Ben Jonson - The Staple of News Act 4 Scene 1 lyrics

Peni-boy jun. Fitton, Shunfield, Almanack, Madrigal, Canter, Picklock. Come, Gentlemen, let's breath from Healths a while. This Lickfinger has made us a good Dinner, For our Pecunia: what shall's do with our selves, While the Women water? and the Fidlers eat? Fit. Let's jeer a little. P. jun. Jeer? what's that? Shun. Expect, Sir. Alm. We first begin with our selves, and then at you, Shun. A Game we use. Mad. We jeer all kind of Persons We meet withal, of any Rank or Quality, And if we cannot jeer them, we jeer our selves. P. Ca. a pretty sweet Society! and a grateful! Pic. 'Pray let's see some. Shun. Have at you then, Lawyer. They say, there was one of your Coat in Bet'lem, lately, Alm. I wonder all his Clients were not there. Mad. They were the madder sort. Pic. Except, Sir, one Like you, and he made Verses. Fit. Madrigal, A jeer. Mad. I know. Shun. But what did you do, Lawyer, When you made Love to Mistris Band, at Dinner? Mad. Why? of an Advocate, he grew the Clyent. P. jun. Well play'd, my Poet. Mad. And shew'd the Law of Nature Was there above the Common-Law. Shun. Quit, quit. P. jun. Call you this jeering? I can play at this, 'Tis like a Ball at Tennis. Fit. Very like, But we were not well in. Alm. 'Tis indeed, Sir. When we do speak at volley, all the ill We can one of another. Shun. As this morning, (I would you had heard us) of the Rogue your Uncle. Alm. That Mony-bawd. Mad. We call'd him a Coat-card O' the last order. P. jun. What's that? a Knave? Mad. Some readings have it so, my man*script Doth speak it, Varlet. P. Ca. And your self a Fool O' the first Rank, and one shall have the leading O' the Right-hand File, under this brave Commander. P. jun. What saist thou, Canter? P. Ca. Sir, I say this is A very wholsom exercise, and comely. Like Lepers, shewing one another their Scabs, Or Flies feeding on Ulcers. P. jun. What News Gentlemen? Ha' you any News for after Dinner? methinks We should not spend our time unprofitably. P. Ca. They never lye, Sir, between Meals, 'gainst Supper You may have a Bale or two brought in. Fit. This Canter. Is an old envious Knave! Alm. A very Rascal! Fit. I ha' mark'd him all this Meal, he has done nothing But mock, with scurvy Faces, all we said. Alm. A supercilious Rogue! he looks as if He were the Patrico — Mad. Or Arch-priest o' Canters. Shun. He's some primate metropolitan Rascal, Our Shot-clog makes so much of him. Alm. The Law, And he does govern him. P. jun. What say you, Gentlemen? Fit. We say, we wonder not, your Man o' Law Should be so gracious wi' you; but how it comes, This Rogue, this Canter! P. jun. O, good words. Fit. A Fellow That speaks no Language — Alm. But what gingling Gipsies And Pedlers trade in — Fit. And no honest Christian Can understand — P. Ca. Why? by that argument, You all are Canters, you, and you, and you, [He speaks to all the Jeerers. All the whole World are Canters, I will prove it In your professions. P. jun. I would fain hear this: But stay, my Princess comes, provide the while, I'll call for't anon. How fares your Grace?