Edgworth, Trouble-all, Nightingale, Cokes, Costardmonger.

Come away, Nightingale, I pray thee.

Tro.
VVhither go you? where's your VVarrant?

Edg.
VVarrant! for what, Sir?

Tro.
For what you go about, you know how fit it is;
an' you have no VVarrant, bless you, I'll pray for you,
that's all I can do.

[Goes out.

Edg.
VVhat means he?

Nig.
A Mad-man that haunts the Fair; do you not
know him? It's marvel he has not more Followers after
his ragged Heels.

Edg.
Beshrew him, he startled me: I thought he had known
known of our Plot. Guilt's a terrible thing! Ha' you
prepar'd the Costard-monger?

Nig.
Yes, and agreed for his Basket of Pears; he is at
the Corner here, ready. And your Prise, he comes down
sailing that way all alone, without his Protector; he is
rid of him, it seems.

Edg.
I, I know; I should ha' follow'd his Protector-
ship, for a Feat I am to do upon him: But this offer'd it
self so i' the way, I could not let it scape: Here he
comes, whistle; be this Sport call'd, Dorring the Dottrel.

[Nightingale whistles.

Nig.
Wh, wh, wh, wh, &c.

Cok.
By this Light, I cannot find my Gingerbread
Wife, nor my Hobbyhorse Man, in all the Fair now, to
ha' my Money again: And I do not know the way out
on't, to go home for more. Do you hear, Friend, you
that whistle? what Tune is that you whistle?

Nig.
A new Tune, I am practising, Sir.

Cok.
Dost thou know where I dwell, I pray thee?
Nay, on with thy Tune; I ha' no such haste for an An-
swer: I'll practise with thee.

Cos.
Buy any Pears, very fine Pears, Pears fine.

[Nightingale sets his Foot afore him,
and he falls with his Basket.

Cok.
Gods so! a muss, a muss, a muss, a muss.

Cos.
Good Gentleman, my Ware, my Ware; I am a
poor Man. Good Sir, my Ware.

Nig.
Let me hold your Sword, Sir, it troubles you.

Cok.
Do, and my Cloke, an' thou wilt, and my Hat
too.

[Cokes falls a scrambling, whilst they run
away with his things.

Edg.
A delicate great Boy! Me thinks he out-scram-
bles 'em all. I cannot perswade my self, but he goes to
Grammar-school yet, and plays the Treuant to day.

Nig.
Would he had another Purse to cut, Zekiel.

Edg.
Purse! A Man might cut out his Kidneys, I
think, and he never feel 'em, he is so earnest at the
Sport.

Nig.
His Soul is half way out on's Body, at the Game.

Edg.
Away, Nightingale; that way.

Cok.
I think I am furnish'd for Cattern-pears, for one
Under-meal: Gi' me my Cloak.

Cos.
Good Gentleman, give me my Ware.

Cok.
Where's the Fellow I ga' my Cloak to? My
Cloak and my Hat? Ha! Gods 'lid, is he gone? Thieves,
Thieves; help me to cry, Gentlemen.

[He runs out.

Edg.
Away, Costard-monger, come to us to Ursla's.
Talk of him to have a Soul! 'Heart, if he have any
more than a thing given him in stead of Salt, only to
keep him from stinking, I'll be hang'd afore my time,
presently: Where should it be trow? in his Blood? He
has not so much to'ard it in his whole Body, as will
maintain a good Flea: And if he takes this course, he
will not ha' so much Land left, as to rear a Calf, with-
in this Twelve-month. Was there ever green Plover so
pull'd! That his little Overseer had been here now, and
been but tall enough to see him steal Pears, in exchange
for his Bever-hat and his Cloke thus! I must go find him
out next, for his Black Box, and his Patent (it seems)
he has of his Place; which I think the Gentleman
would have a Reversion of, that spoke to me for it so
earnestly.

He comes again.

Cok.
Would I might lose my Doublet,
and Hose too, as I am an honest Man, and
never stir, if I think there be any thing
but thieving and cozning i' this whole Fair. Barthomew
Fair, quoth he; an' ever any Bartholmew had that luck
in't that I have had, I'll be Martyr'd for him, and in

Throws a-way his Pears.

Smithfield too. I ha' paid for my Pears,
a rot on 'em, I'll keep 'em no longer; you
were Choak-pears to me: I had been bet-
ter ha' gone to Mum-chance for you, I
wuss. Me thinks the Fair should not have
us'd me thus, and 'twere but for my Names-sake; I
would not ha' us'd a Dog o' the Name so. O, Numps
will triumph now! Friend, do you know who I am?
or where I lie? I do not my self, I'll be sworn. Do but
carry me home, and I'll please thee; I ha' Money enough
there. I ha' lost my self, and my Cloke, and my Hat,
and my fine Sword, and my Sister, and Numps, and Mi-
stris Grace, (a Gentlewoman that I should ha' married)
and a Cut-work Handkercher she ga' me, and two Pur-
ses, to day; and my Bargain o' Hobby-horses and Gin-
gerbread, which grieves me worst of all.

[Trouble-all comes again.

Tro.
By whose Warrant, Sir, have you done all this?

Cok.
Warrant? Thou art a wise Fellow indeed; as if
a Man need a VVarrant to lose any thing with!

Tro.
Yes, Justice Overdoo's VVarrant, a Man may get
and lose with, I'll stand to't.

Cok.
Justice Overdoo? Dost thou know him? I lie
there; he is my Brother-in-Law, he married my Sister:
Pray thee shew me the way; dost thou know the House?

Tro.
Sir, shew me your VVarrant; I know nothing
without a VVarrant, pardon me.

Cok.
Why, I warrant thee; come along: thou shalt
see I have wrought Pillows there, and Cambrick Sheets,
and Sweet-bags too. Pray thee guide me to the House.

Tro.
Sir, I'll tell you; go you thither your self first
alone, tell your worshipful Brother your Mind, and but
bring me three Lines of his Hand, or his Clerks, with
Adam Overdoo underneath; here I'll stay you, I'll obey
you, and I'll guide you presently.

Cok.
'Slid, this is an Ass, I ha' found him; Pox upon
me, what do I talking to such a dull Fool? Farewel,
you are a very Coxcomb, do you hear?

Tro.
I think I am; if Justice Overdoo sign to it, I am,
and so we are all: he'll quit us all, multiply us all.