Ben Jonson - The Staple of News Act 5 Scene 5 lyrics

Enter the Jeerers. Cymbal, Fitton, Shunfield, Almanack, Madrigal, Peni-boy sen. Lickfinger. This is enough to make the Dogs mad too: Let's in upon him. P. sen. How now? what's the matter? Come you to force the Prisoners? make a Rescue? Fit. We come to bail your Dogs. P. sen. They are not bailable, They stand committed without Bail or Mainprise, Your Bail cannot be taken. Shun. Then the truth is, We come to vex you. Alm. Jeer you. Mad. Bate you rather. Cym. A baited Usurer will be good Flesh. Fit. And tender, we are told. P. sen. Who is the Butcher, Amongst you, that is come to cut my Throat? Shun. You would die a Calves d**h fain; but 'tis an Oxes, Is meant you. Fit. To be fairly knock'd o' the Head. Shun. With a good Jeer or two. P. sen. And from your Jaw-bone, Don Assinigo? Cym. Shunfield, a Jeer, you have it. Shun. I do confess, a washing Blow; but Snarl, You that might play the third Dog, for your Teeth, You ha' no Money now? Fit. No, nor no Mortgage. Alm. Nor Band. Mad. Nor Statute. Cym. No, nor blushet Wax. P. sen. Nor you no Office, as I take it. Shun. Cymbal, A mighty Jeer. Fit. Pox o' these true Jests, I say. Mad. He will turn the better Jeerer. Alm. Let's upon him, And if we cannot jeer him down in Wit —— Mad. Let's do't in Noise. Shun. Content. Mad. Charge, Man o' War, Alm. Lay him aboard. Shun. We'll gi' him a Broad-side first. Fit. Where's your Venison now? Cym. Your Red-deer Pies? Shun. Wi' your bak'd Turkeys? Alm. And your Partridges? Mad. Your Pheasants, and fat Swans? P. sen. Like you, turn'd Geese. Mad. But such as will not keep your Capitol. Shun. You were wont to ha' your Breams —— Alm. And Trouts sent in? Cym. Fat Carps and Salmons? Fit. I, and now and then An Emblem o' your self, an o're grown Pike? P. sen. You are a Jack, Sir. Fit. You ha' made a shift To swallow twenty such poor Jacks ere now. Alm. If he should come to feed upon poor John? Mad. Or turn pure Jack-a-lent after all this? Fit. Tut, he'll live like a Gra**hopper — Mad. On Dew. Shun. Or like a Bear, with licking his own Claws. Cym. I, if his Dogs were away. Alm. He'll eat them first, While they are fat. Fit. Faith, and when they are gone, Here's nothing to be seen beyond. Cym. Except His Kindred, Spiders, Natives o' the Soil. Alm. Dust, he will ha' enough, to breed Fleas. Mad. But by that time he'll ha' no Blood to rear 'em. Shun. He will be as thin as a Lantern, we shall see thorow him. Alm. And his Gut Colon tell his Intestina —— [His Dogs bark. P. sen. Rogues, Rascals, (Baw, waw.) Fit. He calls his Dogs to his aid. Alm. O! they but rise at mention of his Tripes. Cym. Let them alone, they do it not for him. Mad. They bark se defendendo. Shun. Or for custom, As commonly Curs do one for another. Lic. Arm, arm you, Gentlemen Jeerers, th' old Canter Is coming in upon you, with his Forces, The Gentleman that was the Canter. Shun. Hence. Fit. Away. Cym. What is he? Alm. Stay not to ask Questions. Fit. He's a Flame. Shun. A Furnace. Alm. A Consumption, [They all run away. k**s where he goes. Lic. See! the whole Covey is scatter'd; 'Ware, 'ware the Hawks. I love to see him fly.