Ben Jonson - Bartholomew Fayre Act 2. Scene 5 lyrics

Win-wife, Quarlous. [To them. WE are here before 'em, methinks. Quar. All the better, we shall see 'em come in now. Lea. What do you lack, Gentlemen, what is't you lack? a fine Horse? a Lyon? a Bull? a Bear? a Dog, or a Cat? an excellent fine Bartholmew-bird? or an Instrument? what is't you lack? Quar. 'Slid! here's Orpheus among the Beasts, with his Fiddle, and all! Tra. Will you buy any comfortable Bread, Gen- tlemen? Quar. And Ceres selling her Daughters Picture, in Ginger-work! Win. That these People should be so ignorant to think us chapmen for 'em! do we look as if we would buy Ginger-bread? or Hobby-horses? Quar. Why, they know no better Ware than they have, nor better Customers than come. And our very being here makes us fit to be demanded, as well as o- thers. Would Cokes would come! there were a true customer for 'em. Kno. How much is't? thirty Shillings? who's yonder! Ned Winwife? and Tom Quarlous, I think! yes, (gi' me it all) (gi' me it all) Master Winwife! Master Quarlous! will you take a Pipe of Tabacco with us? do not dis- credit me now, Zekiel. Win. Do not see him! he is the roaring Horse-courser, pray thee let's avoid him: turn down this way. Quar. 'Slud Quar. 'Slud, I'll see him, and roar with him too, and he roar'd as loud as Neptune; pray thee go with me. VVin. You may draw me to as likely an inconveni- ence, when you please, as this. Quar. Go to then, come along, we ha' nothing to do, man, but to see sights now. Kno. Welcome Master Quarlous, and Master Win-wife! will you take any froth, and smoak with us? Quar. Yes, Sir, but you'l pardon us, if we knew not of so much familiarity between us afore. Kno. As what, Sir? Quar. To be so lightly invited to Smoak and Froth. Kno. A good Vapour! will you sit down, Sir? this is Old Ursla's Mansion, how like you her Bower? here you may ha' your Punck and your Pig in State, Sir, both pi- ping hot. Quar. I had rather ha' my Punck cold, Sir. Jus. There's for me, Punck! and Pig! Urs. What Mooncalf, you Rogue? [She calls within. Moo. By and by, the Bottle is almost off, Mistris; here Master Arthur. Urs. I'll part you, and your Play-fellow there, i' the garded Coat, an' you sunder not the sooner. Kno. Master Win-wife, you are proud (me thinks) you do not talk, nor drink, are you proud? Win. Not of the company I am in, Sir, nor the place, I a**ure you. Kno. You do not except at the Company! do you! are you in Vapours, Sir? Moo. Nay, good Master Dan. Knockhum, respect my Mistris Bower, as you call it; for the Honour of our Booth, none o' your Vapours here. Urs. Why, you thin lean Polecat you, and they have a mind to be i' their Vapours, must you hinder 'em? what did you know, Vermine, if they would ha' lost a Cloak, or such a Trifle? must you be drawing the Air of Pacification here? while I am tormented within i'the fire, you Weasel? [She comes out with a fire-brand. Moo. Good Mistris, 'twas in the behalf of your Booth's Credit that I spoke. Urs. Why! would my Booth ha' broke, if they had fal'n out in't, Sir? or would their heat ha' fir'd it? In, you Rogue, and wipe the Pigs, and mend the Fire, that they fall not, or I'll both baste and roast you till your Eyes drop out, like 'em. (Leave the Bottle behind you, and be curst a while.) Quar. Body o' the Fair! what's this? Mother o' the Bawds? Kno. No, she's Mother o' the Pigs, Sir, Mother o' the Pigs. Win. Mother o' the Furies, I think, by her Fire- brand. Quar. Nay, she is too fat to be a Fury, sure some wal ing Sow of Tallow! VVin. An inspir'd Vessel of Kitchin-stuff! Quar. She'll make Excellent Geer for the Coachma- kers here in Smithfield, to anoint Wheels and Axel-trees with. [She drinks this while. Urs. I, I, Gamesters, mock a plain plump soft Wench o' the Suburbs, do, because she's juicy and wholesome: you must ha' your thin pinch'd Ware, pent up i' the compa** of a Dog-Collar, (or 'twill not do) that looks like a long lac'd Conger, set upright, and a green feather, like Fennel i' the Joll on't. Kno. Well said, Urs, my good Urs; to 'em Urs. Quar. Is she your Quag-mire, Dan. Knockhum? is this your Bog? Nig. We shall have a quarrel presently. Kno. How, Bog? Quagmire? foul Vapours! humh! Quar. Yes, he that would venture for't, I a**ure him, might sink into her, and be drown'd a week, e're any Friend he had could find where he were. VVin. And then he would be a fort'night weighing up again. Quar. 'Twere like falling into a whole Shire of But- ter: they had need be a Team of Dutchmen should draw him out. Kno. Answer 'em, Urs, where's thy Bartholmew-wit now, Urs, thy Bartholmew-wit? Urs. Hang 'em, rotten, Roguy Cheaters, I hope to see 'em plagu'd one day (pox'd they are already, I am sure) with lean Play-house Poultry, that has the Bony Rump, sticking out like the Ace of Spades, or the point of a Partizan, that every Rib of 'em is like the Tooth of a Saw: and will so grate 'em with their Hips and Shoulders, as (take 'em altogether) they were as good lie with a hurdle. Quar. Out upon her, how she drips! She's able to give a Man the Sweating Sickness with looking on her. Urs. Marry look off, with a patch o' your face, and a Dozen i' your Breech, tho they be o' Scarlet, Sir. I ha' seen as fine out-sides as either o' yours, bring lowsie Li- nings to the Brokers, e're now, twice a week. Quar. Do you think there may be a fine new Cucking-stool i' the Fair, to be purchas'd? one large enough, I mean. I know there is a Pond of Capacity for her. Urs. For your Mother, you Rascal, out you Rogue, you Hedge-bird, you Pimp, you Pannier-man's Ba- stard, you. Quar. Ha, ha, ha. Urs. Do you sneer, you Dogs-head, you Trendle Tail! you look as you were begotten a' top of a Cart in Har- vest-time, when the Whelp was hot and eager. Go, snuff after your Brother's b**h, Mrs. Commodity; that's the Livery you wear, 'twill be out at the El- bows shortly. It's time you went to't for the to'ther Remnant. Kno. Peace, Urs, peace, Urs, they'll k** the poor Whale, and make Oil of her. Pray thee go in. Urs. I'll see 'em pox'd first, and pil'd, and double pil'd. Win. Let's away, her Language grows greasier than her Pigs. Vrs. Does't so, Snotty-nose? good Lord! are you sniveling? You were engendred on a She-beggar, in a Barn, when the bald Thrasher, your Sire, was scarce warm. Win. Pray thee let's go. Quar. No, faith: I'll stay the end of her now: I know she cannot last long; I find by her Similies she wanes a pace. Urs. Does she so? I'll set you gone. Gi' me my Pig- pan hither a little. I'll scald you hence, and you will not go. Kno. Gentlemen, these are very strange Vapours! and very idle Vapours! I a**ure you. Quar. You are a very serious Ass, we a**ure you. Kno. Humh! Ass? and serious? nay, then pardon me my Vapour. I have a foolish Vapour, Gentlemen: any man that does vapour me the Ass, Master Quar- lous — Quar. What then, Master Jordan? Kno. I do vapour him the lie. Quar. Faith, and to any man that vapours me the lie, I do vapour that. Kno. Nay then, Vapours upon Vapours. Edg. Nig. 'Ware the Pan, the Pan, the Pan, she comes with the Pan, Gentlemen. God bless the Wo- man. [Ursla comes in with the Scalding-Pan. [They fight. Urs. Oh. Era. What's the matter? Jus. Goodly woman! [She falls with it. Moo. Mistress! Urs. Curse of Hell, that ever I saw these Fiends, oh! I ha' scalded my Leg, my Leg, my Leg, my Leg. I ha' lost a Limb in the Service! run for some Cream and Sallad Oil, quickly. Are you under-peering, you Baboon? rip off my Hose, an' you be men, men, men. Moo. Run you for some Cream, good Mother Jone. I'll look to your Basket. Lea. Best sit up i' your Chair, Ursla. Help, Gen- tlemen. Kno. Be of good cheer, Urs, thou hast hindred me the currying of a Couple of Stallions here, that abus'd the good Race-Bawd o' Smithfield; 'twas time for 'em to go. Nig. I'faith, when the Pan came, they had made you run else. (This had been a fine time for purchase, if you had ventur'd.) Edg. Not a whit, these fellows were too fine to carry Money. Kno. Nightingale, get some help to carry her Leg out o' the Air; take off her Shooes; body o' me, she has the Mallanders, the Scratches, the Crown Scab, and the Quit- ter Bone i' the to'ther Leg. Urs. Oh, the Pox! why do you put me in mind o' my Leg thus, to make it prick and shoot? would you ha' me i'the Hospital afore my time? Kno. Patience, Urs, take a good heart, 'tis but a Bli- ster as big as a Windgall; I'll take is away with the white of an Egg, a little Honey and Hogs Grease, ha' thy Pa- sterns well roll'd, and thou shalt pace again by to mor- row. I'll tend thy Booth, and look to thy Affairs the while: Thou shalt sit i' thy Chair, and give Directions, and shine Ursa major.