Ben Jonson - Bartholomew Fayre Act 3. Scene 5 lyrics

Justice, Edgworth, Nightingale. I Cannot beget a Project, with all my political Brain, yet; my Project is how to fetch off this proper young Man from his debaucht Company: I have followed him all the Fair over, and still I find him with this songster: And I begin shrewdly to suspect their familiarity; and the young Man of a terrible taint, Poetry! with which idle Disease, if he be infected, there's no hope of him, in a State-course. Actum est, of him for a Common- wealths-man: if he go to't in Rime, once. Edg. Yonder he is buying o' Ginger-bread: set in quick- ly, before he part with too much of his Money. Nig. My Masters and Friends, and good People, draw neer, &c. [He runs to the Ballad Man. Cok. Ballads! hark, hark! pray thee, Fellow, stay a little, good Numps, look to the Goods. What Ballads hast thou? let me see, let me see my self. VVas. Why so! he's flown to another Lime-bush, there he will flutter as long more; till he ha' ne'er a Feather left. Is there a vexation like this, Gentlemen? will you believe me now, hereafter? shall I have Credit with you? Quar. Yes faith, shalt thou, Numps, and thou art worthy on't, for thou sweatest for't. I never saw a young Pimp-errant and his Squire better match'd. VVin-w. Faith, the Sister comes after 'em, well too. Gra. Nay, if you saw the Justice her Husband, my Guardian, you were fitted for the Mess, he is such a wise one his way — Win-w. I wonder, we see him not here. Gra. O! he is too serious for this Place, and yet better sport then than the other three, I a**ure you, Gentlemen: where ere he is, though't be o' the Bench. Cok. How dost thou call it! A Caveat against He shews his Purse boastingly. Cut-purses! a good Jest, i' faith, I would fain see that Dæmon, your Cut-purse you talk of, that delicate handed Divel; they say he walks here about; I would see him walk now. Look you Sister, here, here, let him come, Sister, and welcome. Ballad-man, does any Cut-purses haunt hereabout? pray thee raise me one or two: begin and shew me one. Nig. Sir, this is a Spell against 'em, spick and span new; and 'tis made as 'twere in mine own Person, and I sing it in mine own defence. But 'twill cost a Penny alone if you buy it. Cok. No matter for the price, thou dost not know me, I see, I am an odd Bartholmew. Ove. Ha'st a fine Picture, Brother? Cok. O Sister, do you remember the Ballads over the Nursery-chimney at home o' my own pasting up, there be brave Pictures. Other manner of Pictures than these Friend. Was. Yet these will serve to pick the Pictures out o' your Pockets, you shall see. Cok. So I heard 'em say. Pray thee mind him not, Fellow: he'll have an Oar in every thing. Nig. It was intended Sir, as if a Purse should chance to be cut in my Presence, now, I may be blamless tho': as by the Sequel will more plainly appear. Cok. We shall find that i' the matter. Pray thee be- gin. Nig. To the tune of Paggingtons Pound, Sir, Cok. Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Nay, I'll put thee in tune, and all! mine own Country dance! Pray thee begin. Nig. It is a gentle Admonition, you must know, Sir, both to the Purse-cutter, and the Purse-bearer. Cok. Not a word more, out o' the tune, an' thou lov'st me: Fa, la la la, la la la, fa la la la. Come, when? Nig. My Masters and Friends, and good People draw near, And look to your Purses, for that I do say; Cok. Ha, ha, this Chimes! good counsel at first dash. Nig. And tho' little Money, in them you do bear. [Cok. Good! Nig. It cost more to get, then to lose in a day. You oft have been told, [ Cok. Well said! he were to blame that would not i' faith. Nig. Both the young and the old; And bidden beware of the Cut-purse so bold: Then if you take heed not, free me from the Curse, Who both give you warning, for, and the Cut-purse. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy Nurse, Then live to be hanged for cutting a Purse. Cok. Good i' faith, how say you, Numps? Is there any harm i' this? [Cok. The more Cox- combs they that did it I wusse. Nig. It hath been upbraided to Men of my Trade, That oftentimes we are the Cause of this Crime. Alack and for pitty, why should it be said? As if they regarded or Places, or Time. Examples have been Of some that were seen, [Cok. God a mercy for that! why should they be more free indeed? Nig. In Westminster Hall, yea, the Pleaders between, Then why should the Judges be free from this Curse, More then my poor self, for cutting the Purse? Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy Nurse, Then live to be hanged for cutting a Purse. Cok. That again, good Ballad-man, that again. O rare! I would fain rub mine Elbow now, but I dare not pull out my hand. On I pray thee, he that made this Ballad, shall be Poet to my Mask. [He sings the burden with him. Nig. At Worc'ter 'tis known well, and even i' the Jayl, A Knight of good Worship did there shew his Face, Against the foul Sinners, in zeal for to raile, And lost (ipso facto) his Purse in the place. [Cok. Is it possible? Nay, once from the Seat Of Judgment so great, A Judge there did lose a fair Pouch of Velvet. [Cok. I' faith? Nig. O Lord for thy mercy, how wicked or worse, Are those that so venture their Necks for a Purse! Youth, youth, &c. Cok. Youth, youth, &c? pray thee stay a little, Friend, yet o' thy Conscience, Numps, speak, is there auy harm i' this? Was. To tell you true, 'tis too good for you, less you had grace to follow it. Jus. It doth discover enormity, I'll mark it more: I ha' not lik'd a paltry piece of Poetry so well a good while. Cok. Youth, Youth, &c! where's this Youth now? A Man must call upon him for his own good, and yet he will not appear: look here, here's for him; Handy- dandy, which Hand will he have? On, I pray thee, with the rest, I do hear of him, but I cannot see him, this Master Youth, the Cut-purse. [He shews his Purse. Nig. At Plays and at Sermons, and at the Sessions, 'Tis daily their practice such booty to make: Yea, under the Gallows, at Executions, They stick not the Stare-abouts Purses to take. Nay one without grace, at a better Place [Cok. That was a fine Fellow! I would have him now. At Court, and in Christmas, before the King's Face, Alack then for pitty must I bear the Curse, That only belongs to the cunning Cut-purse? Cok. But where's their cunning, now, when they should use it? they are all chain'd now, I warrant you. Youth, youth, thou hadst better, &c. The Rat-catchers Charm, are all Fools and Asses to this! A pox on 'em, that they will not come! that a Man should have such a desire to a thing, and want it. Quar. 'Fore God I'ld give half the Fair, and 'twere mine, for a Cut-purse for him to save his longing. [He shews his Purse again. Cok. Look you Sister, here, here, where is't now? which Pocket is't in, for a Wager? Was. I beseech you leave your Wagers, and let him end his Matter an't may be. Cok. O, are you edified Numps? Jus. Indeed he do's interrupt him, too much: There Numps spoke to Purpose. Cok. Sister, I am an Ass, I cannot keep my Purse: on, on, I pray thee Friend. [Again. Edgworth gets up to him, and tickles him in the Ear with a Straw twice to draw his hand out of his Pocket. Nig. But O, you vile Nation of Cut-purses all, Relent and repent, and amend and be sound, And know that you ought not, by honest Mens fall, Advance your own Fortunes, to dye above Ground, And though you go gay, [VVin-w. Will you see sport? look, there's a Fellow gathers up to him, mark. [Qua. Good, 'i faith! O he has lighted on the wrong Pocket. Nig. In Silks as you may, It is not the high way to Heaven, (as they say) Repent then, repent you, for bet- ter, for worse: [Qua. Good, 'i faith! O he has lighted on the wrong Pocket. Nig. And kiss not the Gallows for cutting a Purse. Youth, youth, thou hadst better been starv'd by thy Nurse, Then live to be hanged for cutting a Purse. VVin-w. He has it, 'fore God he is a brave Fellow; pitty he should be detected. All. An excellent Ballad! an excellent Ballad! Edg. Friend, let me ha' the first, let me ha' the first, I pray you. Cok. Pardon me, Sir. First come, first serv'd; and I'll buy the whole bundle too. VVin. That conveyance was better then all, did you see't? he has given the Purse to the Ballad-singer. Quar. Has he? Edg. Sir, I cry you mercy: I'll not hinder the poor Mans Profit: pray you mistake me not. Cok. Sir, I take you for an honest Gentleman; if that be mistaking, I met you to day afore: ha! humh! O God! my Purse is gone, my Purse, my Purse, &c. Was. Come do not make a stir, and cry your self an Ass, thorow the Fair afore your time. Cok. Why, hast thou it, Numps, good Numps, how came you by it? I marl! Was. I pray you seek some other Gamester to play the Fool with: you may lose it time enough, for all your Fair Wit. Cok. By this good Hand, Glove and all, I ha' lost it already, if thou hast it not: feel else, and Mistris Grace's Handkercher too, out o' the t'other Pocket. Was. Why, 'tis well; very well, exceeding pretty, and well. Edg. Are you sure you ha' lost it, Sir? Cok. O God! yes; as I am an honest Man, I had it but e'en now, at youth, youth. Nig. I hope you suspect not me, Sir. Edg. Thee? that were a jest indeed! Dost thou think the Gentleman is foolish? where hadst thou hands, I pray thee? Away Ass, away. Jus. I shall be beaten again, if I be spi'd. Edg. Sir, I suspect an odd Fellow, yonder, is stealing away. Ove. Brother, it is the preaching Fellow! you shall suspect him. He was at your t'other Purse, you know! Nay stay, Sir, and view the work you ha' done, an' you be benefic'd at the Gallows, and preach there, thank your own Handy-work. Cok. Sir, you shall take no pride in your Preferment: you shall be silenc'd quickly. Jus. What do you mean sweet Buds of Gentility. Cok. To ha' my Penyworths out on you: Bud. No less then two Purses a day serve you? I thought you a simple Fellow, when my Man Numps beat you i' the Morning, and pittied you — Ove. So did I, I'll be sworn, Brother; but now I see he is a lewd, and pernicious Enormity: (as Master Overdoo calls him.) Jus. Mine own words turn'd upon me, like Swords. Cok. Cannot a Man's Purse be at quiet for you, i' the Masters Pocket, but you must intice it forth and de- bauch it? Was. Sir, Sir, keep your debauch, and your fine Bar- tholmew Terms to your self; and make as much on 'em as you please. But gi' me this from you, i' the mean time: I beseech you, see if I can look to this. [Wasp takes the License from him. Cok. Why, Numps? Was. Why? because you are an Ass, Sir, there's a Reason the shortest way, and you will needs ha' it; now you ha' got the trick of losing, you'ld lose your Breech an't 'twere loose. I know you, Sir, come, deliver, you'll go and crack the Vermine you breed now, will you? 'tis very fine, will you ha' the Truth on't? they are such retchless Flies as you are, that blow Cut-purses abroad in every Corner; your foolish having of Mo- ney makes 'em. An' there were no wiser then I, Sir, the Trade should lye open for you, Sir, it should i' faith, Sir. I would teach your Wit to come to your Head, Sir, as well as your Land to come into your Hand, I a**ure you, Sir. Win. Alack, good Numps. Was. Nay, Gentlemen, never pitty me, I am not worth it: Lord send me at home once, to Harrow o' the Hill again, if I travel any more, call me Coriat; withal my heart. Quar. Stay, Sir, I must have a word with you in pri- vate. Do you hear. Edg. With me, Sir, what's your Pleasure? good Sir. Quar. Do not deny it. You are a Cut-purse, Sir, this Gentleman here, and I saw you, nor do we mean to de- tect you (though we can sufficiently inform our selves, toward the danger of concealing you) but you must do us a piece of Service. Edg. Good Gentlemen, do not undo me; I am a civil young Man, and but a beginner, indeed. Quar. Sir, your beginning shall bring on your ending for us. We are no Catchpoles nor Constables. That you are to undertake is this; you saw the old Fellow, with the black Box here? Edg. The little old Governour, Sir? Quar. The same: I see, you have flown him to a Mark already. I would ha' you get away that Box from him, and bring it us. Edg. Would you ha' the Box and all, Sir? or only that that is in't? I'll get you that, and leave him the Box to play with still: (which will be the harder o' the two) because I would gain your Worships good Opini- on of me. Win-w. He says well, 'tis the greater Mastry, and 'twill make the more sport when 'tis mist. Edg. I, and 'twill be the longer a missing, to draw on the sport. Quar. But look you do it now, Sirrah, and keep your word: or —— Edg. Sir, if ever I break my word with a Gentleman, may I never read word at my need. Where shall I find you? Quar. Some where i' the Fair, hereabouts. Dispatch it quickly. I would fain see the careful Fool deluded! of all Beasts, I love the serious Ass. He that takes pains to be one, and plays the fool with the greatest diligence that can be. Gra. Then you would not chose, Sir, but love my Guardian, Justice Overdoo, who is answerable to that de- scription in every Hair of him. Quar. So I have heard. But how came you Mistris Welborn, to be his Ward? or have relation to him, at first? Gra. Faith, through a common Calamity, he bought me, Sir; and now he will marry me to his Wives Bro- ther, this wise Gentleman that you see, or else I must pay value o' my Land. Quar. 'Slid, is there no device of disparagement? or so; talk with some crafty Fellow, some Picklock o' the Law! Would I had studied a year longer i' the Inns of Court, and't had been but i' your Case. Win-w. I Master Quarlous, are you proffering? Gra. You'ld bring but little Aid, Sir. Win-w. (I'll look to you 'i faith, Gamester.) An un- fortunate foolish Tribe you are faln into, Lady, I won- der you can endure 'em. Gra. Sir, they that cannot work their Fetters off must wear 'em. Win-w. You see what care they have on you, to leave you thus. Gra. Faith the same they have of themselves, Sir. I cannot greatly complain, if this were all the Plea I had against 'em. Win. 'Tis true! but will you please to withdraw with us a little, and make them think they have lost you. I hope our Manners ha' been such hitherto, and our Lan- guage, as will give you no Cause, to doubt your self in our Company. Gra. Sir, I will give my self no cause; I am so secure of mine own Manners, as I suspect not yours. Quar. Look where John Little-wit comes. Win-w. Away, I'll not be seen by him. Quar. No, you were not best, he'ld tell his Mother, the Widdow. Win-w. Heart, what do you mean? Quar. Cry you mercy, is the Wind there? must not the Widdow be nam'd?