Ben Jonson - Bartholomew Fayre Act 3. Scene 2 lyrics

Quarlous, Whit, Win-wife, Busy, John, Pure-craft, Win, Kockhum, Moon-calf, Ursla. WE had wonderful ill luck, to miss this Prologue o' the Purse, but the best is, we shall have Five Acts of him e're Night: He'll be Spectacle enough! I'll answer for't. Whi. O Creesh! Duke Quarlous, how dosht tou? tou dosht not know me, I fear? I am te vishesht man, but Justish Over-doo, in all Bartholmew Fair now. Gi' me Twelve Pence from tee, I vill help tee to a Vife vorth Forty Marks for't, and't be. Quar. Away, Rouge; Pimp, away. VVhi. And she shall shew tee as fine cut o'rke for't in her Shmock too as tou cansht vish i' faith; vilt tou have her, Vorshipful Vin-vife? I vill help tee to her here, be an't be, into Pig-Quarter, gi' me ty Twelve Pence from tee. VVin-w. Why, there's Twelve Pence, pray thee wilt thou be gone. VVhi. Tou art a Vorthy Man, and a Vorshipful Man still. Quar. Get you gone, Rascal. VVhi. I do mean it, man. Prinsh Quarlous, if tou hasht need on me, tou shalt find me here at Ursla's, I vill see phat Ale and Punque ish i' te Pigshty for tee, bless ty good Vorship. Quar. Look! who comes here? John Little-wit! VVin-w. And his Wife, and my Widow, her Mother: the whole Family. Quar. 'Slight, you must gi'em all Fairings now! VVin-w. Not I, I'll not see 'em. Quar. They are going a feasting. What Schoolma- ster's that is with 'em? VVin-w. That's my Rival, I believe, the Baker! Bus. So, walk on in the middle way, fore-right, turn neither to the right hand nor to the left: let not your Eyes be drawn aside with Vanity, nor your Ear with Noises. Quar. O, I know him by that start! Lea. What do you lack? what do you buy, pretty Mi- stris? a fine Hobby-horse, to make your Son a Tilter? a Drum, to make him a Soldier? a Fiddle, to make him a Reveller? What is't you lack? Little Dogs for your Daughters? or Babies, Male or Female? Bus. Look not toward them, harken not: the place is Smithfield, or the Field of Smiths, the Grove of Hob- by-horses and Trinkets, the Wares are the Wares of De- vils. And the whole Fair is the Shop of Satan! They are Hooks and Baits, very Baits, that are hung out on every side, to catch you, and to hold you, as it were, by the Gills, and by the Nostrils, as the Fisher doth: There- fore you must not look nor turn toward them — The Heathen man could stop his Ears with Wax against the Harlot o'the Sea: Do you the like with your Fingers a- gainst the Bells o' the Beast. VVin-w. What flashes comes from him! Quar. O, he has those of his Oven! a notable hot Ba- ker 'twas, when he ply'd he Peel: he is leading his Flock into the Fair now. VVin-w. Rather driving 'em to the Pens: for he will let 'em look upon nothing. Kno. Gentlewomen, the weather's hot! whither walk you? Have a care o' your fine Velvet Caps, the Fair is dusty. Take a sweet delicate Booth, with Boughs, here i' the way, and cool your selves i' the shade; you and your Friends. The best Pig and Bottle Ale i' the Fair, Sir. Old Ursla is Cook, there you may read: The Pig's Head speaks it. Poor Soul, she has had a Stringhalt, the Maryhinchco: but she's prettily amen- ded. [Little-wit is gazing at the Sign; which is the Pig's Head with a large Writing under it. VVhi. A delicate Show-Pig, little Mistris, with shweet Sauce, and Crackling, like de Bay-Leaf i' de Fire, la! Tou shalt ha' de clean side o' de Ta- ble-Clot, and di Gla** vash'd with phatersh of Dame Annesh Cleare. Joh. This's fine verily, here be the best Pigs: and she does roast 'em as well as ever she did; the Pig's Head says. Kno. Excellent, excellent Mistris, with Fire o' Juniper and Rosemary Branches! The Oracle of the Pig's Head, that, Sir. Pur. Son, were you not warn'd of the Vanity of the Eye? Have you forgot the wholesome Admonition so soon? Joh. Good Mother, how shall we find a Pig, if we do not look about for't? Will it run off o' the Spit into our mouths, think you? as in Lubberland? and cry, we, we? Bus. No, but your Mother, religiously wise, concei- veth it may offer it self by other means to the Sense, Busy scents after it like a Hound. as by way of Steem, which I think it doth here in this place (Huh, huh) yes, it doth. And it were a Sin of Obstinacy, great Obstinacy, high and horrible Obsti- nacy, to decline or resist the good Titillation of the famelick Sense, which is the Smell. Therefore be bold (huh, huh, huh), follow the Scent. Enter the Tents of the Unclean, for once, and satisfie your Wives Frailty. Let your frail Wife be satisfied: your zea- lous Mother, and my suffering self, will also be satisfied. Joh. Come, Win, as good winny here as go farther, and see nothing. Bus. We scape so much of the other Vanities, by our early entring. Pur. It is an edifying Consideration. Win. This is scurvy, that we must come into the Fair, and not look on't. Joh. Win, have patience, Win, I'll tell you more a- non. Kno. Moon-calf, entertain within there, the best Pig i' the Booth; a Pork-like Pig. These are Banbury-bloods, o' the sincere stud, come a Pig-hunting. Whit, wait, Whit, look to your Charge. Bus. A Pig prepare presently, let a Pig be prepared to us. Moo. 'Slight, who be these? Urs. Is this the good Service, Jordan, you'ld do me? Kno. Why, Urs? why, Urs? thou'lt ha Vapours i' thy Leg again presently, pray thee to in, 't may turn to the Scratches else. Urs. Hang your Vapours, they are stale, and stink like you, are these the Guests o' the Game you promis'd to fill my Pit withal to day? Kno. I, what ail they, Urs? Urs. Ail they? they are all Sippers, Sippers o'the Ci- ty, they look as they would not drink off two penn'orth of Bottle Ale amongst 'em, Moo. A body may read that i' their small printed Ruffs. Kno. Away, thou art a Fool, Urs, and thy Moon- calf too, i' your ignorant Vapours now: Hence, good Guests, I say, right Hypocrites, good Gluttons. In, and set a Couple o' Pigs o' the Board, and Half a Dozen of the biggest Bottles afore 'em, and call Whit: I do not love to hear Innocents abus'd: Fine amb- ling Hypocrites! and a Stone-Puritan with a Sorrel Head and Beard, good mouth'd Gluttons: Two to a Pig, away. Urs. Are you sure they are such? Kno. O' the right Breed, thou shalt try 'em by the Teeth, Urs, where's this Whit? Whi. Behold, man, and see, what a worthy man am ee! With the Fury of my Sword, and the shaking of my Beard, I will make Ten Thousand Men afeard. Kno. Well said, brave Whit, in, and fear the Ale out o' the Bottles into the Bellies of the Brethren, and the Sisters drink to the Cause, and pure Vapours. Quar. My Roarer is turn'd Tapster, me thinks. Now were a fine time for thee, Win-wife, to lay a- board thy Widow, thou'lt never be a Master of a bet- ter season or place; She that will venture her self into the Fair, and a Pig-box, will admit any Assault, be as- sur'd of that. Win-w. I love not Enterprises of that suddenness tho. Quar. I'll warrant thee then, no Wife out o' the Wid- dows Hundred: if I had but as much Title to her, as to have breath'd once on that streight Stomacher of hers, I would now a**ure my self to carry her, yet ere she went out of Smithfield. Or she should carry me, which were the fitter sight I confess. But you are a modest undertaker, by Circumstances and Degrees; come, 'tis Disease in thee, not Judgment. I should offer at all to- gether. Look, here's the poor Fooll again, that was stung by the Wasp ere while.