Bartholomew Fair: A Comedy

by Ben Jonson

Urs. Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the heavy hill—

Knock. Of Holbourn, Ursula, meanst thou so? for what, for what, pretty Urse?

Urs. For cutting halfpenny purses, or stealing little penny dogs out o’ the Fair.

Knock. O! good words, good words, Urse.

Over. Another special enormity. A cut-purse of the sword, the boot, and the feather! those are his marks. [Aside.

Re-enter MOONCALF, with the ale, etc.

Urs. You are one of those horse-leaches that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull-street, of a surfeit of bottle-ale and tripes?

Knock. No, ’twas better meat, Urse: cow’s udders, cow’s udders!

Urs. Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day.

Knock. What! thou’lt poison me with a newt in a bottle of ale, wilt thou? or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Urse? Come, there’s no malice in these fat folks, I never fear thee, an I can scape thy lean Mooncalf here. Let’s drink it out, good Urse, and no vapours!