You'll leave your noise anon, ye rascals. Do 3260you take the court for parish garden, ye rude slaves?

3261Leave your gaping.

Good Master Porter, I belong to th'larder.

Belong to th'gallows, and be hanged, ye rogue!

3264Is this a place to roar in? Fetch me a dozen crab tree

3265staves, and strong ones; these are but switches to 'em.

3266I'll scratch your heads; you must be seeing christenings?

3267Do you look for ale and cakes here, you rude

3268rascals?

Pray, sir, be patient. 'Tis as much impossible,

3270Unless we sweep 'em from the door with cannons,

3271To scatter 'em, as 'tis to make 'em sleep

3272On May-day morning, which will never be.

3273We may as well push against Paul's as stir 'em.

How got they in, and be hanged?

Alas I know not; how gets the tide in?

3276As much as one sound cudgel of four foot

3277(You see the poor remainder), could distribute,

3278I made no spare, sir.

You did nothing, sir.

I am not Sampson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colebrand,

3281To mow 'em down before me. But if I spared any

3282That had a head to hit, either young or old,

3283He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker;

3284Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again,

3285And that I would not for a cow, God save her.

Do you hear, Master Porter?

I shall be with you presently, good Master Puppy;

3288Keep the door closed, Sirha.

What would you have me do?

What should you do,

3291But knock 'em down by th'dozens? Is this Moorfields

3292to muster in? Or have we some strange Indian with the

3293great tool come to court, the women so besiege us?

3294Bless me, what a fry of fornication is at door? On my

3295Christian conscience, this one christening will beget a

3296thousand, here will be father, godfather, and all

3297together.

The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is

3299a fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a

3300brazier by his face, for o' my conscience twenty of the

3301dog days now reign in's nose; all that stand about him are

3302under the line, they need no other penance. That

3303fire drake did I hit three times on the head, and three times

3304was his nose discharged against me; he stands there

3305like a mortar piece to blow us. There was a

3306haberdasher's wife of small wit near him that railed upon me,

3307till her pincked porrenger fell off her head for kindling;

3308such a combustion in the state. I missed the meteor once

3309and hit that woman who cried out clubs when I

3310might see from far, some forty truncheoners draw to

3311her succour, which were the hope o'th'Strand where she

3312was quartered; they fell on, I made good my place; at

3313length they came to th'broom staff to me, I defied 'em

3314still, when suddenly a file of boys behind 'em, loose shot,

3315delivered such a shower of pebbles that I was fain to

3316draw mine honor in and let 'em win the work, the

3317Devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.

These are the youths that thunder at a playhouse,

3319and fight for bitten apples, that no audience but the

3320tribulation of Tower Hill, or the Limbs of Limehouse,

3321their dear brothers are able to endure. I have some of

3322'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance

3323these three days. Besides the running banquet of two

3324beadles, that is to come.

Mercy o' me: what a multitude are here?

3327They grow still, too; from all parts they are comming,

3328As if we kept a fair here? Where are these porters?

3329These lazy knaves? Y'have made a fine hand, fellows?

3330There's a trim rabble let in. Are all these

3331Your faithful friends o'th'suburbs? We shall have

3332Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies

3333When they pass back from the christening.

And't please your honor,

3335We are but men, and what so many may do,

3336Not being torn a pieces, we have done.

3337An Army cannot rule 'em.

As I live,

3339If the King blame me for't, I'll lay ye all

3340By th'heels and suddenly. And on your heads

3341Clap round fines for neglect. Y'are lazy knaves,

3342And here ye lie baiting of bombards, when

3343Ye should do service. Hark, the trumpets sound.

3344Th'are come already from the christening;

3345Go break among the press and find a way out

3346To let the troop pass fairly, or I'll find

3347A marshalsea shall hold ye play these two months.

Make way there, for the princess.

You great fellow:

3350Stand close up, or I'll make your head ache.

You i'th'chamblet, get up o'th'rail;

3352I'll peck you o'er the pales, else.