Clem. Right, forsooth: before he was a vintner, he was a shoemaker, and left two or three turnovers more besides myself.

Bess. How long hast thou to serve?

Clem. But eleven years, next grass, and then I am in hope of my freedom. For by that time I shall be at full age.

Bess. How old art thou now ?

Clem. Forsooth, newly come into my teens. I have scraped trenchers this two years, and the next vintage I hope to be bar-boy.

Bess. What's thy name?

Clem. My name is Clem: my father was a baker; and, by the report of his neighbours, as honest a man as ever lived by bread.

Bess. And where dwelt he?

Clem. Below here, in the next crooked street, at the sign of the Leg. He was nothing so tall as I; but a little wee man, and somewhat huck-backed.

Bess. He was once constable?

Clem. He was, indeed; and in that one year of his reign, I have heard them say, he bolted and sifted out more business than others in that office in many years before him.

Bess. How long is it since he died?

Clem. Marry, the last dear year; for when corn grew to be at a high rate, my father never doughed after.

Bess. I think I have heard of him.

Clem. Then I am sure you have heard he was an honest neighbour, and one that never loved to be mealmouthed.

Bess. Well, sirrah, prove an honest servant, and you shall find me your good mistress. What company is in the Mermaid?

Clem. There be four sea-captains. I believe they be little better than spirats, they be so flush of their ruddocks.

Bess. No matter; we will take no note of them: Here they may vent many brave commodities,

By which some gain accrues. They're my good cus

tomers,

And still return me profit.

Clem. Wot you what, mistress, how the two sailors would have served me, that called for the pound and a half of cheese?

Bess. How was it, Clem?

Clem. When I brought them a reckoning, they would have had me to have scored it up. They took me for a simple gull, indeed, that would have had me to have taken chalk for cheese.

Bess. Well, go wait upon the captains: see them want no wine.

Clem. Nor reckoning, neither, take my word, mistress. Roughm. She's now at leisure; I'll to her.—

Lady, what gentlemen are those above?

Bess. Sir, they are such as please to be my guests, And they are kindly welcome.

Roughm. Give me their names.

Bess. You may go search the church-book where they

were christened:

There you perhaps may learn them.

Roughm. Minion, how?

Fors. Fie, fie! you are too rude with this fair creature, That no way seeks t'offend you.

Bess. Pray, hands off.

Roughm. I tell thee, maid, wife, or whate'er thou beest, No man shall enter here but by my leave.

Come, let's be more familiar.

Bess. 'Las, good man!

R. Why, know'st thou whom thou slight'st? I am

Roughman,

The only approved gallant of these parts:

A man of whom the roarers stand in awe,

And must not be put off.

Bess. I never yet heard man so praise himself, But proved in th'end a coward.

Roughm. Coward, Bess?

You will offend me, raise in me that fury
Your beauty cannot calm. Go to; no more:
Your language is too harsh and peremptory;
Pray let me hear no more on't. I tell thee
That quiet day scarce passed me these seven years
I have not cracked a weapon in some fray,

And will you move my spleen?

Fors. What, threat a woman?

Bess. Sir, if you thus persist to wrong my house,
Disturb my guests, and nightly domineer,

To put my friends from patience, I'll complain
And right myself before the magistrate.

Can we not live in compass of the law,
But must be swaggered out on't?
Roughm. Go to, wench

I wish thee well; think on't, there's good for thee
Stored in my breast; and when I come in place,
I must have no man to offend mine eye:

My love can brook no rivals. For this time
I am content your captains shall have peace,

But must not be us'd to't.

Bess. Sir, if you come like other free and civil gentle

men,

You're welcome; otherwise, my doors are barr'd
Roughm. That's my good girl.

I have fortunes laid up for thee: what I have,
Command it as thine own. Go to; be wise.

you.

Bess. Well, I shall study for't.

Rough. Consider on't. Farewell.

[Exit.

Bess. My mind suggests me that this prating fellow

Is some notorious coward. If he persist,

I have a trick to try what metal's in him.

Enter Clem.

What news with you?

Clem. I am now going to carry the captains a reckoning.

Bess. And what's the sum?

Clem. Let me see—eight shillings and six pence. Bess. How can you make that good? Write them a bill.

Clem. I'll watch them for that; 'tis no time of night to use our bills. The gentlemen are no dwarfs; and with one word of my mouth I can tell them what is to be-tall.

Bess. How comes it to so much?

Clem. Imprimis, six quarts of wine, at seven pence the quart, seven sixpences.

Bess. Why dost thou reckon it so?

Clem. Because, as they came in by hab nab, so I will bring them in a reckoning at six and at sevens.

Bess. Well, wine, 3s. 6d.

Clem. And what wants that of ten groats?

Bess. 'Tis two pence over.

Clem. Then put six pence more to it, and make it four shillings wine, though you bate it them in their meat. Bess. Why so, I prithee?

Clem. Because of the old proverb, What they want in meat, let them take out in drink. Then, for twelve pennyworth of anchovies, eighteen pence.

Bess. How can that be?

Clem. Marry, very well, mistress: twelve pence, an

chovies, and sixpence oil and vinegar. Nay, they shall have a saucy reckoning.

Bess. And what for the other half-crown?

Clem. Bread, beer, salt, napkins, trenchers, one thing with another; so the summa totalis is eight shillings and sixpence.

Bess. Well, take the reckoning from the bar.

Clem. What needs that, forsooth? The gentlemen seem to be high-flown already. Send them in but another pottle of sack, and they will cast up the reckoning of themselves. Yes, I'll about it.

Bess. Were I not with so my suitors pestered, And might I enjoy my Spencer, what a sweet, Contented life were this? For money flows,

[Exit.

And my gain's great. But to my Roughman next.
I have a trick to try what spirit's in him.

It shall be my next business; in this passion

For my dear Spencer, I propose me this;

'Mongst many sorrows, some mirth's not amiss. [Exit.

Enter Spencer and Goodlack.

Goodl. What were you thinking, sir?

Spenc. Troth, of the world: what any man should see in't to be in love with it.

Goodl. The reason of your meditation?

Spenc. To imagine that in the same instant that one forfeits all his estate, another enters upon a rich possession. As one goes to the church to be married, another is hurried to the gallows to be hanged; the last having no feeling of the first man's joy, nor the first of the last man's misery. At the same time that one lies tortured upon the rack, another lies tumbling with his mistress overhead and ears in down and feathers. This when I truly consider, I cannot but wonder why any fortune should make a man eostasied.