Ben Jonson - The Staple of News Act 3 Scene 1 lyrics

Fitton, Cymbal: To them, Picklock, Register, Clerk, Tho. Barber. You hunt upon a wrong scent still, and think The Air of things will carry 'em, but it must Be reason and proportion, not fine sounds, My cousin Cymball, must get you this Lady. You have entertain'd a Pettyfogger here, Picklock, with trust of an Emissaries Place, And he is all for the young Prodigal, You see he has left us. Cym. Come, you do not know him, That speak thus of him. He will have a Trick, To open us a gap by a Trap-door, When they least dream on't. Here he comes. What news? Pic. Where is my Brother Buz? my Brother Ambler? The Register, Examiner, and the Clerks? Appear, and let us muster all in Pomp, For here will be the rich Infanta, presently, To make her visit. Peni-boy the Heir, My Patron, has got leave for her to play With all her Train, of the old Churl her Guardian. Now is your time to make all court unto her, That she may first but know, then love the Place, And shew it by her frequent visits here: And afterwards get her to sojourn with you. She will be weary of the Prodigal quickly. Cym. Excellent news! Fit. And counsel of an Oracle! Cym. How say you Cousin Fitton? Fit. Brother Picklock, I shall adore thee for this parcel of Tidings, It will cry up the Credit of our Office Eternally, and make our Staple Immortal! Pic. Look your Addresses then be fair and fit, And entertain her and her Creatures too, With all the Migniardise, and quaint Caresses You can put on 'em. Fit. Thou seem'st by thy Language, No less a Courtier than a Man o' Law. I must embrace thee. Pic. Tut, I am Vertumnus, On every change, or chance, upon occasion, A true Chamælion, I can colour for't. I move upon my Axel like a Turn-pike, Fit my Face to the Parties, and become Streight one of them. Cym. Sirs, up into your Desks, And spred the Rolls upon the Table, so. Is the Examiner set? Reg. Yes, Sir. Cym. Ambler and Buz are both abroad now. Pic. We'll sustain their Parts. No matter, let them ply the Affairs without, Let us alone within, I like that well. [Fitton puts on the Office Cloke, and Cymbal the Gown. On with the Cloke, and you with the Staple Gown, And keep your State, stoop only to the Infanta; We'll have a flight at Mortgage, Statute, Band, And hard, but we'll bring Wax unto the retrive: Each know his several Province, and discharge it. Fit. I do admire this nimble Ingine, Picklock. [Fitton is brought about. Cym. Cuz, What did I say? Fit. You have rectified my Error!