Tob. I am glad I am: buy a mat for a bed.
Lur. How the raskal sweats! What a pickle he's in!
Every street he goes through will be a new torment.
Tob. If ever I meet at midnight more a jangling:
I am cold, and yet I drop; buy a mat for a bed, buy a mat.
Lur. He has punishment enough. [Exit.
Enter Wildbrain.
Who's this, my tother youth? he is turn'd Bear.
Wild. I am halfe afraid of my self: this poor shift
I got 'o th' Sexton to convey me handsomly
To some harbor, the wench will hardly know me;
They'll take me for some Watchman o'th' parish;
I ha ne'r a penny left me, that's one comfort;
And ringing has begot a monstrous stomach,
And that's another mischief: I were best go home,
For every thing will scorn me in this habit.
Besides, I am so full of these young bell-ringers;
If I get in adoors, not the power o'th' countrey,
Nor all my Aunts curses shall disembogue me.
Lur. Bid her come hither presently,—hum, 'tis he. [Exit. Serv.
Wild. I am betraid to one that will eternally laugh at me,
Three of these rogues will jeer a horse to death.
Lur. 'Tis Mr. Wildbrain sure, and yet me thinks
His fashion's strangely alt'red, sirrah Watchman,
You ragamuffin, turn you louzie Bears skin:
You with the Bed-rid Bill.