Act 4. Scene 1 -

Credulous, Hearsay, Slicer.

Cred. My Name's not Tribulation,
Nor holy Ananias:
I was baptiz'd in fashion,
Our Vicar did hold Bias.
Hear. What, how now Mr Credulous ? so merry?
Cred. Come let's be mad; by yea and nay my Son
Shall have the Turkish Monarchy; he shall
Have it directly: the twelve Companies
Shall be his Kickshaws.
Hear. Bashaws Sir you mean.
Cred. Well Sir, what if I do? Andrew the great Turk!
I would I were a pepper corn if that
It sounds not well: do'st not?
Slic. Yes, very well.
Cred. I'l make it else: Great Andrew Mahomet ,
Imperious Andrew Mahomet Credulous ,
Tell me which name sounds best.
Hear. That's as you speak 'em.
Cred. Oatemeleman Andrew, Andrew Oatmeleman.
Hear. Ottoman Sir you meane.
Cred. Yes Ottoman .
Then M rs Jane , Sir Thomas Bitefiggs Daughter,
That may be the she Great Turk, if she please me.
Sli. The Sign o'th' half Moon that hangs at your door,
Is not for nought.
Cred. That's the Turks Armes they say;
The Empire's destin'd to our house directly.
Hang Shop-books, give's some Wine, hay for a noise
Of Fidlers now.
Hear. The Great Turk loves no Musick.
Cred. Does he not so? nor I. I'l light Tobacco
With my Sum-totals; my Debt-books shall sole
Pyes at young Andrew's Wedding: cry you mercy;
I would say Gentlemen the Great Turks Wedding.
My Deeds shall be slic'd out in Taylors Measures;
They all imploy'd in making M rs Mahomet
New Gowns against the time; hang durty wealth.
Sl. What should the Great Turks father do w th wealth?
Cred. 'Snigs I would fain now heare
Some fighting News.
Slic. There's one will furnish you I warrant you.
Cast. Pox! — — Plague! — — Hell! — — Death! — — Damn'd luck! — — this 'tis! — —
The Devill take all Fortunes: never man
Came off so; quite and clean defunct by Heaven — —
Not a peece left.
Cred. What all your Ord'nance lost?
Cast. But one to bear, and lose it! all the world
Was sure against me.
Cred. 'Snigs how many fell?
Cast. He threw twice twelve.
Cred. By'r Lady a shrewd many.
Cast. The Devill sure was in his hand I think.
Cred. Nay, if the Devill was against you, then — —
Cast. But one for to be hit in all the time — —
And that too safe enough to any ones thinking;
'T stood on eleven.
Cred. 'Slid a mighty slaughter;
But did he stand upon elev'n at once?
Cast. The Plague take all impertinencies, peace.
Cred. These Souldiers are so cholerick there is
No dealing with 'em; then they've lost the day.
Cast. 'Twas ten to one by Heaven all the while.
Cred. And yet all kill'd at last? hard fortune faith.
What news from Bruxels ? or the Hague ? d'y' heare
Ought of the Turks designs?
Cast. I'l make thee news
For the Coranti Dotard.
Cred. Ay, the Coranti,
What doth that say?
Cast. O hell! thou foolish thing
Keep in that tongue of thine, or — —
Slic. Good now peace,
He's very furious when he's mov'd.
Hear. This 'twas.
You must be ventring without your Fancy-man.
Cred. What Officer's that Fancy-man, Lieutenant?
Some great Commander sure.
Cast. Pox! let it go;
I'l win't again: 'twas but the Reliques of
An idle hundred.
Cred. 'Snigs and well remember'd.
You did receive the hundred that I sent you
To th' Race this morning by your man, my Bayliffe?
Cast. Take him away, his wine speaks in him now.
Cred. Godsnigs the Farme is mine, and must be so.
Slic. Debate these things another time, good friends.
Come, come, have Patience. Od's my life away.
There's Mr Haveatall is mad; hee'l spit you,
If he but know you are a Usurer.
Cre. A plot, a plot to take away my life and Farm.
Have. Fight as I live with any one. Lieutenant
Do not come neer me now, nor yet thou Caster ;
It works, 'fore Mars it works; I'l take my walk,
And if I do find any one by Iove . — —
Cast. What's he fox'd too? some drunken Planet raigns
And works upon the world; Provide my fancie
God Noble Patron: I'l win soberly,
I itch till I have beggard all the City.
Hea. Till that you have undone your self you mean.
Mo. Ey save you both: for derne love sayen soothly
Where is thylk amebly Francklin , cleped Meanwel ?
Hear. Hee's gone abroad.
Mo. Lere me whylk way he wended.
Slic. He is gon o'r the fields.
Hear. To the Knights house.
Mo. Why laugh you every dele? so mote I gone,
This goeth not aright; I dread some Covin.
Slic. Now will he meet with Haveatall ; there'll be
A Combate worthy Chronicle. Let's go
And see how this grave motion will bestir him.
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