Bartholomew Fair: A Comedy

by Ben Jonson

Pure. What do you mean, wicked men?

Busy. Let them alone, I fear them not.

[Exeunt Officers with Busy, followed by Dame Purecraft.

Lit. Was not this shilling well ventured, Win, for our liberty? now we may go play, and see over the Fair, where we list ourselves: my mother is gone after him, and let her e’en go, and lose us.

Mrs. Lit. Yes, John; but I know not what to do.

Lit. For what, Win?

Mrs. Lit. For a thing I am ashamed to tell you, i’faith; and ’tis too far to go home.

Lit. I pray thee be not ashamed, Win. Come, i’faith, thou shalt not be ashamed: is it any thing about the hobby-horse man? an’t be, speak freely.

Mrs. Lit. Hang him, base Bobchin, I scorn him; no, I have very great what sha’ call ’um, John.

[Whispers him.