Sing.
Steph.
Fill the Dish Molly,
And think of a Cully.
Here's a health to the best.
Give us more Drink, a Surgeon that's jolly.
And a pox take the rest.
Molly fill.
We cry still,
Fill again, and drink round.
'Till we empty the Pitcher, and fill up the Crown.
Bean.
Hold, hold, our Sister is grown hollow hearted, and like a
jilting Quean, forsakes us in our Tribulation.
Mous.
'Tis ev'n what I look'd for,—The last Dish came as slow,
and frothy, as the last words of a declaring Quaker.
Bean.
When the Spirit sinks down his Throat, and rattles like the
departing Water in a leaky Pump.
Steph.
Blame her not, you here she is sound still, ha! wilt thou so?
Knocks the Pitcher.
Why thats very fair,—She sayes, she will do w'ye for a
Groat a time, 'till you are not able to stand: I'le be hang'd
if the worst Jugg in Town, will do cheaper.
Bean.
Look Moustrappa Weeps,—Hang losses, though our
Dancing Schooles ruin'd, we have sav'd our Instruments: And as
-- 22 --
long as Men drink, and Women paint, we shall still jog on.
Steph.
There are more of our Dulcimers thump'd ev'ry Night in
Covent-Garden, then there are Ghittars scrap'd in a Week, in Madrid;
therefore I say, staunch thou false hearted misbeleiving Jewes-Trump,
do not many industrious Females live well by bidding
Gentlemen welcome to Town, singing at their Chamber doors?
Bean.
And trucking their English small Wares, for French Toyes.
Mous.
O this was a dreadful bout for poor Moustrappa. In robbing
me, they pillag'd six Brokers: ruind my Credit, and quite
kill'd my old dealer, honest Jack the Mercer; for just as I had
brought his Body to such a state, that none else would touch him
so that I could set my own rates, they took me from him; the French
Farendine, he gave me for a Gown is gone too.—But let the
World rub, when 'tis at worst 'twill mend.
Bean.
The devil take thee, for putting me in mind of my losses:
hang me if I can forbear weeping too.
Steph.
Then thou art in danger of drowning for the water's
above thy mouth, and there's no passage by the Nose, for the bridge
was down long ago; and so she prai'd me to tell ye.
Bean.
My friend is a brisk French Merchant, I knew him a
Taylors Trotter: but from 3 Ounces of Jessimy-butter, halfe a Pound
of Powder, and 6 pair of Jessimy-Gloves, by cheating the King of his
Customes, and his fellow Subjects of their Money, he's come to
his beaten Farendine Suit ev'ry day: had not this befall'n me, I had
reduc'd him to his first being, and I had hazarded the saving of his
Soul, by the ruine of body, and estate.—But he is but repreiv'd,
—the pox will take him, for he is a Termagant at laced
Mutton.
Steph.
Mischeif light on ye both, for minding me of my losses;
there was scarce a Manchild in Town, gentle, or simple, from Fifteen
to Threescore, that did not pay me Tribute.—When I walk'd
the Streets, the Shop-keepers bow'd, the Prentices wink'd; If five,
or six Gallants stood in the way, Lord what rustling and cringing
was there to Madam Stephania?—Aunt, cries one, how does my
little Neece?—The Aunt, and the Neece, may both be damn'd,
for any thing you care to please me he slips a Guinny. When shall
we cut up the Giblet Pye? cryes another.—Go y'are a wag, cry
I: there's halfe a Peece. Saies a third, is there never a fresh Runlet
-- 23 --
tap'd? yes quoth I, but you shall be hang'd e're you lick your lips
with it; and so she praid me to tell ye: still something's coming,
for every now and then slips in a close thriving Tradesman, look
ye Mrs. quoth he, I do not use these things, but the case is thus, I'le
be at a word, I want a Wench, give me good sound ware, here's
your Money, ready Money: I won't build Sconces, and bilk you, as
your Gentlemen Bullies do, let me have weight and measure, one
words as good as a thousand. Well quoth I, put your bus'ness into
my hand, I'le use a Conscience, aye, and I did too, for as I hope for
freedome; sometimes I have hardly got 8d. in the Shilling. But
such were sure Customers, they never left me for fear of discovery.
Oh! I could tell you such stories of Vestry-men, and Burgesses, as
would make the Bells ring backwards, i'faith,—Me, and my
bus'ness, was the whole talke of the Town, but all was kep'd secret,
not a word mention'd, unless 'twer in some Coffee-house, or the
Streets.—But now they all forsake me—but 'twill rub out
when 'tis dry, and so I squeeze.—
Sing.
Tough Hemp must we beat?
Dry Bread must we eat,
And be bumbled, and jumbl'd, and grumbl'd at too, too, too.
And drick nothing, but Wat, Wat, Water that's cold?
Then Harry, and Mary, be merry and cheery, as long's we can do, do, do.
And drive away sorrow, untill we are old.
Come bouze it about, and lets squeeze out the Pitcher.
He's a Rogue that stands out, and shall ne'r be the Richer.
Bean.
Heres Ten go downs upon Re. Moustrappa.
Mous.
Put rem to't or I renounce thee.
Bean.
Renounce me Puss, not pledge me, thou salt Suburbian
Hackney, not pledge me.
Mous.
Well Mrs. Beantosser, I hant stood three years at Livery,
and been hyr'd for 6d. a side on Holydaies, by Chimny-Sweepers,
and Coblets 'Prentices, I hant so.—
Bean.
Who has Mrs. Gillian flirt! Mrs. To and agen, who has?
Mous.
I name no body, but touch a gall'd Horse, and he'l
wince.
Bean.
But I know who has been taken up in the common, and rode
-- 24 --
so many heats that they got the French, fashions that was ev'n your
own sweet Monkey face, I scorne to go behind your crooked back
to tell you so.
Steph.
Fight Dog, fight Bear, still here's the juice of life.
Mous.
I never danc'd naked at the French house for Mild-Six-pences,
goody Lerry-come-twang.
Steph.
Out, out, that's old, that's old.
Bean.
Nor I never walk'd the Streets at Night, stark naked in a
Buckram Suit, trim'd with black Ribons at the Codpeice, Mrs. Gincrack,
Mrs. Nimble-go-through.
Steph.
No, no, that thou didst not old Tru-peny, that was the
Tailors Wife,—but 'tis old too.—
Bean.
Who dress'd her self in mans cloahes to commit with another
Womans Husband under his natural Wifes nose, not you?
Mous.
Who goes ev'ry Night upon Water to see men swim on their
backs, and show beastly triks, not Beantosser, no?
Bean.
Who uses to be drunk at Tavernes tear her friends Wigs,
and then give all the Money, she has for a frisk with the Drawer, not
Mrs. Betty Moustrappa?
Mous.
Who storms the Fort in private with a Leathern Gun.
Bean.
Go y'are a mean spirited Crack, to be kep'd by a Club of
'Prentices: and so she praid me to tell ye.
Mous.
'Tis better to receive small ware then give broad Gold, as
thou doest like a silly Trapes.
Bean.
The foul names thy own, and I'le dash it down thy Throat.
Mous.
Help, help, murther, she'l murther me.
Steph.
Hold, hold, hold, keep the Kings Peace, I say keep the
Peace, do you not tremble to use such bug words, if any body
should hear you it would bring a scandal on the house, and make
'em think us Whores, Restore her nose Moustrappa, and you Beantosser,
give back her Eye-brows: I say squeeze the juice, and let acts
of Hostility cease, I was governaunt at home, and I will be justice of
Peace here.
Bean.
I will have no Justice.—
Steph.
Beantosser be orderly, and thou shalt be my Clerk.
Mous.
No private bribery to Corrupt Justice, and to show that I
desire all things may be done without favour or selfishness, let Beantosser
be hang'd, and give me her cloathes, and so I squeeze.
-- 25 --
Bean.
Justice, an't please your Worship, I'le swear the peace
against her.
Steph.
Bear back, bear back, good People don't press upon the
Court.—Constable stand by me, and go fetch the offender before
me.
Bean.
I command thee to come before my Lord Justice.
No—good people will ye ayd and assist me.—We are resolved
to assist Mr. Constable Beantosser to the death.—La you there
now.
Mous.
The Justice is an Ass, the Constable a Sheepshead, and all
the good People a Whore, and a Baud: and so she pray'd me to
tell ye.
Bean.
Grant me a humming Warrant to compel her to come before
you volens nolens of her own accord.
Steph.
How, how, thou art an evil Counsellor, and a Traytor;
thou seekest to deprive me of my honourable Imployment by force
quoth'a, no, some wiser then some: I am a Justice of peace, and must
keep the peace. But if I grant a Warrant to compel, I break the
Peace. If she comes, she comes, all must be done in a peacefull way:
Volens nolens quoth'a.
Bean.
Right Worshipfull, 'tis a common way to grant a Warrant.
Steph.
Ay, ay, 'tis so common that we Magistrates are all the
worse for't, it makes justice so cheap that no People of fashion care
for using any.
Bean.
An't please your Worship,
Steph.
Please me, and please thy self, I say still.
Bean.
To accept this small present?
Steph.
Hay! more Plots, how darst thou corrupt Justice, thou
Treacherous Strumpet! devour the bowels that gave thee Suck?
Now do I know she wants Justice, because she would buy it—Clerk,
take up the Bribery, and give it to the poor: since my Clerk is absent
I will vouchsafe to do it my self.—But did this audacious
Tatter-de-mallion declare with her own Corporal voyce, that she
would not come before us?
Mous.
I did, and I do again send thee word by my self, that thou
shalt come before me,—If thou wilt not, I command thee to stay
there,—and so I squeeze.
Steph.
Does the Rebel send word, her self being present, that
-- 26 --
she will not appear?—it stands not with our high place to put up
such affronts.—Head-Constable, knock her down, and keep the
Peace.
[Bean. and Moust. fight.
Steph.
So now the whole Courts in an uproar, fight, 'till the Devil
part you.—Hold, hold, fall off, and unite against the common
Enemy.
Enter Hectorio, and Drinkallup, drunk and Singing.
Drink.
Francky, was his name a,
And Francky was his name a;
His Beard was black, and his Gills were Red,
And his Bill was all of the same a.
With weapon full sharp, he fought 'till he was dead,
With a Heycock of the game a,
And Francky was his name a,
And with weapon &c.
Hect.
Francky's dead, and gon a,
Poor Franchy's dead, and gon a:
Thy browes are black, and thy lips are Red,
And thy bellies soft as the down a.
Let me be thy Worm, and at every turn,
I will tickle thy flesh, and bone a.
Then prithee cease they moan a,
Since Francky's dead, and gon a.
Let me &c.—
Steph.
Silence in the Court, to keep a sound Peace, I make you
both my High-Constables of Westminister.
Bean. Mous.
Agreed, agreed.
Steph.
Then by Virtue of my Warrant, which shall be made when
we are at leasure, bring those disturbers of the Peace before me.
Bean.
Woman, leave thy babbling, and come before the
Justice.
Mous.
Hectorio, be uncover'd in the Court, and obey the Officers.
Hect.
What Court? what Officers?
Bean.
Why Stephania is Justice of Whorum, and we are both
Head-Constables.
-- 27 --
Hect.
Then Officers, look to your Throats, for there will be above
Ten thousand up in Armes to Night. Sings.—And their bellies soft
as the down a.
Steph.
He has confest, and shall be hang'd 'till he's dead. Come
thou Rake-hell, villain, dog, where are they, what's their design,
who leads 'em on, who brings 'em off, make his Mittimus, before
he answers, and send him to Tyburn.
Hect.
Old touch and go, why so hasty?—My Lord Bacchus leads
'em on: my Lady Venus brings 'em off: their design is to rise up in
their Beds, at midnight, to stab all the Women, and behead all the
Virgins they Catch.
Drink.
Sings—
With a Hey-cock of the game a.
Bean.
O inhumane Canibals!
Mous.
Let 'em do their worst, the Women will be hard enough
for 'em, man to man.
Steph.
And I believe the Virgins had notice of their design, for
there is not one left in my Liberties: Head-constables, dispatch this
Westminster Wedding, I say, tye 'em up.
Bean.
Won't your Worship examine the Woman?
Steph.
I say, take her away, shes a Pick-pocket I know, by her
lac'd Shooes: besides, heark ye, she's a Witch, she carries an enchanted
Ring about her which turns Rich men to beggers, and makes an
Ass of a Justice of Peace.
Drink.
Gentlemen of the Jury, this Villain is no honester then
he should be, he rob'd me of a dozen of precious Turpentine guilt
Nutmegs, and a Pewter Squirt.
Hect.
Which is flat felony, for that's the Iron work to her Plough,
without which it must stand still, and her Familiars must starve: and
so she prayd me to tell ye.
Drink.
But because the old Rogue is a true friend to the Chuck-office,
I care not much if I save him, therefore you may bring in
the Fellony, Man-slaughter.
Hect.
Gentlemen, I am a Witness for the King, and so lets squeeze
all round.
Mous.
Art thou her Cozen after the flesh?
Drink
No, he is my Husband's Brother, for they tumbl'd both
in one Belly.
Bean.
Then thy Husband has a whole Legion of Brothers, for halfe
-- 28 --
the Town have tumbl'd in the same place: and so she pray'd me to
tell ye.
Steph.
Woman, put me in good Bail, or take her away Jaylor.
Hect.
Hold, hold, what Bail dost thou demand?
Steph.
Two substantial Citizens, Aldermens fellowes, or common
Councel men, but no Cuckolds.
Drink.
No Cuckolds, Jaylor take me away,—hold, heark
you, If you'l take a Hundred that are Cuckolds, by the help of my
friends here they shall be produc'd presently.—Nay don't bob
down your heads, I did but try him.
Steph.
No, no! no Cuckolds.
Hect.
This is flat Tyrany, thou maist as well demand a Tribute
of Maiden-heads in the Teens: but Miracles are ceas'd.
Steph.
What is this notorious talking Rogue in for?
Mous.
For Robbing of the Vestry.
Steph.
How Sirrah, who made you a Church-Warden?
Mous.
'Tis but a Vestry matter, and may be agreed at the next
Tavern.
Bean.
Who will pay Scot and lot, as they say, and serve in all under
Offices of trouble, if every Rascal shall usurp that very Office,
where they may reward themselves?
Steph.
Ay, without Authority, or paying a farthing for't, when
'tis well known substantial House-keepers have given hundreds
or't.
Bean.
Yes, and thriv'd upon't too, with a blessing on their pious
endeavours.
Steph.
Head Constables take 'em away to Limbo.
Hect.
We defie thee, and thy Head-Constables, to mortal
battle.
Steph.
Then blood will ensue: and so she prai'd me to tell
ye.—Sound a charge, and keep the Peace.
[Musick plays, they dance, and Exeunt.
-- 29 --
Thomas Duffett [1675], The Mock-tempest: or the Enchanted Castle. Acted at the Theatre Royal. Written By T. Duffett (Printed for William Cademan [etc.], London) [word count] [S36900].
