The Puritaine Widdow - LightNovelsOnl.com
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FRAILTY.
There's none, Simon, but Master Pilfer the Tailor: he's above with Sir G.o.dfrey praising of a Doublet: and I must trudge anon to fetch Master Suds, the Barber.
SIMON.
Master Suds,--a good man; he washes the sins of the Beard clean.
[Enter old Skirmish the soldier.]
SKIRMISH.
How now, creatures? what's a clock?
FRAILTY.
Why, do you take us to be Jack ath' Clock-house?
SKIRMISH.
I say again to you what's a clock.
SIMON.
Truly la, we go by the clock our conscience: all worldly Clocks, we know, go false, and are set by drunken s.e.xtons.
SKIRMISH.
Then what's a clock in your conscience?--oh, I must break off, here comes the corporal--hum, hum!--what's a clock?
[Enter Corporal.]
CORPORAL.
A clock? why, past seventeen.
FRAILTY.
Past seventeen? nay, ha's met with his match now, Corporal Oath will fit him.
SKIRMISH.
Thou doost not bawk or baffle me, doost thou? I am a Soldier--past seventeen!
CORPORAL.
Aye, thou art not angry with the figures, art thou? I will prove it unto thee: 12. and 1. is thirteen, I hope, 2.
fourteen, 3. fifteen, 4. sixteen, and 5. Seventeen; then past seventeen: I will take the Dials part in a just cause.
SKIRMISH.
I say 'tis but past five, then.
CORPORAL.
I'll swear 'tis past seventeen, then: doost thou not know numbers? Canst thou not cast?
SKIRMISH.
Cast? dost thou speak of my casting ith' street?
CORPORAL.
Aye, and in the Market place.
SIMON.
Clubs, clubs, clubs!
[Simon runs in.]
FRAILTY.
Aye, I knew by their shuffling, Clubs would be Trump; ma.s.s, here's the Knave, and he can do any good upon 'em: Clubs, clubs, clubs.
[Enter Pye-board.]
CORPORAL.
O villain, thou hast opened a vein in my leg.
PYE.
How no! for shame, for shame; put up, put up.
CORPORAL.
By yon blue Welkin, 'twas out of my part, George, to be hurt on the leg.
[Enter Officers.]
PYE.
Oh peace now--I have a Cordial here to comfort thee.
OFFICER.
Down with 'em, down with em; lay hands upon the villain.
SKIRMISH.
Lay hands on me?
PYE.
I'll not be seen among em now.
[Exit Pye-board.]
CORPORAL.
I'm hurt, and had more need have Surgeons Lay hands upon me then rough Officers.
OFFICER.
Go, carry him to be dressed then.
[Exeunt some of the Sheriff's Officers with Corporal Oath.]
This mutinous Soldier shall along with me to prison.
SKIRMISH.
To prison? where's George?
OFFICER.
Away with him.
