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  • Title: The Puritan (Folio 3, 1664)

  • Copyright Digital Renaissance Editions. This text may be freely used for educational, non-profit purposes; for all other uses contact the Editor.
    Authors: Thomas Middleton, William Shakespeare
    Not Peer Reviewed

    The Puritan (Folio 3, 1664)

    The Puritan Widow.
    Sir God. Out varlet? it had full three thousand Lincks,
    I have oft told it over at my prayers:
    Over and over, full three thousand Lincks.
    Frail. Had it so, sir, sure it cannot be lost then; I'le
    1110put you in that comfort.
    Sir God. Why? why?
    Frail. Why if your Chain had so many Lincks, it
    cannot chuse but come to light.

    Enter Nicholas.

    1115Sir God. Delusion. Now, long Nicholas, where is my
    Nich. Why about your neck, is't not, sir?
    Sir God. About my neck, Varlet? my Chain is lost,
    'Tis stoln away, I'me robb'd.
    1120Wid. Nay, Brother, show your self a man.
    Nic. If it be lost or stole, if he would be patient, Mi-
    stresse, I could bring him to a Cunning Kinsman of mine
    that would fetch it again with a Sesarara.
    Sir God. Canst thou? I will be patient, say, where
    1125dwells he?
    Nic. Marry he dwells now, sir, where he would not
    dwell and he could choose, in the Marshalsea, sir; but
    he's an exlent fellow if he were out: h'as travell'd all the
    world o're, he, and been in the seven and twenty Provin-
    1130ces: why he would make it be fetcht, sir, if it were rid a
    thousand mile out of town.
    Sir God. An admirable fellow, what lies he for;
    Nic. Why he did but rob a Steward of ten groats
    tother night, as any man would ha done, and there he
    1135lies for't.
    Sir God. I'le make his peace, a trifle, I'le get his par-
    Besides a bountifull reward, I'le about it,
    But see the Clerks, the Justice will do much;
    I will about it straight, good sister pardon me,
    1140All will be well I hope, and turn to good,
    The name of Conjurer has laid my blood.

    Enter Puttock and Ravenshaw two Serjeants, with Yeo-
    man Dogson, to arrest the Scholler George Pye-boord.

    Put. His Hostesse where he lies will trust him no
    1145longer, she hath feed me to arrest him; if you will ac-
    company me, because I know not of what nature the
    Schollar is, whether desperate or swift, you shall share
    with me, Serjeant Raven-shaw, I have the good Angel to
    arrest him.
    1150Raven. Troth I'le take part with thee then, Serjeant,
    not for the sake of the money so much, as for the hate I
    bear to a Schollar: why, Serjeant, 'tis naturall in us
    you know to hate Schollars: naturall besides, they will
    publish our imperfections, knaveries, and Conveyances
    1155upon Scaffolds and Stages.
    Put. I, and spightfully too; troth I have wondred
    how the slaves could see into our breasts so much, when
    our Doublets are button'd with Pewter.
    Raven. I, and so close without yielding: oh, their
    1160parlous fellowes, they will search more with their wits,
    than a Constable with all his Officers.
    Put. Whist, whist, whist, Yeoman Dogson, Yeoman
    Dog. Ha? what sayes Serjeant?
    1165Put. Is he in the Pothecaries shop still,
    Dog. I, I.
    Put. Have an eye, have an eye.
    Raven. The best is, Serjeant, if he be a true Schollar
    he weares no weapon I think.
    1170Put. No, no, he weares no weapon.
    Raven. Masse, I am right glad of that: 'thas put me
    in better heart; nay if I clutch him once, let me alone
    to drag him if he be stiff-necked; I have been one of
    the six my self, that has dragg'd as tall men of their hands,
    1175when their weapons have bin gone, as ever bastinado'd
    a Serjeant---I have done I can tell you.
    Dog. Serjeant Puttock, Serjeant Puttock.
    Put. Hoh.
    Dog. He's comming out single.
    1180Put. Peace, peace, be not too greedy, let him play a
    little, let him play a little, we'll jerk him up of a sudden,
    I ha fisht in my time.
    Raven I, and caught many a fool, Serjeant.

    Enter Pye-boord.

    1185Pye. I parted now from Nicholas: the Chain's couch't,
    And the old Knight has spent his rage upon't,
    The Widow holds me in great admiration
    For cunning Art: 'mongst joyes I'me e'ne lost,
    For my device can no way now be crost,
    1190And now I must to prison to the Captain, and there---
    Put. I arrest you, sir.
    Pye. Oh---I spoke truer then I was aware, I must to
    prison indeed.
    Put. They say you're a Schollar, nay sir---Yeoman
    1195Dogson, have care to his armes---you'll raile again Ser-
    jeants, and stage 'em: you tickle their vices.
    Pye. Nay, use me like a Gentleman, I'me little lesse.
    Put. You a Gentleman? that's a good jest ifaith;
    can a Schollar be a Gentleman,---when a Gentleman
    1200will not be a Schollar;---look upon your wealthy Citi-
    zens Sons, whether they be Schollars or no, that are Gen-
    tlemen by their Fathers Trades: a Schollar a Gentleman!
    Pye. Nay, let Fortune drive all her stings into me,
    she cannot hurt that in me, a Gentleman, Accidens in-
    1205separabile to my blood.
    Raven. A rablement, nay you shall have a bloody
    rablement upon you I warrant you.
    Put. Go, Yeoman Dogson, before, and enter the A-
    ction ith' Counter.
    1210Pye. Pray doe not handle me cruelly, I'le go
    Ex. Dogs.
    Whether you please to have me.
    Put. Oh, he's tame, let him loose Serjeant.
    Pye. Pray at whose Suit is this?
    Put. Why, at your Hostesses Suit where you lie, Mi-
    1215stresse Cunniburrow, for bed and board, the summe four
    pound five shillings and five pence.
    Pye. I know the summe too true, yet I presum'd
    Upon a farther day; well, 'tis my starres:
    And I must bear it now, though never harder.
    1220I swear now, my device is crost indeed.
    Captain must lie by't: this is Deceits seed.
    Put. Come, come away.
    Pye. Pray give me so much time as to knit my garter,
    and I'le away with you.
    1225Put. Well, we must be paid for this waiting upon you,
    this is no pains to attend thus.
    Making to tie his Garter.
    Pye. I am now wretched and miserable, I shall ne're
    recover of this disease: hot Iron gnaw their fists: they
    have struck a Fever into my shoulder, which I shall ne're
    1230shake out again I fear me, till with a true Habeas Corpus
    the Sexton remove me, oh if I take prison once, I shall be