Francis Beaumont

“ Ne'er shall we more upon Shrove-Tuesday meet, And pluck down houses of iniquity;— 180
My pain increaseth;—I shall never more Hold open, whilst another pumps both legs, Nor daub a satin gown with rotten eggs; Set up a stake, oh, never more I shall! I die! fly, fly, my soul, to Grocers' Hall! Oh, oh, oh, &c. [Wife. Well said, Ralph! do your obeisance to
the gentlemen, and go your ways: well said, Ralph!] ”

“ Fear not the face of the enemy, nor the noise of the 70
guns, for, believe me, brethren, the rude rumbling of a brewer's cart is far more terrible, of which you have a daily experience; neither let the stink of powder offend you, since a more valiant stink is nightly with you. ”

“ By my troth, sir, I ne'er came there; 'tis too
hot for me, sir. 30
Mer. A merry ghost, a very merry ghost! [Sings.
And where is your true love? Oh, where is yours? Jasp. Marry, look you, sir! [Removes the cloth, and Luce rises out of the Coffin.
Mer. Ah, ha! art thou good at that, i'faith? [Sings.
With hey, trixy, terlery-whiskin, The world it runs on wheels: When the young man's ——, Up goes the maiden's heels. Mistress Merrythought and Michael within.
Mist. Mer. [within.] ”

“ I have no more to say but this: stand to your tacklings, lads, and show to the world you can as well brandish a sword as shake an apron. Saint George, and on, my hearts! All. Saint George, Saint George! [Exeunt.
[Wife. 'Twas well done, Ralph! I'll send thee 90
a cold capon a-field and a bottle of March beer; and, it may be, come myself to see thee. Cit. Nell, the boy hath deceived me much; I did
not think it had been in him. He has performed such a matter, wench, that, if I live, next year I'll have him captain of the galley-foist, or I'll want my will.] ”

“ Ralph. It should seem so certainly, for her breath is
yet inflamed; besides, there is a main fault in the touch-hole, it runs and stinketh; and I tell you moreover, and believe it, ten such touch-holes would breed the pox in the army. Get you a feather, neighbour, get you a feather, sweet oil, and paper, and your piece may do 30
well enough yet. Where's your powder? Green. Here.
Ralph. What, in a paper! as I am a soldier and a
gentleman, it craves a martial court! you ought to die for't. Where's your horn? answer me to that. Green. An't like you, sir, I was oblivious.
Ralph. ”