Marry Sir, he hath offended the Law; and Sir,
we take him to be a Theefe too Sir: for wee haue found
vpon him Sir, a strange Pick‑lock, which we haue sent
to the Deputie.
Indeed, it do's stinke in some sort, Sir:
But yet Sir I would proue.
Nay, if the diuell haue giuen thee proofs for sin
Thou wilt proue his. Take him to prison Officer:
Correction, and Instruction must both worke
Ere this rude beast will profit.
He must before the Deputy Sir, he ha's giuen
him warning: the Deputy cannot abide a Whoreߛma
ster: if he be a Whore‑monger, and comes before him,
he were as good go a mile on his errand.
That we were all, as some would seeme to bee
From our faults, as faults from seeming free.
His necke will come to your wast, a Cord sir.
I spy comfort, I cry baile: Here's a Gentleman,
and a friend of mine.
How now noble
Pompey? What, at the wheels
of Cæsar? Art thou led in triumph? What is there none
Pigmalions Images newly
made woman to bee had
now, for putting the hand in the pocket, and extracting
clutch'd? What reply? Ha? What saist thou to this
Tune, Matter, and Method? Is't not drown'd i'th last
raine? Ha? What saist thou Trot? Is the world as it was
Man? Which is the vvay? Is it sad, and few words?
Or how? The tricke of it?
Still thus, and thus: still vvorse?
How doth my deere Morsell, thy Mistris? Pro
cures she still? Ha?
Troth sir, shee hath eaten vp all her beefe, and
she is her selfe in the tub.
Why 'tis good: It is the right of it: it must be
so. Euer your fresh Whore and your pouder'd Baud, an
vnshun'd consequence, it must be so. Art going to pri
Yes faith sir.
Why 'tis not amisse
farewell: goe say
I sent thee thether: for debt
Pompey? Or how?
For being a baud, for being a baud.
Well, then imprison him: If imprisonment be
the due of a baud, why 'tis his right. Baud is he doubt
lesse, and of antiquity too: Baud borne. Farwell good
Pompey: Commend me to the prison
Pompey, you vvill
turne good husband now
Pompey, you will keepe the
I hope Sir, your good Worship wil be my baile?
No indeed wil I not
Pompey, it is not the wear:
I will pray
Pompey) to encrease your bondage if you
take it not patiently: Why, your mettle is the more:
Blesse you Friar.
Bridget paint still,
Come your waies sir, come.