Enter KITELY and COB.
Kit. Ha! how many are there, say'st thou?
Cob. Marry, sir, your brother, master Wellbred—
Kit. Tut, beside him: what strangers are there, man?
Cob. Strangers? let me see, one, two; mass; I know not well,—
there are so many.
Kit. How! so many?
Cob. Ay, there's some five or six of them at the most.
Kit.
A swarm, a swarm!
Spite of the devil...how they sting my head
With forked stings, thus wide and large!
But, Cob, How long hast thou been coming hither, Cob?
Cob. A little while, sir.
Kit. Didst thou come running?
Cob. No, sir.
Kit.
Nay, then I am familiar with thy haste.
Bane to my fortunes! what meant I to marry?
I, that before was rank'd in such content,
My mind at rest too, in so soft a peace,
Being free master of mine own free thoughts,
And now become a slave? What! never sigh;
Be of good cheer, man; for thou art a cuckold:
'Tis done, 'tis done! Nay, when such flowing-store,
Plenty itself, falls into my wife's lap,
The cornucopiae will be mine, I know.—But, Cob,
What entertainment had they? I am sure
My sister and my wife would bid them welcome: ha?
Cob. Like enough, sir; yet I heard not a word of it.
Kit.
No;
Their lips were seal'd with kisses, and the voice,
Drown'd in a flood of joy at their arrival,
Had lost her motion, state and faculty.—
Cob,
Which of them was it that first kiss'd my wife,
My sister, I should say?—My wife, alas!
I fear not her: ha! who was it say'st thou?
Cob. By my troth, sir, will you have the truth of it?
Kit. Oh, ay, good Cob, I pray thee heartily.
Cob. Then I am a vagabond, and fitter for Bridewell than your
worship's company, if I saw any body to be kiss'd, unless they
would have kiss'd the post in the middle of the warehouse; for
there I left them all at their tobacco, with a pox!
Kit. How! were they not gone in then ere thou cam'st?
Cob. O no, sir.
Kit. Spite of the devil! what do I stay here then? Cob, follow me.
[Exit.
Cob. Nay, soft and fair; I have eggs on the spit; I cannot go yet,
sir. Now am I, for some five and fifty reasons, hammering,
hammering revenge: oh for three or four gallons of vinegar, to
sharpen my wits! Revenge, vinegar revenge, vinegar and mustard
revenge! Nay, an he had not lien in my house, 'twould never have
grieved me; but being my guest, one that, I'll be sworn, my wife
has lent him her smock off her back, while his own shirt has been
at washing; pawned her neck-kerchers for clean bands for him; sold
almost all my platters, to buy him tobacco; and he to turn monster
of ingratitude, and strike his lawful host! Well, I hope to raise
up an host of fury for't: here comes justice Clement.
Enter Justice CLEMENT, KNOWELL, and FORMAL.
Clem. What's master Kitely gone, Roger?
Form. Ay, sir.
Clem. 'Heart O' me! what made him leave us so abruptly?—How now,
sirrah! what make you here? what would you have, ha?
Cob. An't please your worship, I am a poor neighbour of your
worship's—
Clem. A poor neighbour of mine! Why, speak, poor neighbour.
Cob. I dwell, sir, at the sign of the Water-tankard, hard by the
Green Lattice: I have paid scot and lot there any time this
eighteen years.
Clem. To the Green Lattice?
Cob. No, sir, to the parish: Marry, I have seldom scaped scot-free
at the Lattice.
Clem. O, well; what business has my poor neighbour with me?
Cob. An't like your worship, I am come to crave the peace of your
worship.
Clem. Of me, knave! Peace of me, knave! Did I ever hurt thee, or
threaten thee, or wrong thee, ha?
Cob. No, sir; but your worship's warrant for one that has wrong'd
me, sir: his arms are at too much liberty, I would fain have them
bound to a treaty of peace, an my credit could compass it with your
worship.
Clem. Thou goest far enough about for't, I am sure.
Kno. Why, dost thou go in danger of thy life for him, friend?
Cob. No, sir; but I go in danger of my death every hour, by his
means; an I die within a twelve-month and a day, I may swear by the
law of the land that he killed me.
Clem. How, how, knave, swear he killed thee, and by the law? What
pretence, what colour hast thou for that?
Cob. Marry, an't please your worship, both black and blue; colour
enough, I warrant you. I have it here to shew your worship.
Clem. What is he that gave you this, sirrah?
Cob. A gentleman and a soldier, he says, he is, of the city here.
Clem. A soldier of the city! What call you him?
Cob. Captain Bobadill.
Clem. Bobadill! and why did he bob and beat you, sirrah? How began
the quarrel betwixt you, ha? speak truly, knave, I advise you.
Cob. Marry, indeed, an't please your worship, only because I spake
against their vagrant tobacco, as I came by them when they were
taking on't; for nothing else.
Clem. Ha! you speak against tobacco? Formal, his name.
Form. What's your name, sirrah?
Cob. Oliver, sir, Oliver Cob, sir.
Clem. Tell Oliver Cob he shall go to the jail, Formal.
Form. Oliver Cob, my master, justice Clement, says you shall go to
the jail.
Cob. O, I beseech your worship, for God's sake, dear master
justice!
Clem. 'Sprecious! an such drunkards and tankards as you are, come
to dispute of tobacco once, I have done: away with him!
Cob, O, good master justice! Sweet old gentleman! [To Knowell.
Know. "Sweet Oliver," would I could do thee any good!—justice
Clement, let me intreat you, sir.
Clem. What! a thread-bare rascal, a beggar, a slave that never
drunk out of better than piss-pot metal in his life! and he to
deprave and abuse the virtue of an herb so generally received in
the courts of princes, the chambers of nobles, the bowers of sweet
ladies, the cabins of soldiers!—Roger, away with him! 'Od's
precious—I say, go to.
Cob. Dear master justice, let me be beaten again, I have deserved
it: but not the prison, I beseech you.
Know. Alas, poor Oliver!
Clem. Roger, make him a warrant:—he shall not go, but I fear the
knave.
Form. Do not stink, sweet Oliver, you shall not go; my master will
give you a warrant.
Cob. O, the Lord maintain his worship, his worthy worship!
Clem. Away, dispatch him. [Exeunt Formal and Cob;] How now, master
Knowell, in dumps, in dumps! Come, this becomes not.
Know. Sir, would I could not feel my cares.
Clem. Your cares are nothing: they are like my cap, soon put on,
and as soon put off. What! your son is old enough to govern
himself: let him run his course, it's the only way to make him a
staid man. If he were an unthrift, a ruffian, a drunkard, or a
licentious liver, then you had reason; you had reason to take care:
but, being none of these, mirth's my witness, an I had twice so
many cares as you have, I'd drown them all in a cup of sack. Come,
come, let's try it: I muse your parcel of a soldier returns not all
this while.
[Exeunt.
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