Rochester.
Enter a Carrier with a Lanthorn in his Hand.
1 Carrier.
Heigh ho! an't be not four by the day, I'll
be hang'd. Charles' wain is over the new
chimney, and yet our horse not packt. What,
ostler?
Ost. [within.]
Anon, anon.
1 Car.
I pr'ythee, Tom, beat Cutt's saddle, put a few
flocks in the point: the poor jade is wrung in the withers,
out of all cess.
Enter another Carrier.
2 Car.
Pease and beans are as dank here as a dog,
and that is the next way to give poor jades the bots:
this house is turn'd upside down, since Robin Ostler
dy'd.
1 Car.
Poor fellow never joy'd since the price of
oats rose, it was the death of him.
2 Car.
I think, this be the most villainous house in all
London road for fleas: I am stung like a Tench.
1 Car.
Like a Tench? by th' Mass, there's ne'er a
King in Christendom could be better bit, than I have
been since the first cock.
2 Car.
Why, they will allow us ne'er a jourden, and
then we leak in your chimney: and your chamber-lie
breeds fleas like a Loach.
1 Car.
What, ostler, come away, and be hang'd, come
away.
2 Car.
I have a gammon of bacon, (12) noteand two
-- 366 --
razes of ginger, to be deliver'd as far as Charing-Cross.
1 Car.
'Odsbody, the Turkies in my panniers are
quite starv'd. What, ostler? a plague on thee! hast
thou never an eye in thy head? canst not hear? an
'twere not as good a deed as drink, to break the pate
of thee, I am a very villain. Come and be hang'd,
hast no faith in thee?
Enter Gads-hill.
Gads.
Good morrow, carriers. What's o'clock?
Car.
I think, it be two o'clock.
Gads.
I pr'ythee, lend me thy lanthorn, to see my
gelding in the stable.
1 Car.
Nay, soft, I pray ye; I know a trick worth
two of that, i'faith.
Gads.
I pr'ythee, lend me thine.
2 Car.
Ay, when? canst tell? lend me thy lanthorn,
quoth a! marry, I'll see thee hang'd first.
Gads.
Sirrah, carrier, what time do you mean to
come to London?
2 Car.
Time enough to go to bed with a candle, I
warrant thee. Come, neighbour Mugges, we'll call up
the gentlemen; they will along with company, for they
have great Charge.
[Exeunt Carriers.
Enter Chamberlain.
Gads.
What, ho, chamberlain!—
Chamb.
At hand, quoth pick-purse.
Gads.
That's even as fair, as at hand, quoth the
chamberlain; for thou variest no more from picking
of purses, than giving direction doth from labouring.
Thou lay'st the plot how.
Chamb.
Good morrow, master Gads-hill; it holds currant,
that I told you yesternight. There's a Franklin,
in the wild of Kent, hath brought three hundred marks
-- 367 --
with him in gold; I heard him tell it to one of his
company last night at supper; a kind of auditor, one
that hath abundance of Charge too, God knows what:
they are up already, and call for eggs and butter. They
will away presently.
Gads.
Sirrah, if they meet not with St. Nicholas'
clarks, I'll give thee this neck.
Chamb.
No, I'll none of it: I pr'ythee, keep that for
the hangman; for, I know, thou worshipp'st St. Nicholas
as truly as a man of falshood may.
Gads.
What talk'st thou to me of the hangman? if I
hang, I'll make a fat pair of gallows. For if I hang,
old Sir John hangs with me, and, thou know'st, he's
no starveling. Tut, there are other Trojans that thou
dream'st not of, the which, for sport-sake, are content
to do the profession some grace; that would, if matters
should be look'd into, for their own credit sake, make
all whole. I am join'd with no foot-land-rakers, no
long-staff-six-penny-strikers, none of those mad Mustachio-purple-hu'd-malt-worms;
but with nobility and
tranquillity; (13) noteburgomasters, and great Moneyers;
such as can hold in, such as will strike sooner than
speak; and speak, sooner than drink; and drink, sooner
than pray; and yet I lye, for they pray continually unto
their Saint the Common-wealth; or rather, not pray
-- 368 --
to her, but prey on her; for they ride up and down on
her, and make her their boots.
Chamb.
What, the common-wealth their boots? will
she hold out water in foul way?
Gads.
She will, she will; justice hath liquor'd her.
We steal, as in a castle, cock-sure; we have the receipt
of Fern-seed, we walk invisible.
Chamb.
Nay, I think rather, you are more beholden
to the night, than the Fern-seed, for your walking invisible.
Gads.
Give me thy hand: thou shalt have a share in
our purchase, as I am a true man.
Chamb.
Nay, rather let me have it, as you are a false
thief.
Gads.
Go to,—Homo is a common name to all men.
Bid the ostler bring my gelding out of the stable. Farewel,
ye muddy knave.
[Exeunt.
Lewis Theobald [1733], The works of Shakespeare: in seven volumes. Collated with the Oldest Copies, and Corrected; With notes, Explanatory and Critical; By Mr. Theobald (Printed for A. Bettesworth and C. Hitch [and] J. Tonson [etc.], London) [word count] [S11201].
