SCENE I.
Enter a Carrier with a Lanthorn in his Hand.
1 Car.
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.
Anon, anon.
1 Car.
I prithee Tom, beat Cuts 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
this is the next way to give poor Jades the Bots: This
House is turn'd upside down, since Robin the 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 is the most villainous House in all
London Road for Fleas: I am stung like a Tench.
1 Car.
Like a Tench? There's ne'er a King in Christendom,
could be better bit, than I have been since the first
Cock.
2 Car.
Why, you will allow us ne'er a Jourden, and
then we leak in your Chimney: And your Chamberlye
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, and two Razes of
Ginger, to be deliver'd as far as Charing-Cross.
1 Car.
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? And 'twere not as good a
-- 1142 --
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 a Clock?
Car.
I think it be two a Clock.
Gads.
I prithee 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.
Gads.
I prithee 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.
[Ex. 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 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 S. Nicholas Clarks,
I'll give thee this Neck.
Chamb.
No, I'll none of it: I prithee keep that for the
Hangman, for I know thou worshipp'st S. 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
-- 1143 --
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 Tranquility;
Burgomasters, and great Oneyers, 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 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 beholding
to the Night, than the Fern-seed, for your walking invisible.
Gads.
Give me thy Hand.
Thou shalt have a Share in our Purpose,
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 the Gelding out of the Stable.
Farewel, ye muddy Knave.
[Exeunt.
Charles Gildon [1709–1710], The works of Mr. William Shakespear; in six [seven] volumes. Adorn'd with Cuts. Revis'd and Corrected, with an Account of the Life and Writings of the Author. By N. Rowe ([Vol. 7] Printed for E. Curll... and E. Sanger [etc.], London) [word count] [S11401].
