And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid Whom this fool dotes on; we can meet his folly, But from his virtues must be run-aways. We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for [Doc barks. all. Cud. Ay? is that the watchword ? She's come. (Sees the Spirit.) Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking-church,' in memory of thee; now come behind, kind cur. And have I met thee, sweet Kate? Oh see, we meet in metre. (The Spirit retires as he advances.) What! dost thou trip from me? Oh, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! "Stay nymph, stay nymph," sing'd Apollo. Tarry and kiss me; sweet nymph, stay ! We will to Chessum Street, And then to the house stands in the highway. Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. [Exit, following the Spirit. (Within.) Oh, help, help! I am drown'd, I am drown'd! 2 Barking Church stood at the bottom of Seething Lane. It was destroyed in the great fire. i Re-enter CUDDY wet. Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Cud. This was an ill night to go a-wooing in; I find it now in Pond's almanack: thinking to land at Katherine's Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet 'tis cool enough. Had you never a paw in this dog-trick? a mange take that black hide of your's! I'll throw you in at Limehouse, in some tanner's pit or other. Dog. Ha, ha, ha, ha! Cud. How now? who's that laughs at me? Hist, to him! (Doc barks.)-Peace, peace! thou didst but thy kind neither; 'twas my own fault. Dog. Take heed how thou trustest the devil another time. Cud. How now! who's that speaks? I hope you have not your reading tongue about you? Dog. Yes, I can speak. Cud. The devil you can! you have read Æsop's fables then I have play'd one of your parts there; the dog that catch'd at the shadow in the water. Pray you, let me catechize you a little; what might one call your name, dog? Dog. My dame calls me Tom. Cud. Tis well, and she may call me Ass; so there's an whole one betwixt us, Tom-Ass: she 2 Cl. How could that be, when there are but seven days in the week? Cud. Prithee peace! I reckon stila nova as a traveller; thou understandest as a fresh-water farmer, that never saw'st a week beyond sea. Ask any soldier that ever received his pay but in the Low Countries, and he'll tell thee there are eight days in the week there, hard by. How dost thou think they rise in High Germany, Italy, and those remoter places? 3 Cl. Aye, but simply there are but seven days in the week yet. Cud. No, simply as thou understandest. Prithee look but in the lover's almanack; when he has been but three days absent, "Oh, says he, I have not seen my love these seven years:" there's a long cut! When he comes to her again and embraces her, “Oh, says he, now methinks I am in Heaven;" and that's a pretty step! he that can get up to Heaven in ten days, need not repent his journey; you may ride a hundred days in a caroch, and be farther off than when you set forth. But I pray you, good morrice-mates, now leave me. I will be with you by midnight. 1 Cl. Well, since he will be alone, we'll back again and trouble him no more. All. But remember, Banks. "Ask any soldier, &c.] Thus Butler: "The soldier does it every day, Eight to the week, for sixpence pay." that you would mingle amongst our morricedancers in the morning. You can dance? Dog. Yes, yes, any thing; I'll be there, but unseen to any but thyself. Get thee gone before; fear not my presence. I have work to-night; I serve more masters, more dames than one. Cud. He can serve Mammon and the devil too. Dog. It shall concern thee, and thy love's purchase. There's a gallant rival loves the maid, And likely is to have her. Mark what a mischief, Before the morrice ends, shall light on him! Cud. Oh, sweet ningle, thy neuf once again; friends must part for a time: farewell, with this remembrance; shalt have bread too when we meet again. If ever there were an honest devil, 'twill be the devil of Edmonton, I see. Farewell, Tom, I prithee dog me as soon as thou [Exit. canst. Dog. I'll not miss thee, and be merry with thee. Those that are joys denied, must take delight In sins and mischiefs; 'tis the devil's right. [Exit. + If ever there were an honest devil, 'twill be the devil of Edmonton.] The allusion is to " Master Peter Fabel," who, as the prologue to the old comedy says, was called, for his sleights and his magic, the merry Devil of Edmonton." By a playful succession of harmless tricks, "Such as but sit upon the skirts of art," he contrives to effect a marriage between a couple of the truest, tenderest turtles, whom the absurd enmity of their parents had separated, and destined to other partners. It is therefore with justice that Peter concludes his part, with hoping that bis toil, to future times will prove The devil of Edmonton did good in love." And take the shape of a sweet lovely maid Whom this fool dotes on; we can meet his folly, But from his virtues must be run-aways. We'll sport with him; but when we reckoning call, We know where to receive; the witch pays for all. [Dog barks. Cud. Ay? is that the watchword? She's come. (Sees the Spirit.) Well, if ever we be married, it shall be at Barking-church, in memory of thee; now come behind, kind cur. And have I met thee, sweet Kate? I will teach thee to walk so late. Oh see, we meet in metre. (The Spirit retires as he advances.) What! dost thou trip from me? Oh, that I were upon my hobby-horse, I would mount after thee so nimble! "Stay nymph, stay nymph," sing'd Apollo. Tarry and kiss me; sweet nymph, stay! We will to Chessum Street, And then to the house stands in the highway. Nay, by your leave, I must embrace you. [Exit, following the Spirit. (Within.) Oh, help, help! I am drown'd, I am drown'd! 2 Barking Church stood at the bottom of Secthing Lane. It was destroyed in the great fire. |