The Works of Ben Jonson/Volume 6/A Tale of a Tub/Act III/Scene I

by Ben Jonson

ACT III. SCENE I.

Kentish Town.

Enter Turfe, Clench, Medlay, To-Pan,
Scriben, and Clay.

 Turfe. Passion of me, was ever a man thus cross'd!
All things run arsie versie, up-side down.
High constable! now by our lady of Walsingham,
I had rather be mark'd out Tom Scavinger,
And with a shovel make clean the highways,
Than have this office of a constable,
And a high constable! the higher charge,
It brings more trouble, more vexation with it.
Neighbours, good neighbours, 'vize me what to do;
How we shall bear us in this hue and cry.
We cannot find the captain, no such man
Lodged at the Lion, nor came thither hurt.
The morning we have spent in privy search;
And by that means the bride-ale is deferr'd:
The bride, she's left alone in Puppy's charge;
The bridegroom goes under a pair of sureties,
And held of all as a respected person.
How should we bustle forward? give some counsel
How to bestir our stumps in these cross ways.

 Clench. Faith, gossip Turfe, you have, you say, remission
To comprehend all such as are despected:
Now would I make another privy search
Thorough this town, and then you have search'd two towns.

 Med. Masters, take heed, let us not vind too many:
One is enough to stay the hangman's stomach.
There is John Clay, who is yvound already,^[1]
A proper man, a tile-man by his trade,
A man, as one would zay, moulded in clay;
As spruce as any neighbour's child among you:
And he (you zee) is taken on conspition,
And two or three, they zay, what call you 'em?
Zuch as the justices of coram nobis
Grant—I forget their names, you have many on 'em,
Master high constable, they come to you.—
I have it at my tongue's ends—coney-boroughs,
To bring him strait avore the zessions-house.

 Turfe. O you mean warrens, neighbour, do you not?

 Med. Ay, ay, thik same! you know 'em well enough.

 Turfe. Too well, too well; would I had never known them!
We good vreeholders cannot live in quiet,
But every hour new purcepts, hues and cries,
Put us to requisitions night and day.—
What shud a man say? shud we leave the zearch,
I am in danger to reburse as much
As he was robb'd on; ay, and pay his hurts.
If I should vollow it, all the good cheer
That was provided for the wedding-dinner
Is spoil'd and lost. (), there are two vat pigs
A zindging by the vire: now by St. Tony,^[2]
Too good to eat, but on a wedding-day;
And then a goose will bid you all, come cut me.
Zon Clay, zon Clay, for I must call thee so,
Be of good comfort; take my muckinder,^[3]
And dry thine eyes. If thou be’st true and honest,
And if thou find’st thy conscience clear vrom it,
Pluck up a good heart, we’ll do well enough:
If not, confess a-truth's name. But in faith,
I durst be sworn upon all holy books,
John Clay would ne'er commit a robbery
On his own head.

 Clay. No, truth is my rightful judge;
I have kept my hands herehence from evil-speaking,
Lying, and slandering; and my tongue from stealing.
He do not live this day can say, John Clay,
I have zeen thee, but in the way of honesty.

 Pan. Faith, neighbour Medlay, I durst be his burrough,^[4]
He would not look a true man in the vace.

 Clay. I take the town to concord, where I dwell,
All Kilborn be my witness, if I were not
Begot in bashfulness, brought up in shamefacedness.
Let 'un bring a dog but to my vace that can
Zay I have beat 'un, and without a vault;
Or but a cat will swear upon a book,
I have as much as zet a vire her tail,
And I'll give him or her a crown for 'mends.
But to give out and zay I have robb'd a captain!
Receive me at the latter day, if I
E'er thought of any such matter, or could mind it.

 Med. No, John, you are come of too good personage:
I think my gossip Clench and master Turfe
Both think you would ratempt no such voul matter.

 Turfe. But how unhappily it comes to pass
Just on the wedding-day! I cry me mercy,
I had almost forgot the hue and cry:
Good neighbour Pan, you are the thirdborough,
And D'ogenes Scriben, you my learned writer,
Make out a new purcept—Lord for thy goodness,
I had forgot my daughter all this while!
The idle knave hath brought no news from her.
Here comes the sneaking puppy.—

Enter Puppy and dame Turfe, on different sides.

What's the news?
My heart! my heart! I fear all is not well,
Something's mishapp'd, that he is come without her.

 Pup. O, where's my master, my master, my master?

 Dame T. Thy master! what would'st have with thy master, man?
There is thy master.

 Turfe. What's the matter, Puppy?

 Pup. O master, oh dame! oh dame, oh master!

 Dame T. What say'st thou to thy master or thy dame?

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

 Turfe. What of John Clay?

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

 Clench. The world forfend! I hope it is not so well.

 Clay. O Lord! oh me! what shall I do? poor John!

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

 Clay. Alas,
That ever I was born! I will not stay by't,
[Runs off.For all the tiles in Kilborn.

 Dame T. What of Clay?
Speak, Puppy; what of him?

 Pup. He hath lost, he hath lost—

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

 Pup. Oh Awdrey, Awdrey, Awdrey!

 Dame T. What of my daughter Awdrey?

 Pup. I tell you, Awdrey do you understand me?
Awdrey, sweet master, Awdrey, my dear dame—

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

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

 Turfe. What talk'st thou of the serving-man! where's Awdrey?

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

 Dame T. 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.

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

 Dame T. Now, so you help not, man, I know not, I.

 Turfe. This was your pomp of maids! I told you on't.
Six maids to vollow you, and not leave one
To wait upon 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.

 Turfe. Now villains both! oh that same hue and cry!
Oh neighbours! oh that cursed serving-man!
O maids! O wife! but John Clay, where is he?
How! fled for fear, zay ye? will he slip us now?
We that are sureties must require 'un out.
How shall we do to find the serving-man?
Cock's 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.

Enter Tub.

 Tub. What, in a passion, Turfe?

 Turfe. Ay, good 'squire Tub.
Were never honest varmers thus perplext.

 Tub. Turfe, I am privy to thy deep unrest:
The ground of which springs from an idle plot,
Cast by a suitor to your daughter Awdrey
And thus much, Turfe, let me advertise you;
Your daughter Awdrey met I on the way,
With justice Bramble in her company;
Who means to marry her at Pancras-church.
And there is canon Hugh to meet them ready:
Which to prevent, you must not trust delay;
But winged speed must cross their sly intent:
Then hie thee, Turfe, haste to forbid the banes.

 Turfe. Hath justice Bramble got my daughter Awdrey?
A little while shall he enjoy her, zure.
But O, the hue and cry! that hinders me;
I must pursue that, or neglect my journey:
I'll e'en leave all, and with the patient ass,
The over-laden ass, throw off my burden,
And cast mine office; pluck in my large ears
Betimes, lest some disjudge 'em to be horns:
I'll leave to beat it on the broken hoof,
And ease my pasterns; I'll no more high constables.

 Tub. I cannot choose but smile to see thee troubled
With such a bald, half-hatched circumstance.
The captain was not robb'd, as is reported;
That trick the justice craftily devised,
To break the marriage with the tileman Clay.
The hue and cry was merely counterfeit:
The rather may you judge it to be such,
Because the bridegroom was described to be
One of the thieves first in the felony;
Which, how far 'tis from him, yourselves may guess.
'Twas justice Bramble's fetch to get the wench.

 Turfe. And is this true, 'squire Tub?

 Tub. Believe me, Turfe,
As I am a 'squire; or less, a gentleman.

 Turfe. I take my office back, and my authority,
Upon your worship's words: Neighbours, I am
High constable again. Where's my zon Clay?
He shall be zon yet; wife, your meat by leisure:
Draw back the spits.

 Dame T. That's clone already, man.

 Turfe. I'll break this marriage off; and afterward,
She shall be given to her first betroth'd.
Look to the meat,^[5] wife, look well to the roast.
[Exit, followed by his neighbours. 

 Tub. I'll follow him aloof to see the event.
[Exit. 

 Pup. Dame, mistress, though I do not turn the spit,
I hope yet the pig's head.

 Dame T. Come up, Jack sauce;
It shall be serv'd in to you.

 Pup. No, no service,
But a reward for service.

 Dame T. I still took you
For an unmannerly Puppy: will you come,
And vetch more wood to the vire, master Ball?
[Exit. 

 Pup. I, wood to the vire! I shall piss it out first:
You think to make me e'en your ox or ass,
Or any thing: though I cannot right myself
[Exit.On you, I'll sure revenge me on your meat.

 

1. There is John Clay, who is yvound already,] This play is in the western dialect, as the Sad Shepherd is a specimen of the Lowland Scottish: the letter y is commonly prefixed to participles passive, as well as a poetical augmentation: Quo minus mireris, says Mr. Davis in Junius. B. Jonsonum in fabulâ cui titulus Tale of a Tub, inter alia istius (scil. occidentalis) idiomatis exempla, hæc verba protulisse,
   There is John Clay, who is yvound already. Etymol. Liter. Y. Whal.
   The dialect (which is only partially western) was, I believe, once more general than is commonly supposed, and, in any case, it is quite certain that the Saxon prefix was as universal as the language. Aubrey, who is very careless in his gossipping tales, and who seems to have made far more use of his ears than his eyes, tells us, in more than one place, that "Ben Jonson took a catalogue from Mr. Lacy of the Yorkshire dialect, for the clownery to his comedy called The Tale of a Tub."
2. Now by St. Tony, &c] The mention of pigs puts the unfortunate high-constable in mind of St. Anthony, who was always followed by one. This would not be worth notice, had not Whalley mistaken the poet's meaning, and given us a St. Thomas.
3. ———— take my muckinder.] i. e. (as every child in the kingdom knows) a napkin or handkerchief. Dr. Johnson, who thus explains it by a very pertinent quotation, is set right by Mr. Weber, who with a modesty peculiar to himself, informs us that the Doctor knows nothing of the matter, and that "a muckender is a bavarette or mucketer, according to Cotgrave!" and this he does in direct contradiction of the intent of the speaker, who expressly distinguishes the muckinder from the bib, or bavarette. Beau. and Flet. vol. ix. p. 208.
   It may be of some service to the future editors of Beaumont and Fletcher, (for these poets must not be always disgraced with the name of Weber,) to notice another passage, in which the perspicacity of the editor vies with his knowledge.
   In the Little Thief, "Toby, after reproaching his lady for marrying her daughter to an old rotten justice "with a thousand heathenish smells," adds,
   "And would you mellow my young pretty mistress
   In such a misken?
   
   

   On this Mr. Weber observes: "This obscure phrase has not been noticed by any of the editors, and I am unable to give any satisfactory explanation of it. As a verb it is common in the north of England and Scotland with the sense of—to mistake, to forbear, to disown; but none of these meanings seem applicable to the text. In Skinner's Etymologicon (which, by the bye, Mr. Weber never saw) we have miskin fro, vox quæ mihi apud Higginium solum occurrit et exp. ancilla. But this applies no better to the text than the other." vol. xiv. p. 52. It applies very well; but Mr. Weber, who did not understand a syllable of what he was quoting, spoke at random as usual. This "obscure phrase," misken, or mixen, is a word perfectly plain, and to be found in every dictionary in the language. Mixen, in short, is a dunghill, and the allusion is to the practice of accelerating the ripening or maturing of any thing by burying it in warm dung. Mr. Weber's ignorance is really pitiable, that of his employers wants a name.
   Miskin fro, which Skinner found in Higgin, means dunghill drudge, a term of contempt.

4. Faith, neighbour Medlay, I durst be his burrough,] i. e. his pledge or security. Whal.
   The word, which is pure Saxon, is very common in our old writers.
5. Look to the meat.] Here is a manifest sneer at Shakspeare.

   "Look to the baked meat, good Angelica."

   The unworthy subterfuge of roasting this meat instead of baking it, as in Romeo and Juliet would not have screened the author from the just resentment of the variorum critics, had they luckily known of this passage.