Puppy, D. Turfe.

Pup.
OH, where's my Master? my Master? my Ma-
ster?

D. Tur.
Thy Master? what would'st with thy Ma-
ster, man?
There's thy Master.

Tur.
What's the matter, Puppy?

Pup.
Oh Master! oh Dame! oh Dame? oh Master!

D. Tur.
What say'st thou to thy Master, or thy Dame?

Pup.
Oh. John Clay! John Clay! John Clay!

Tur.
What of John Clay?

Med.
Luck grant he bring not news, he shall be hang'd.

Cle.
The world forfend, I hope it is not so well.

Cla.
Oh Lord! oh me! what shall I do? poor John!

Pup.
Oh John Clay! John Clay! John Clay!

Cla.
Alas,
That ever I was born! I will not stay by't,
For all the Tiles in Kilburne.

D. Tur.
What of Clay?
Speak, Puppy; what of him?

Pup.
He hath lost, he hath lost.

Tur.
For luck sake, speak, Puppy; what hath he lost?

Pup.
O, Awdrey, Awdrey, Awdrey!

D. Tur.
What of my Daughter Awdrey?

Pup.
I tell you, Awdrey —— do you understand me?

Awdrey,
sweet Master! Awdrey, my dear Dame ——

Tur.
Where is she? what's become of her, I pray thee?

Pup.
Oh, the Serving-man! the Serving-man! the
Serving-man!

Tur.
What talk'st thou of the Serving-man? where's
Awdrey?

Pup.
Gone with the Serving-man, gone with the Serving-man.

D. Tur.
Good Puppy, whither is she gone with him?

Pup.
I cannot tell: he bad me bring you word,
The Captain lay at the Lion, and before
I came again, Awdrey was gone with the Serving-man;
I tell you, Awdrey's run away with the Serving-man.

Tur.
'Od 'socks! my woman, what shall we do now?

D. Tur.
Now, so you help not, man, I know not, I.

Tur.
This was your pomp of maids: I told you on't.
Six maids to vollow you, and not leave one
To wait upo' your Daughter! I zaid, Pride
Would be paid one day, her old vi'pence, wife.

Med.
What of John Clay, Ball Puppy?

Pup.
He hath lost ———

Med.
His life for velony?

Pup.
No, his wife by villainy.

Tur.
Now, Villains both! oh that same Hue and Cry!
Oh Neighbours! oh that cursed Serving-man!
O maids! O wife! But John Clay, where's he?

[Clay's first mist.

How! fled for vear, zay ye? will he slip us now?
We that are Sureties, must require 'un out.
How shall we do to find the Serving-man?
Cocks bodikins! we must not lose John Clay:
Awdrey, my daughter Awdrey too! let us zend
To all the Towns, and zeek her; but alas,
The Hue and Cry, that must be look'd unto.