SIR RAPH.
Call mine host Blague hither!
CHAMB.
I will send one over to see if he be up; I think he be scarce stirring yet.
SIR RAPH.
Why, knave, didst thou not tell me an hour ago, mine host was up?
CHAMB.
Aye, sir, my Master"s up.
SIR RAPH.
You knave, is a up, and is a not up? Dost thou mock me?
CHAMB.
Aye, sir, my M. is up; but I think M. Blague indeed be not Stirring.
SIR RAPH.
Why, who"s thy Master? is not the Master of the house thy Master?
CHAMB.
Yes, sir; but M. Blague dwells over the way.
SIR ARTHUR.
Is not this the George? Before G.o.d, there"s some villany in this.
CHAMB.
Sfoot, our signs removed; this is strange!
[Exeunt.]
SCENE II. The George Inn.
[Enter Blague, trussing his points.]
BLAGUE.
Chamberlen, speak up to the new lodgings, bid Nell look well to the baked meats.
[Enter Sir Arthur and Sir Raph.]
How now, my old Jenerts bauke my house, my castle? lie in Waltham all night, and not under the Canopy of your host Blague"s house?
SIR ARTHUR.
Mine host, mine host, we lay all night at the George in Waltham; but whether the George be your fee-simple or no, tis a doubtful question: look upon your sign.
HOST.
Body of Saint George, this is mine overthwart neighbour hath done this to seduce my blind customers. I"ll tickle his Catastrophe for this; if I do not indite him at next a.s.sisses for Burglary, let me die of the yellows; for I see tis no boot in these days to serve the good Duke of Norfolk. The villanous world is turned manger; one Jade deceives another, and your Ostler plays his part commonly for the fourth share.
Have we Comedies in hand, you wh.o.r.eson, villanous male London Letcher?
SIR ARTHUR.
Mine host, we have had the moylingst night of it that ever we had in our lives.
HOST.
Ist certain?
SIR RAPH.
We have been in the Forest all night almost.
HOST.
S"foot, how did I miss you? hart, I was a stealing a Buck there.
SIR ARTHUR.
A plague on you; we were stayed for you.
HOST.
Were you, my n.o.ble Romans? Why, you shall share; the venison is a footing. Sine Cerere and Baccho friget Venus; That is, there"s a good breakfast provided for a marriage that"s in my house this morning.
SIR ARTHUR.
A marriage, mine host?
HOST.
A conjunction copulative; a gallant match between your daughter and M. Raymond Mountchensey, young Juventus.
SIR ARTHUR.
How?
HOST.
Tis firm, tis done. We"ll shew you a president i"th civil law fort.
SIR RAPH.
How? married?
HOST.
Leave tricks and admiration. There"s a cleanly pair of sheets in the bed in Orchard chamber, and they shall lie there. What?
I"ll do it; I"ll serve the good Duke of Norfolk.
SIR ARTHUR.
Thou shalt repent this, Blague.
SIR RAPH.
If any law in England will make thee smart for this, expect it with all severity.
HOST.
I renounce your defiance; if you parle so roughly, I"ll barracado my gates against you. stand fair, bully; Priest, come off from the rereward! What can you say now? Twas done in my house; I have shelter i"th Court for"t. D"yee see yon bay window? I serve the good duke of Norfolk, and tis his lodging. Storm, I care not, serving the good Duke of Norfolk: thou art an actor in this, and thou shalt carry fire in thy face eternally.
[Enter Smug, Mountchensey, Harry Clare, and Milliscent.]