fifth of November, do serve an Apprenticeship before they be set free) therefore I implore your Aid.
Hang Anagrams, and Acrosticks, and Singing Rhymes, like Pipers at a Wake; — Thoughst have it.
I am not in Tune now. But something I will do for you now; more hereafter.
A fools Bolt is soon shot. If we burn this Barn, I will get her more Barns if she'll let me.— This is Ceres, and she is woondy angry because we are upon her Ground.— We must please her; No Ceres no Barley, no Barley no Malt, no Malt no Ale, no Ale no Poets.— We must please her.
Invention speak to her.
Let us stand all together.
Surely she lives like Cats and Owls, by catching of Mice.— Ask her, who eat up her Oats in the High-fields last Year.
Peace.
What? Are ye Dumb? Answer me. What's your Business? Know ye not that I can Curse your Lands?
For 2 pence you shall Curse all the Lands that we four have.
Do, do,— And I will promise you a Days-Work in Harvest.
Is Mirth all your intent?
Yes, yes.
SONG.
[The PROLOGUE spoken from above by Ceres. ]
ACT the Second.
A Fever? — I would it had been the Plague, or a whole Kennel of Diseases.— Yet the Fever is a good sound Card.— Out upon them; these Parsons live for Wagers, I think.— Fourscore and odd! — His Parish have been weary of him this thirty Years, and I these Forty.— Three or four that have bought a Tith-Pig in Poke have paid for the Advowson, and are all Dead, and now, God be thanked, he hath found in his heart to be Sickish.— If the old Rogue die— Ha, ha, ha, what a Flock of Flesh-Crows, Learned Creatures in Black Coats, shall I have Nawing about me, like so many Jack-Daws about a Steeple. I will get that Oath against Simony well oiled and greased, that it may go down glib with the Gudgeons.
Do ye hear, Sir? let me not Lie-in here. Your Kinsman Marpudding will never endure me. He's never out of the Kitchen, prying up and down. I am so fearful of him lest he should spy my Belly—
Come, come, Wench, leave your crying, Fool; I know thou hast Brains in thy Belly.— No body knows of it, do's there?
No, no, Sir— But I would I had taken of that Savin in time you gave me; but now it is too late.
Come, come, Girl,—
Yea, Sir, But you will divide the Money that he should have for Warrants. I had rather that he were made Priest and then Clark.— Hold still, your Ruff's unpin'd,—
A pritty Woman,— Go thy way Wench, I will think on thee; but here we are in danger to be seen.— I fear nothing but that the old Pitch-barrel hath Fire in him still.— If he recover this Fit, the Devil's in him.— I would he might live to see all Learning called in, and his Chancel turned into a Barn, for me to lay my Corn in, and he and his Tribe die all mad in poor English. — Go thy way, Wench,—
Do I not kiss better in my black Bag?— I pray, Sir, remember me.
Scena Secunda.
Si non Caste tamen faute ; It is the Statute Henrici Vicesimo. — Hum, hum, give me a Wench with a Dishclout in her Mouth for my Money. O, a Kitchen-wench will melt sweetly, and she's cheap too. They may talk; but I would aslieve smell Coal-dust and ashes, as Civet and Perfumes. Hang Catamountains, give me a Pole-Cat; she's cheap, she's cheap, and hath sound Buttocks.— Come to London, and there must be Wine, Oysters, Lobsters, Sturgeon, Canary, Anchovis, Patagia 's (out on it, one Pye cost me five Pounds) a Periwig for Mr. Bawd, a new set of Teeth for old Whore Grandmother, with a Pok.— Come, come, three penny worth of Lechery is enough at a time in Conscience. If this Wench would but Deliver it once as her Act and Deed, I would make it and her presently go off with a Presentation.— And yet it is a Good Living. —I had an hundred Pieces, my Wife a Satin Gown, and my Man a new Livery, for one worse than this by a good deal.— I cannot tell what I should do.— Let me see this Letter again,— it does me good to read that the old Priest is a dying.— I could find in my heart for good Luck, to send him a Mess of Porredge and Mercury.
Come Neighbor Dungo, — it hath oft even grieved me to see how negligent Watchmen are in that great Office they are in; setting their Rusty Holberds against profane Alehouse Doors, till they, being even Drunk, have charged them to aid them Home in the King's Name. Since I am called to the Place, I will do the best Demeanour to bring these paltry Alehouses into Reformation.
How now Friends,— how now,— what are ye Watchmen these dangerous times? Ha?
Yes, if it may please your good Worship.
Well, Christmas is coming, I hope you will Watch your time to bring me my Capons and Pullets.
I have a couple of fine Fowl for your Worship, God bless 'em.
Ay, well said Neighbors.— Do you know what a Trust the King hath committed to you?
La'ye there now, we are next to the King.
No, indeed Sir, not so well as we ought.
Well, I think I shall be Mayor next Year, and therefore I have made a Speech in readiness; and, though I say it, a very Learned one.— Come, it may do you good.— Suppose now I was Mayor, and you my Servants.— Suppose your Bills were Maces, and I, having drunk my Gill of Muskadine, and polished my Venerable Beard, were set.— Hum, hum,— hum,— thus I begin.— Mark Neighbors, I pray you.
Sir, our Ears are even open, and do desire as it were to be attentive to you.
Whereas, or forasmuch as the chief Man in a Kingdom, whom the Latins call Rex, We, A King, — Hum— cannot, or is not able to see all places, like the Bird which the Poets call Argus with his hundred Eyes;— He therefore hath appointed under him two Officers, the one a Magistrate, the other a Governor.— Do you mark,— and these two are the Rat-Traps of the Kingdom, as it were, baited with the soft Cheese of Justice, to take those who gnaw holes in the Commonwealth, the Cubbard of the Kingdom.— And these two, like those two Friends I read of in Profane Writ, Caesar and Pompey, are to join together,— Hum— Fratres in Malo, as one saith, Brethren in Coats of Male, to keep off danger.— And forasmuch as I am called to one of these Duties under the Vulgar Title of Mayor, give me leave to tell you according to the Statute of Richard the Sixth, what a Mayor is. A Mayor is a Magistrate with two Legs, Sadled and Bridled for his Masters service, very stable without stumbling, being foremost in a Team of Aldermen.— Now this Mayor comes to his Office two ways, either he is Chosen or Elected. For you must know, two Places are capable of a Major, the one a Corporation, the other a Body-Politick; Chosen by two sorts of Men, the one Brethren, the other Fraternity.— Since therefore I am Elected, I will not Nod away my time, but spend it as that famous Cateline did, when he was Mayor in Rome, and in punishing Usury an Hundred and sixty Years ago.— And so Brethren, hoping that some of you will help me, and other some of you assist me, I rest, —God save the King.
The King?— I say, God save your Worship.—I am but an ignorant Man, but in my opinion it is a rare Speech; isit not Neighbor?— Our Vicar, for all his black Coat, hath not such a word in his Belly.
Well Friends, I think this will do,— If the Fools had chosen me Burgess, I would have Speech'd it in better Stuff than this is.— All's one,— Caetere quaecunque volunt, go, look to your Business.
God bless you, Sir, and many a good Mayor's Speech may you make.
Ha— How to make a Hen lay twice a day, after Saint Andrew's.
Well, I will make our Maids look after the second Laying, or I will— A pretty Book this is,— I wonder why it sets not down what Egg-shells are good for. It goes to my Heart to see so many Egg-shells thrown away and broken.— How to make good Pottage for Servants.— Ay marry—
Why, how now Nephew! What Book have you got there? The Practice of Piety.
Piety? No.— The Practice of good Housewifery, I trow, an excellent Book this is.— I pray you, Sir, speak to your Servants, they call me Cotquean, and I know not what, if I look but a little after them. Would you think they cannot Fry a bit of Pudding without Butter.— There's your Maid Vrseley, your Kitchen-wench, is more Sauce than Pig; and they cozen me too: For I will be sworn I grop'd the Hens this Morning, and there were a Dozen of them with Egg, I am sure, and I can find but Five.— Your Scotchman Hob too, since he came into England, hath learnt to pare his Cheese.— Uncle, Uncle, they are Corn-fed; pray you Chide them.
I will John, I will.— What have we to Dinner I pray you?— Let us spare a little. Next Year I must be Mayor, and then we will be Liquorish.
Why, there is Sassages which you left cold last Night, and good warm Milk-Porredg. I was a making a Pudding too, but I came to look you. The Parson is dead, and there's one stays with a Letter to speak to you; Pray order it so, that I may have something too.
Good News, good News, I will warrant you.
Well, I must read good thrifty Cookery against next Year,
Want? I would my Quarter were come out, I would see you hanged e're I would dwell here. Your Uncle sends word he will have a Minister Dine here, and is this a Pudding fitting? Never an Egg in it, nor a bit of Suet. For love of God give us some, and some Money for Plumbs.
Plumbs?— Yes,— Do you long?— Come, come, you stir it handsomely!
Nay then, take Apron and all.—
Ha! brave Whisking! What, are you with Child? As I am an honest Man, big Belly'd!— This is good Gear.
Yes, Sir, that I am with Child, and to your cost too.—
Mine you Whore! What, would be seen?
Goodly Mr. John, how strange you make it! Well, I will never trust Man again!— You've forgot what you did to me, I warrant you; but I have something to show for it: You are like to be a Father, I promise you. Do you remember the Pantry last Lent, when you wanted a bit of Flesh?
O you impudent Jade! When? What? Where? Did I ever touch you?
Did you not? How dare you stand init?—Did you not?— And did not I tell you I was with Child, and longed for a Turnip, which you gave me, and bid me keep close?
O damned Whore! I was accurst that ever I had to do with thee, you Quean!
It seems you had knowledge of me then; well,— your Tongue will not suffer you to Lie.
Husie!— Did I ever meddle or make with thee?
Make with me! — Ay that you did.— We join'd to make a Child.
I join, you Strumpet? The Devil is in thee.
He was when you were in me, but never else.
A Pox on your Pudding,—
Nay, I will be there before you. He and all the Town shall know it.— They know partly you are never out of the Kitchen, prying up and down after my Tail, snooking in every Hole;— Cotquean! Who should do it but you Sirrah?—
Nay, but stay Vrsley ; one word. Did I ever touch you? No, never in all my Life.— You will undo me forever.
Did you? Ay, and did not I tell you I would find another Father? — And so I will yet, if you will be ruled.— Meddle or not Meddle, how will you help yourself if I lay it to you?— Come, come.
Ay, that's true; you may undo me if you will, but I hope you will have more honesty.
Yes, yes, I will teach you to meddle in Womens Matters.— I swear, unless you will give me the Keys of all, I will open all.
Well Vrsley, I could never have smelt out this Plot.— But name me not, and I will.
Will you let me have Butter?
Ay.
And Oat-meal?
Ay.
And Plumbs; or anything?
Ay.
Well, look ye do; I have that will keep you in awe. Give me the Pantry Key now.
Well, would I had never seen it.— Will you not wrong me?
No, if you will hold your Tongue, and take no notice, but I must bind you to the Peace; for if my Master know it, I will lay it to you.
A Pox of all your Gipsy Jades.— Must I be thus Tongue-ti'd for nothing.— There's a good Pudding spoiled too.
Ha, ha, ha,— come, few words to a Bargain.— Will you hold your Tongue, and I will hold mine?
Here is the Keys.— The Devil take 'em.— Fare you well.— I will be Reveng'd.
So, so, a brave Plot! Now I am provided with all things against the Hour; and this Gudgeon is in a Net safe.— If I can but be laid and up again, to go off with the Living; all's Right.
ACT the Third.
HA! True, true old Menander!
What shall I do? I cannot Curse him, nor myself. Poor Wretch! he knows not the price of Virtue; and I do too well.— 'It is dear, 'tis dear, the Money I have spent would have bought me Land or Living, House or Wife; it would have maintained me in Scarlet and Livery, and lasted a while in Hawks or Horses; I could have Sworn it away, or Drunk it either, or Plaid it out for Pots at Shuffleboard or Billiards:—But it's gone, and I as far to seek as Men in Leather-breeches at the Statues.—Here's all is left.—Some thirteen Shillings. It is in vain to grieve.— I will pawn my Clothes and buy some others, and with my little Sum of Money go trade in Toys and Pamphlets.— A Profession that will get more Money than Disputing.
Scena Secunda.
Is he Dead, are you sure?
Yea indeed, as Sylva Synogaga saith very well upon that very place. E vivis exirit, he is Dead.
Dead, Sir Homily? Why, a Dog is dead. Fie upon it, are you a Scholar, and no better Expression in your Mouth?
Why truly your Worship's Observation is very good; for though the English read it Dead, yet the Geneva Translation, which we most follow, renders it Departed ; so that he is not Dead only, but Departed also, if please your Worship.
I desire your Worship to consider my Suit.
Why, what is your Suit?
[His Suit? Ha, ha, ha,— it's a very poor one.— That's ready to Depart, I am sure.]
Even, Sir, that you would be pleased to stand my friend Amicis opitulari, as the Master of the Sentences hath it.
Pitulari? — Pray thee Fellow leave this Canting; I understand no Latin, but Summa Totalis.
Why, Sir, the Summa Totalis is, That I may succeed him in your Living.
In the Living? Why, how dare you think of such a thing? With what Face canst thou ask it? There's never a Scholar of you all deserves such a Living.
Why Sir, as I remember, some twelve Years. I bought these Clothes then, and they are almost worn out now.
Well, Sir Homily, you are a Moneyed Man, they say; Can you lend me ten Pieces?
Alas Sir, Opus est mihi Viginti minis!
Come, come, Opus and Vsus must go together with me; and Viginti minis be in the Dative Case too.— Beside, Sir Homily, How dare you come to me for the Living?
Why Sir?
How oft have I heard you▪ with blushing, rail and complain against me? against Usury principally? Which I put up a good while and said nothing: But I must have one will be quiet and peaceable, and Preach but once a Month.
[One!— within this twelve Months you might have had an Hundred would have Preached but once a Quarter.]
Again, Sir Homily, the Women of the Town cry out against you exceedingly; you have almost killed their Children with Whipping of them.— I can tell you; you've made a Rod for your own—
I warrant you, Sir, I can please the Women, I can have both their Hands and their Voices.
Ay, their Voices to scold at you, and their Hands about your Ears.— Come, Sir Homily, I must use your own Language. now;— If you have the Living, Untruss, untruss.
What Sir?
Why, your Purse-strings; nothing else.
Why Sir, I have nothing but a little AEs in presenti, as the School-men say; but you promised me once, when I was a Witness for you at the Assize, that I should have it for nothing.
Nay, if you be at Promises, I promise you, you shall come short on it. Come, come, you'r a saucy Knave Homily. The Living is now mine; and therefore I give you Warning here to provide for yourself, you shall be no longer Curate here Sirrah.— Get you gone.
Nay, I beseech you Sir.
Nay, I beseech you be gone, or I will beat that Latin Nose of yours, to your English Face.
Latin Nose? You ventured far to have said a French Nose.— Will you not be as good as your word, Sir?
Yes that I will, Sirrah,—
Farewell Canker.— Have I this payment for my Service!
So, I am glad I am delivered of this Briar. If Vrsely can but be Delivered well, we are safe. Why, this is it to countenance a Scholar! A Chimney-sweeper shall have it first; or anything that goes in Black. This Fellow, if I should give it him freely, (as God forgive me that ever I should have such a thought) would be the first Man that would make Vrsely do Penance, and me help to Repair Paul's. No, no, if I can get but an honest Book-learned Fellow, that will come off with more Gold and less Latin, it's right.— I will look to this Rascal; I know he will come anon and recant, and offer Money too.— But I will serve him a Trick.
There comes a Fellow that I will set upon the Service; a Northern-Fellow that hath got well under me. I have made him Constable this Year. He's a Fellow that never could endure anything in Black, but a black Jack or Pot ;— as brave a Scare-crow as ever hung upon a Dunghil.
God give you a good e'ne Master, did you call?
Ay Hob, ay.
I was at Mumle-ty-Peg with a Barley Bag-pudding below. Much good doit me.
What news from the Field, Hob?
Why, there's Brock, your Grisle Mare, cannot Gang for Kibes. We must get some Brimstone, and Train-Oil, and anoint them I trow.— We have plow'd all the Land next the Dike-Nook to Day.
But hark you Hob, you must undertake a Business for me today, and do it lustily.
What's that, marry?
Why this is it Hob ; Our Parson's Dead.
Marry, the Dule rest his Cragg.— He did so spose me a while agon, I could not con him an Answer: He asked me who gave me my Name?
Nay hold, but here me speak. There's Curate Homily.
Nay hold, but hear me speak. There's Curate Homily. —
Ay, as Honest a Man as ever break Crust.
Pish, pish, a Knave, a very Knave.
That's no matter, though he be a Knave, he's an Honest Man for all that.
Nay, be quiet a little Hob. He was here awhile ago, Railing and Complaining against you mightily.
Against me! The Dule on him! What does he ken o'me?
Why, he says, I let thee have too cheap a Pennyworth of thy Farm; and that thou art so Covetous.— Besides he comes to claim the Living of me; I think he was Drunk too.
Hark you Sir, I am Constable, and I will have a pair of Stocks made with ten Holes, and he shall have Tithe; and if he have not his Pass about him, I will set fast his Hands by the Heels.
No, I will tell you a better way. Stand you here with your Whip, whilst I go down and watch for him; I think he will come this way presently again; if he does, Yerk him soundly, and forwarn him my Ground.
Well, let me alone.— I will louk the Sloven.— I will sponge his Gaskins.
Prithee do, soundly; spare him not.
I will warrant you Master.— I have not quite Din'd yet.— This Marpudding cuts us vile short; I'se womble in the' Crop still, but I shall have the better Stomach to him.— Abuse me and my Master! — What the Dule harm have I done him? I'se gar mumble the Sloven if he Gang this way, I'se line his black Coat for him; — I'se make him past standing two Hours a Sunday to spoil our Victuals.— Here he comes, I'se step and listen a little.
Well, Fallere fallentem non est fraus, so saith my Author.
What an Ass was I, to think Learning would get a Man a Living? If Parnassus was this Churl's ground, he'd plow it up, and make the poor Muses gather Stones out on it, as they do Irish Women.— O, if I had come with my thirty or forty Pieces, I should have been some Sundays bidden to Dinner to my own Tithe-Pig.— Marry, and then I might have set at the lower end of the Table with the Folks, and have said Grace.— No, no, I am resolved to have a Plot, if I could meet with Hob.
Yonder are two more Scholars that he hath turned away.— Faith, I have got a Plot will fit his Worship; and may hap, make him turn his Ruff into a Band, otherwise called an Halter.
Hey, ho, whirry:
Nay, good Hob, good Hob.
How now Sirrah? Plain Hob? Do you know who you speak to? It might be Mr. Constable Hob in your Mouth, Goodman Curate, you show your Manners.
Nay, pray, what do you mean? Will you kill me?
No, Sirrah, I will Fley you alive.— Abuse me, and my Master no more, Sirrah.— You say I have my Farm too cheap; But you shall pay dear enough for it.
O, no, never in my Life. I am come to speak with you for your good.
Ay, Sirrah, this is for your good too.— Ha?
Nay, hold, I will make thee a Man,— a Gentleman.
[Faith he seems to be no very Gentle-man, by his Whipping thee.]
Come, quickly, make me a Gentleman straight. Come get up, I will give you leave.
Why, thus it is,— Our old Parson's Dead, and the Living is in your Masters Disposing. He will not part with it without Money, and I have none myself, or if I had, he will not let me have it. If you will make yourself, now venture for this Living.— None now can have two Livings a piece. The price of Steeples will fall. 'It is but thirty or forty Pieces (as you are a Money'd Man, I am sure) and you'r made forever. You cannot miss of it. And what a brave thing is it to be a Parson!
Ha!— Cuds-foot it's a brave Plot. But how can that be? I am not Book-learned above my single Psalter. I must read Prayers with a Feskew.
No, no, trouble not yourself about Prayers.— Can you lie long in Bed with an handsome Wife? Eat good fat Pigs? Ride a Hunting? That's all you shall do; ler me alone with the Service; I will be your Curate.
This is good Gear.— But how must I do for Sermons?
Paw, waw! What do you talk of Sermons? Talk what comes at Tongues-end, cannot you?
Ay, but I have no Latin to spout at him, if he spose me.
Latin? — It is that which undoes many a Man. Take heed of that while you breath. I will learn you a word or two shall serve, I will warrant you.
Ay, but he will ken me to be Hob, his Man, I doubt.
No, no, you shall have a false Beard on, that shall make you look very Grave; and I will lend you my Clothes; I will put on a Gray Cloke and wait on you, as your Man; and you shall call yourself by some other Name. Never fear, I will warrant you speed. I will stand behind you, and tell you.— Be sure to show good store of Money, and Bargain with him presently.
Why, methinks I feel myself creeping into a Gentleman ( Mr. Doctor Parson Hob) already. I may be a Bishop before I die. Why, what a vile Knave was I, to whip so Honest a Man? Here, Sir Homily, besworn you shall whip me now, because I whipt you.— Besworn you shall.— Nay, Cuds-digs you shall.
Nay, but your Clothes are thicker than mine; mine are but thin.
Why, I will strip me to the very Sark.
No, no, I will forgive thee freely.— Let's go and dress ourselves quickly.
Nay, stay— hark you.— Great words butter no Parsnips.— I'se not buy a Pig ith' Poke. — Have you seen the Comedy?
What Comedy?
Why, the Comedy you ken,— The Living.
Why, it is worth an Hundred Pounds a Year, Man.
What, must I wear this Gray Hat too?
No, you shall have mine; 'It is a Steeple-crowned, and it will do better for a Gentleman.
I had rather you would teach me a little Latin now, I'se conit, be-like, as we gang.
Why, in your Discourse, if he ask you who you are, you may say Ego sum Clericus.
What's that?
I am a Clark.
Clark? Why, I thought I should have been Parson; must I be but Clark?
Pish. Why, then thou shalt say, Ego sum Presbyteros.
What's that,— Bread and Butter?
No, it's Greek and Latin too,— I am a Priest.
Ay, marry; I would have the Priest forget that ever he was Clark.
And if he use you well, cry Gratias ago Domine.
So.— But if he ask how Old I am?—
Why, cannot you tell that?
No, by my troth, it's so long ago, that I'se forgotten.
Why, then you may say, I am about Fifty; and the elder you are, the cheaper you will have it.
—Ay, that's true.—Come let us gang.—But what's the Latin thing?
Why, Gratias ago Domine.
Oh, oh— Gratias ago Homily.
ACT the Fourth.
HOW shall he Sing, whose Throat is hoarse with care?
Or he keep Time, whose Heart-strings broken are?
Alas! how shall I sing that am so much out of Tune? I had rather confute Bellarmine, or turn Aquinas into English Verse. Yet this is better than the Mill of School, where they grind Grammar Toll-free; and the poor Master turns round in's Accidence till his Eyes drop out. Nay, faith, it's better than a Parlour Lecture, though not so sweet and gainful; where the Men with their smooth Chin, and Velvet Caps, stand damning the Tongues; Unless the Hebrew escape, because, like Women, it doth backward fall. All Learning, to Reprobrates, is as ungodly as Logic.—But I shall forget my Knacks.—Come, come, come. New Almanacs, new Almanacs, new Almanacs new— Who buys an Almanac? without Saint-Days, and Ember Weeks init, or any superstitious Feast-Days that end in Mass, Christmas, Candlemass— Who buys an Almanac, with a new Chronology of Memorable Accidents?—Since the Conquest, one Year. Since the Rising in the North—Since Hallifax went to the Tower —Since Finch and Windebank departed this Nation—Since Doctors Commons were enclosed—Since the Scots had Money—Who buys an Almanac, with new Fairs and Markets.—As for Example—Upon the thirty first of February, there shall be a Fair throughout all England ; At which there will be sold Northern-Cloth that will not shrink; Sponges that will not Drink. Tradesmen may buy Consciences. Whore's Maiden-heads, and French-men Noses. There will be also Tongues tipit with true Latin for Attorneys; and Pens that will write true English for Gentlewomen. Extemporary Prayers without Tautologies. Fellowships for Scholars, and Scholarships for Fellows; and Benefices so plentiful, they shall go a begging. —Come, who buys an Almanac? Memorandum ; There shall be great Eclipses in the Star-Chamber, by reason of the happy Conjunction of the two Houses with Sol. The Sea of Rome will be at so low a Tide, that it shall not come up to Labeth. There will be also great Thundrings among great Ones,m and that will cause great Lightnings among the Subjects, which will clear the Air mightily.—This Year also, Lord's will have but one Lady; Ladies but one Face; Doctors will preach twice a Day, and their Curates eat Roast-meat; Scholars will be all of one Opinion; England of one Religion; Birds all of a Colour, and Shrove-Tuesday will fall upon a Monday. —But these things will not be seen of us in this Kingdom.—There will be also strange Apparitions —Two Phoenix's—Three blew Beans in a blew Bladder. Four silent Women— Six true Tailors. Ten Maids at One and Twenty. Twelve Honest Men of a Jury. Lawyers will plead for Nothing. Poets will purchase Land, because Sack will be at a Penny a Gallon. Courtiers will pay their Debts. May Day will fall on the 12 th of August. —Come—Will no Body buy my Almanacs?
Alas, poor Scholar! He shall take some Money of me. Hear you, Friend, What is the price of that Book?
But two pence, Sir.
Sack, at a penny a Gallon, sayest thou?
Yes.
If this be true, 'Faith I will quaff burnt Sack.
And if it be not true, 'Faith burn my Almanac.
There's Six pence for thee; give me the rest in Books.— Hast thou not pretty Knacks?
Yes, here's a Cobbler 's Sermon, (I have but one of them of thirty left since morning) And Father Phillips philip'd too—New come out.
Well said; give me them.
—Almanacs, Almanacs, Almanacs, New—Let me see. It's cold; I will go spend my two-pence at the Ale house, and hear what News, and come again.
[Alas! here comes another Aristotle in a black Cover. —Ha, ha, ha, his Boots are of two several Opinions, or else of two several Universities ; The one of Cambridge, the other of Oxford. —God bless him; what a fatal Cap he hath on! It looks as if it had served an Apprenticeship at the Gallows, to teach those that are hanged Blind-man's Buff. ]
Let me see my College-Letters? —Oh, safe—My Orders? Oh, safe.—My Petition—Oh! —Come, I will read it over once more.—First, I must premise two Legs (that's the least)—But how if there should be Gentlewomen? I never kist any Body in a black Bag in my Life.
[What? Man? Set a good Face on it. You are not the first Scholar that kissed a Lady.]
They say, they'll turn their Cheeks—And then I will do, Quicquid in Buccam Venerit ▪—I do not remember anything in Aristostle concerning Kissing.
[Unless in his Posteriorum. ]
'Faith, I will turn and blow my Nose, if any come by, as if I did not see them. And for my Hat—Here, thus—Or rather thus—Nay, better thus:
Most Propitious Patron:
AS I was Equitating in these Rural Dimensions, the intelligence of the Vacuity of your Worship's Ecclesiastical Donation, did dexterously occur and perforate my Auricles; And forthwith, gratifying my Beast with a Measure of Pinguifying Provender, I did approperate to your resplendent Habitation, to impenetrate the Beneficial Presentation to me, A profound Aristotelian. —Sir Fortune hath not Beatify'd me with Mundane Promotions, neither have I conglomerated any Terrestrial Substance; But if you please, with your perspicuous Luminaries to contemplate and perscrutate these Testifications, you shall be animadverted of my Deportment in the Oxfordian Society, in my modification for Literature. Here is moreover in this Membrane with the cerous Assignments, the Episcopal Assign to gratify your Supplicant, (ponderating the Premises) you shall vivificate the mortiferous Essence of my Intellectuals, and invocate into this Domical one that will not contaminate your Family; but perprecate the Deities for the longitude of their Benediction upon your Propagation: And remain,
Your Incarcerated Creature, Fantastes.
[In troth, I hope somebody will take him for a Conjurer, and beat him soundly; or else throw him into Goal for Coining false English, and then he will be Incarcerated indeed.]
I fear nothing but that I come too late. These Livings, they are like Herrings. They are Novelty, but they will not keep long.
[I fear your's will be a Shotten one.]
These scurvy Boots,— How shall I make them both of a Colour?— I will black them with the inside of my Coat.
Now verily and indeed, I am glad that I am called out of New-England : The Brethren there do multiply too fast, and the Sisters are not plentiful in their Benevolence towards us, so as they be here.— And then many of them do Back-slide from what I did there deliver to them.— Truly I will quite leave my Basket-making, unless now and then a Cradle for some Elect Babe.— Sure if I do not get this Living (as Marchurch, by report, is a Carnal Man) I can by my Short-hand, and Repetition, get a Competency.—
[This Fellow hath the Living's fresh scent in his Nose, too.]
How now? Who's this? Nay, as long as he is not in Black I care not.— It may be he is some Servant in the House. —God save you, Sir.
Do you live here I pray you?
Inhabit here!— Nay, if you can vary the Phrase, have at you.— Is the Regulator of the Domicil segregated from his Negotiations, I pray you, Sir?
Ah Sir! these Popish words become you not.— They edify not.— If I were to write you a Sermon, I have not a Character for such words. I pray you speak teachably and plainly.
Is the Gentleman of the House at home, can you tell me?
No indeed, he is not at Home; he is newly rid Abroad.
When will he return again?
Not this Week I believe. What's your Business, I pray you, with him?
Is his Living void, can you tell me?
Ha!— I thought so.— Yea, truly it is void; but it is in vain for such as you are, to look after it.
Why so?
Why truly, you are profane Men, and Idolatrous, and can do nothing but with Study and Popish Books.— I wonder what you should do at a College so long.— No good I warrant you.
What! We read Philosophy, Logic, Divinity. — We learn the Tongues— Hebrew, Greek, and Latin, to fit us for the Church ; and all little enough.
Ah!— I thought that would be your Answer.— Does not the Pope the like? I dare myself Preach with you for the Living; and he that gives over first, shall lose it.
What Trade are you, Sir?— You talk madly.— Ah! such as you are have undone us all.
Nay, you vile Priest, such as you are.— And I intend to get this Living.— If such Wretches as you are get it, you must be Parson and have Tithes.— No, no.— I will at Composition and stand to their Benevolence.
O, Domine, isit come to this!
[I will set them together by th'Ears.]— Come— Who buys a Ballad?
Who buys a new Ballad?
Do you hear, Sir Scholar? You Black-Coats can be anything, and Temporizers. I will buy it of him.— Honest Man, pray let me have that Ballad.— Have you anything against Bishops?
Yes, Sir.— There is Little Laud in Limbo, and Lambeth Fair, and Rome for a Corner'd Cap, and the Character of a Bishop.
I shall think the better of you Ballad-men hereafter.— The price of them?
Two Groats.
Very cheap.— If I get the Living, I will have thee my Clark.
Hang you Rascal.— I will venture in▪— I will serve your Turn.
Nay, Sir, I will give them a Character of you, you Popeling, I will be there as soon as you, I warrant you.
These are brave Times!— I will lay Ten Pound the Basket-maker carries it away.
Come, come, Have you any Work for a Tinker?— Have you any Bellows or Bowls to mend? Any Dishes, Kettles or Skillets, or old Frying-Pans to mend?— Come, come, I can mend Platter-Faces, or Crack'd Maiden-Heads, or Tipt Cuckold's-Horns. Who will buy a brave Candlestick?— My Wares are all sound, but I must crack of them, to make them sell the better. He that useth this Candlestick shall do more with a Week, than another with a Quarter ; and he that tells his Gold by this Candlestick, without ever a Candle init, shall not find it Light. — I will warrant, this was the Candlestick Diogenes sought for an Honest Man with.— I was offered Moneys enough for it two Years ago by an old Blade, to set upon an Altar in his Chancel: But now Conformity burns and stinks in the Socket, and Wax-Candles wax dim, and are like to go out in a Snuff; yet it serves a Papist to light him to Rome. For the Pope 's Fire begins to burn Blew, and it's thought he wants a pair of Tongs to turn up his Purgatory -bottom-Cake.— Come, who buys it? That the Tinker may have some better Mettal to melt into Ale. He that will chaffer, shall have this Prolonger into the Bargain.— O brave Prolonger!— If Patents and Monopolies had had Prolongers, they had not gone out yet.— You that are the Lights of the Church have Extinguishers enow, but your two Steeples like double-wick'd-Candles, wont Prolongers.— Ship-Money, Star Chamber, High-Commission, Michaelmas Term,— all want Prolongers.— But I shall prolong the time, and take nothing.— But who comes here?— Another Black Coat.— Sure here is some Carrion here-abouts, I see so many Crows stirring!— Have you any Work for a Tinker?
This is as brave as can be.— I will set him on Work now. Jovial Tinker! Where's the best Liquor?— Ha?
God bless your Learning, Master.
Master will you set a poor Tinker on Work?
Alas! What Work should Scholars have for Tinkers?
What?— Master, will you give me leave,— You are but Tinkers yourselves, many of you.
As how prithee!
How?— Why you keep such a Hammering of a poor Text, before you can hit the right Nail on the head;— and then in stopping one Hole, you oftentimes make two.—
Thou'rt a mad Blade.
Nay, and none but Scholars and Tinkers carry all their Tools about them, to mend this Brass and Iron Age.
Hark thee, Tom, canst Fight lustily?
Ay Faith, therein we differ.— You Black Coats are Cowards, and we are not.— Yes, I can play at Quarter-staff a little.
Wilt thou be true to me?
Will I not Bully? Hector, try me.
Why, Sirrah, here is a Living void here in Town, and I am come to try my Fortune for it. Here, even now, I met with a Roguish Sniveling New-English Basket-maker, that does abuse me and all Scholars as past— Wouldst thou think that he is gone in here to get the Living from us all
Does he snivle in the Nose, Master?
Ay, Tom, that he does.
By Jove, I will sell him a pair of Snuffers.
Stand here and watch for him, and search his Pockets▪ and thou shalt see what Authors he reads.— Look you— There's Twelve-pence for thee, and meet me half an Hour hence at the Ale-House, and whether thou speedest or not, I will give thee half a dozen of Ale, and we'll Laugh and be Merry.
Hark you Master, I will make him down on his Knees, and pray for Bishops e're I have done with him.— Let me alone.
Be sure you Pay him soundly.— Spare him not.
This is Handsome!— A Basket-maker get a Living!— He had best bring a pair of Hilts with him.— I will have a bout at Wastrels with him.— I will teach him how to baste a Pulpit.— Here he comes.— I will listen awhile what Tune his Nose is in, that I may mend it.
Ah, as very a wicked Man as ever I came near, a very Reprobate, not any good word came from him.— But he must have Money, Money.— 'It is a thousand pities that such good Men as we, should be put aside by such Carnal and Unsanctify'd Patrons.
Have you any Work for a Tinker?— Yo— Friend,— Will you set a poor Tinker on Work?
Away, away for Banbury. — I have no Work for such Fellows as you are.
Yea, but Sirrah, Rascal.— I will Work for nothing.—
Oh,— Murder,— Murder.— Will you kill me?
Sirrah, It is revealed unto me that you have a mind to Preach, and to leave your Trade.— Thus and thus— and then thus, you must thump the Cushion.—
Yea indeed, but I will do so no more.— Pray spare my Bife.
Sirrah, Will you lead me to a Cup of good Ale?
Ay, ay.
And to a pritty Wench?
Ay, so it may be private.
And will you love good Scholars?
Ay, indeed.
And pray for Bishops?
Ay, and Arch-Bishops too.
Nay, now I see you are a dissembling Knave. I will have you Silenc'd i'Faith.— You gaped for a Benefice.— Now gape,
Awe, awe, awe▪—
Ay, I will keep you in awe.— How now, what's here? A Book of Characters! O Sirrah, you write Characters do you? I will pay you in Words at length.— Here's good Gear indeed.— Come on.— Now get up▪— So— let me see.—
Au, au, au.—
Oh, the blessed'st days that ever came! I think, when I was Born, all ill Fortune was lulled asleep, and the fatal Planets were in a Swoon.— I never saw that wrinkled Brow of Fortune. Her clearer Face hath always shined upon my Days.— Nay,— Now,— just now▪ — When I looked to have been Branded forever, for this same Vrsely, I think there was a Mask or Vizard drawn over the Eyes of the World.— My Servants and People, all from Home.— And Vrsely had no sooner spawn'd, but there comes a Gypsie Beggar-woman to my Door, who for Twenty Shillings took away the Bastard with her. I made her a sufficient Pass to carry her far enough. In troth Vrsely 's was an excellent Plot to keep my Nephew in Aw.— If it be possible, I will Marry her off with this Living.— One, two, three, four, five Black Coats, but not a Penny among them all.— I wonder what's become of Hob! — He hath paid Homily soundly, they say.—
Cud's Noun's, Sir Homily. — Here's my Master.
Peace, peace. You must not call me Homily, but Jack.
Why then, Jack Homily.
Nay, that's worst of all. Call me plain Jack.
Why then Plain Jack. — Come, stand close.— Fifteen Years old am I sayest thou?
Pish.— I say Fifty.
Fifty.— How many Twenties is that?
It's twenty to one, you will spoil all.
Now, now.— Come stand close by me good Homily. — O, Jack I would say.— You,— Hear,— Ho, Honest Man.— Hark ye me.— Hear.— Does not Mr. Marchurch live here, I'se pray?
O, that's well done.
Cud's duds— He'll know me.
Lawye now!— Here's another, that makes Six.— Marry he hath a Man waits on him.— Yes Sir, Mr. Marchurch does dwell here: Would you speak with him?
Yea, marry would I.— I'se come forty Miles to speak with him.— God speed Plough.
I am the Man, Sir, Marchurch is my Name.
Jack, Jack, must I ask him, Who gave him that Name?
No, no.— Tell him, you are a Suitor to him for the Living.
Why, Sir,— Goodine to your Worship.— I'se hear you have a Living in your Gift. I'se a poor Minister, Sir, and shall be bound to pray for your Worship, and you shall give it me. I will live like an Honest Man among you.
Alas, Sir, you are a mere Stranger to me, but by your Language, you seem to be a Northern Man.
Yea Sir, I was Born in Cumberland, and had a good Living in the North (though I say it) but when the Scots came last Year, I was fain to fly, and make Money of what I had.
Nay, if you have Money, have at you, as errand a Clown as you are.
Cuds duds, cuds duds, cuds duds,— Jack. —
Sir, I pray you speak louder, my Master is somewhat Deaf.— He hears you not.
God-a-mercy, Jack. — Why Sir, Hob say you is his Name? There is a famous Cudgel-player of his Name.
I pray you, Sir, what may be your Name?
What's my Name?— My Name,— my Name is— Richmond. My Father was a good Gentleman, I'se sure.
That Skil's not worth what your Father was; your own Parsonage shows you to be a Man sufficient.
Yea, Sir, but your Parsonage would do it better.
Why, Sir, I must needs confess, there is a pritty Living in my Hands.
Yea, Sir.— There's something in my Hand too.—
Why, I hope that you and I shall shake Hands presently. What University are you of?
Oxford.
Have you taken your Degrees there, Sir?
Degrees?— I have spent an Hundred Pounds there by Degrees.
Was you ever Fellow of any House?
Yea, marry, now and then, Fellow of an Ale-House.
The Canon doth not require anything, but that you be able to speak a piece of Latin.
Latin! — yea, that I can, Twenty pieces of better Mettal than Latin. — Hang Latin, it is good for nothing but Dripping-pans.
You say right.— There is a great deal of Popery in it.— You have no Living as yet, Sir, I pray you?
No, indeed, Sir,— you are my first Chapman.— I have not bidden a Penny to any Man but your Worship. Pray use me well, and you shall have more of my Custom.
Marry, and I have another Commodity for thee, if thou beest not Marry'd.—
Why, Sir,— Ise two Twenties and Ten.— Fifteen.
That's nothing, you Parsons live long.
Coff, and make yourself Sick.—
Alas, Sir, I am Old and Crazy. Ho, ho, ho,— Hold my Head, Jack. — Oh, Sick.
O, admirably well done.—
Oh, ho, ho,— I am so troubled with the Coughing of the Lungs, it will even kill me.
I hope it will, e're long.—
Oh, ho, ho,— God thank your Worship.— It will even fall again into your hands before seven Years come to an end.
Why, Sir, because I see you are so Sickly, and likely to be an Honest Man among us; hark you.— Whispers him.
Fifty Pieces! Marry, God bless us, you had need lend me your Aquavitae-bottle again; this gangs cold to my Heart. Fifty Pieces!
Ay, Twenty down now, and I will take your word for the rest.
Offer him Twenty, offer him Twenty.— Do, do.—
Why will Twenty fetch it down now upon the Stubs? Here it is in good Gold. If I live tway Years more, I'se give you Ten Pounds more if I like my Bargain. What, Sir, Livings are fallen now.
In truth, I thought mine would never have fallen. Ha, ha, ha.— These are dangerous Times.— I shall have some Chaplain or other come with the King's Title and cozen me, or some Mischief, if I keep it in my Hands.—
No marry not I, Sir.
If I use you well, I hope you will not speak on it.
No, no, I'se be as Mum as a Lawyer without his Fee.
I hope you will live Peaceably among us, and not go to Law, or present any Man?
Yea marry, I'se present your Worship with a Tith-Pig, or so.
You say well for that.— But hark you, Sir, you shall allow me two or three Quarters of Wheat every Christmas.
No, no, Sir.— You shall not catch old Birds with Chaff. —Is it a Bargain? Here's my Money, will you strike me Luck on it?
Come, give me your hand, Mr. Parson.— It's done. —Your Name is Mr. Richmond, you say.
Yea, Sir, that's my Name.
Well, Sir, God give you Joy▪— I will go write your Presentation, and about two Hours hence I will expect you.
Very well. Our Horses are at yonder Ale-House; We'll come to you anon.
You shall be Welcome.
Jack, Jack, — What's the Latin thing?
Why, Gratias ago Domine. —
Gratias ago Homily ▪—
Ha, ha, ha,— How bravely have I taken my old Black Jack by the Ear, and drained him! What an interest have I got in this Verb Impersonal. — If I should have made an Hue and Cry from In Speech to For the due joining, I should not have found such a Participle in Rus. — Well, let him be what he will, (as I think he is not guilty of much Learning) let him be Pulpit-Monger, Desk-Thumper, and Sermon-Braker (as I think he hath as few new ones, as any here) if he be able to set out a Stave in a Psalm right (as he is Old enough) I care not.— I will humor him till he is safe, and then, may-hap, I may pin Vrsely on his Back.
[Nay, rather pin him upon her Belly. But if you geld him so as you begin, he will be able to do nothing; you have taken away his Gold now, and his precious Stones will be next.] However I am glad, I have cracked the Flea Homily. — I will in, and expect my Animal.
ACT the Fifth.
A Carter get a Living !— I will put a spoke in his Wheel.— (If it were Carter upon Seton, it would have been another matter)— Who of both, he had better have bought the Schoolmasters Place, and then all would have been but a Whipping still; but now he will never be able to set out a Psalm right without Whisling; or say Grace without Rhymes for's heart.— But see where he comes.— How now, Drunk!— He hath been Preaching over a Black Pot already.— I marvel what's become of his Man Homily! He is not his own Man I am sure.— Well, I will to my Kennel once more, and mark the Catastrophe.]
Cuds duds— Curis Tobacco!— Room there for Parson Hob. — Mr. Marpudding can be hanged e're he can do thus.
Whoop, Ha.— Well sung Parson Hob. — Sirrah, Boy, drive your Cart that way.
[Thou'lt overthrow presently; thou hast thy Load.— Whoist.]
I will have my Frock died Black, and it will make a good Cassock.—
Why— where's my Man Homily? — How Letcherous are these Black Breeches the Rogue lent me!—
[Ay— your Pride will have a fall presently. ]
You— Sexton— Whip the Dog out of the Parson's Pew there.—
I'se Parson of the Parish; I think the Clark is mad.— The Sexton Chimes all-in.— Fy, fy— What a lean Tith Pig is this?—
[What, cannot you be contented to Fall, but you must fall asleep too?— It's hard Rising for a Church-man, when he's once down. Thou hadst need, I am sure, sleep soundly; thy Coat hath not had a Nap this seven Years.
Did ever any Man serve such a Master?— A Parson too?— Ha, ha, ha,— Parson Hob! — After we went down from old Marchurch, even now Hob for joy, would needs have me to the Ale-House; where after a while Tipling on it soundly, I put a Pouder into his Drink to Fox him, and to make him Sleep securely. He steals away from me.— I know he is so far gone, that he cannot be gone far.—
I wonder what's become of my Tinker?— This will make us good Sport.— Here's Twenty Shillings to Bous and Ken this Christmas. — I hope his Gold is not so Light as his Whore.— Ha, ha, ha.— Here's a Pass too that will carry us all England over, in spite of Stocks, and Whipping-Posts.—
[Not thine own?— I hope it's no Bodies in this Company.— I will lay my Life, It's a Chip of the old Block; Marchurch supra Vrsely, newly Printed.]
Ho yes.— If any Man or Woman, in Town or Country, will buy a Barn. —
[Ay marry, if all that went in Black were Scholars, there would be a great many more than there are.]
A Scholar, as I live.— If I had not taken this from the old Letcher now, I should have sworn that it had been thine.— However I will look no farther for a Father.—
[An incomparable good Plot!— God-a-mercy little Comaedia !— If the Basket-maker were here, he might now make a Cradle.]
I will not stay to put them on here, till I have got further.—
Oh— oh— Come Hosts, what's to pay?—
[Why then I pray you, Name the Child ▪]
Stay,— How can it be mine?— Can a Man be with Child?— Unless it should come with Drinking. Ay, ay— It was that— It was that.— Too much Drinking will make a Man Big belly'd.— I warrant, I spewed it up.— Oh what a Drunken Whore am I!—
—My Master will see me hanged e're he will give me my Money again.—And then this Bastard of mine too. —Stay, I am Constable!—May I not command myself to hang myself? —I should have in these Breeches an Halter, and there's a Beam will fit my turn.—Here's a Sheet. I will do Penance in it, as I hang, for my Whoredom.—Oh what a drunken Whore am I!—Come on—Is this all the Bell-ropes I must have?
Our Landlord, and Mr. Marpudding will think I am run away, if I bring not my Christmas Capons. I would the Bones were in one of their Bellies, and the Feathers in the other.
[Nay, would he himself were a Capon—Alas! poor Hob, how hard is he at his Devotion!
O Neigbour Dungo, we are undone, if Mr. Marchurch be here before us—Come, come, yonder is at the Ale-house, Gypsies, Tinkers, and Ballad-singers, roaring; and the Constable Hob, the Clown, is drunk himself some-where— Come, come—Let's go rout 'em.
Say ye me so? — I may venture my Basket here till I return—Come on.—
Ah—I confess I deserve this Death—I have been a Drunkard, and covetous Churl, and would have cheated my Master of his Living. Besides, I once kissed a Wench behind the Stable-door; and now I am a Whore.—Ah Hob, thou art a Whore! —I did not think thou wouldst have come to this.—
So, Policy hath got that which Prayers could not.— I have it here—But stay—what have we here—A Basket? —
I am a little busy,—I pray leave me.
Nay—but Master—do you not know me?
No Gentleman—Poor Parson Hob now—
Nay—Pish— Hob! —Why did you steal from me at the Ale-house?—For this?—Where have you been?
Where?—Why, committing Fornication with a Jug of Ale I-trow. Look you here—
What—hang myself? No indeed, nor you shall not neither.—Come, come.
Do you see that?
I will lay my Life this is Marchurch 's Bastard, however it came here.—Away Fool—Your Child? — If it be, I will keep it.
Will you?
Ay, that I will, and set all right and straight again if I can,—Help you to your Money again, and take this Child.— Will you be a Parson, or a Plowman.
—Parson!—No—Zuckers—They shall have an hundred Livings a piece first. —Would I had my Gold again.
Why then, Hark you.—Did you fall asleep here?
—Ay, Drunk, —like a Rogue as I was.
Why, you would needs go to the Ale-house; It was not my doings.—And what, when thou wakedst, thou found'st this Child, and thy Pockets picked, and thy Boots gone?
—Yea marry did I.—And what of all this?
What?—I smell a Rat—This Bastard, Sirrah, is Vrsleys. —I will venture a Wager thy Master got it.
How's that!—Cuds duds, she was main saucy with him as ever I saw.
Nay, it is so I warrant thee.—Hear but me.—Will you be but contented to let me have the Living, if I rid you of it, and get you your Money again?
—Will I not?—Yea, and love thee all the days of my Life for it.
Why then to tell the truth, I have got it.—I found thee here asleep, and took thy Cloak and thy Beard from thee, and went in thy Name, and sped well.—There I heard a whispering of this Bastard; and Vrsley could not be seen. 'It is so, I will warrant thee.—I will give thee good Bonds for thy Money, and something beside.
—Yea.—But I must be hanged, now or never, for I have confessed my Sins.
What dost do with that Primmer; was it thine?
—Ay, 'tis mine. I got it to learn to read my Letters against I should be Parson.
And what, —thou wouldst have made a long Letter of thyself?—Come—look you here; This Basket some Body hath left—
Ha!—I think thoulit prove an honest Man.
Ay, ay,—Come—pull your Block-head out of the Noose.—
—So—Shall I live?
Ay, and richly.
Why then I will un-confess all my Sins again.—I never was a Drunkard, nor Covetous, nor Parson, nor kissed any Body behind the Stable-door—Not I.
Come now look you here Sir.—
—Ha, ha, ha—These Black-Coats can put off Children to other Men—Ha, ha, ha—How I shall laugh anon, when I am Hob again, to see Marchurch have an Heir— Marpudding will knock it ith' Head within's two days, if it offer to eat anything.—And will you give me your Bond for my Money too?
Ay, that I will.
—Come on Sirrah Hob —Your are a Rogue—But I will let you live a while longer.
Go thou into my House, and put on my Boots; by that time I will come.—But I will scout here a while to see what this Basket will do.
I will go—But stay—If you give me Bond, I must have Witnesses.—I will go no further.—
What a Fool was this!—If Men should hang themselves when they are cheated of their Money, what dangling would there be this Christmas? —No sooner Parson but suspended.—I will be honest. The Clown shall have all his Money again.—But this Primmer shall go in to teach the Baby too.— But whist—Here comes Dungo. —'It is as I said.—I will scout and listen.
Oh—That's well.—My Basket is safe.—Ha, ha, ha. Yonder is a Gipsy-woman at the Ale-house—A pritty Woman indeed; and two Scholars which have been here for the Living, they do so smooth her up.—She's a Fortune-teller too. —She called me Gentleman, besworn.—Yet she said I should have some ill Luck come unto me.—I was afraid of nothing but my Capons, and they (I see) are safe enough.—Now truly they are very fat. How heavy they be!—However I will away.—
So that Cure is cured.—I never met with such a Clown in all my Life as my new Parson. He's gone to the Bishop.—'It is well the Times are as they are, he would be stayed else for a Dunce. Let him look to his Flock, but I will fleece him I will warrant him.
Good'ine to your Worship.
How now Neighbor, What have you there?— Ha?
A couple of Christmas -Capons for your Worship—I love to keep touch.
Why, it is honestly done.—Are they Fat?
Fine fed Fowls—if it please you.
[Yet not better fed than taught. There's a Primmer among them, will bring you to your Psalms of Mercy.]
Here's one, a good tender Bird, of your Worship's own breed, your Worship may do well to keep it.
Ay, and so I will.—My People, Neighbor, are not at Home to bid you drink,—But here's a couple of Pence for you.— Give me the Basket.
I thank your Worship. I hope they will prove well, and give you Content.—By your leave.
Farewell, farewell.—Oh, I love this young Flesh at my Heart.—My Nephew, since the Keys were gone, and he in danger to be a Father, is grown very kind. I will in, and Vrsley is pritty hearty, she shall dress one of them and we will be merry.—
Gramarcy Invention, This is even as I would have it.
This is sweet Revenge!—I will now to Horse, and away to the Bishop.—When I return, if his two Capons be alive, I will pluck a Feather with him. I will have an Order of Penance for him, and make him pay Hob his Money again for Simony:—But I hope he will prevent all, and hang himself—
Why so,—Is not this better than a Dialogue, or some stew'd Prunes?—I will in, and Fox little Comaedia's Nose for this, and send you out an Epilogue.—