FullReads

[Noise without.]

Chris.

Ho, peace! what’s the matter there?

Gam.

Here’s one o’ Friday-street would come in.

Chris.

By no means, nor out of neither of the Fish-streets, admit not a man; they are not Christmas creatures: fish and fasting days, foh! Sons, said I well? look to it.

Gam.

No body out o’ Friday-street, nor the two Fish-streets there, do you hear?

Car.

Shall John Butter o’ Milk-street come in? Ask him.

Gam.

Yes, he may slip in for a torch-bearer, so he melt not too fast, that he will last till the masque be done.

Chris.

Right, son.

Our dance’s freight is a matter of eight;
And two, the which are wenches:
In all they be ten, four cocks to a hen,
And will swim to the tune like tenches.

Each hath his knight for to carry his light,
Which some would say are torches
To bring them here, and to lead them there,
And home again to their own porches.

Now their intent,–

[Enter VENUS, a deaf tire-woman.]

Ven

Now, all the lords bless me! where am I, trow? where is Cupid? “Serve the king!” they may serve the cobbler well enough, some of ’em, for any courtesy they have, I wisse; they have need o’ mending: unrude people they are, your courtiers; here was thrust upon thrust indeed: was it ever so hard to get in before, trow?

Chris.

How now? what’s the matter?

Ven.

A place, forsooth, I do want a place: I would have a good place, to see my child act in before the king and queen’s majesties, God bless ’em! to-night.

Chris.

Why, here is no place for you.

Ven.

Right, forsooth, I am Cupid’s mother, Cupid’s own mother, forsooth; yes, forsooth: I dwell in Pudding-lane: ay, forsooth, he is prentice in Love-lane, with a bugle maker, that makes of your bobs, and bird-bolts for ladies.

Chris.

Good lady Venus of Pudding-lane, you must go out for all this.

Ven.

Yes, forsooth, I can sit anywhere, so I may see Cupid act: he is a pretty child, though I say it, that perhaps should not, you will say. I had him by my first husband; he was a smith, forsooth, we dwelt in Do-little-lane then: he came a month before his time, and that may make him somewhat imperfect; but I was a fishmonger’s daughter.

Chris.

No matter for your pedigree, your house: good Venus, will you depart?

Ven.

Ay, forsooth, he’ll say his part, I warrant him, as well as e’er a play-boy of ’em all: I could have had money enough for him, an I would have been tempted, and have let him out by the week to the king’s players. Master Burbage has been about and about with me, and so has old master Hemings, too, they have need of him; where is he, trow, ha! I would fain see him–pray God they have given him some drink since he came.

Chris.

Are you ready, boys? Strike up! nothing will drown this noise but a drum: a’peace, yet! I have not done. Sing,–

Now their intent is above to present–

Car.

Why, here be half of the properties forgotten, father.

Offer

Post and Pair wants his pur-chops and his pur-dogs.

Car.

Have you ne’er a son at the groom porter’s, to beg or borrow a pair of cards quickly?

Gam.

It shall not need; here’s your son Cheater without, has cards in his pocket.

Offer.

Ods so! speak to the guards to let him in, under the name of a property.

Gam.

And here’s New-Year’s-Gift has an orange and rosemary, but not a clove to stick in’t.