Port. You did nothing, sir.
Man. I am not Samson, nor Sir Guy, nor Colbrand,[862] 20
To mow 'em down before me: but if I spared any[862]
That had a head to hit, either young or old,[862]
He or she, cuckold or cuckold-maker,[862]
Let me ne'er hope to see a chine again;[862][863]
And that I would not for a cow, God save her![862][864] 25
[Within] 'Do you hear, master porter?'[857]
Port. I shall be with you presently, good master puppy.[857]
Keep the door close, sirrah.
Man. What would you have me do?
Port. What should you do, but knock 'em down by[865][866] 30
the dozens? Is this Moorfields to muster in? or have we[866]
some strange Indian with the great tool come to court, the[866]
women so besiege us? Bless me, what a fry of fornication[866]
is at door! On my Christian conscience, this one christening[866][867]
will beget a thousand; here will be father, godfather,[866] 35
and all together.[866]
Man. The spoons will be the bigger, sir. There is a[866]
fellow somewhat near the door, he should be a brazier by[866]
his face, for, o' my conscience, twenty of the dog-days now[866]
reign in's nose; all that stand about him are under the[866][868] 40
line, they need no other penance: that fire-drake did I hit[866]
three times on the head, and three times was his nose[866]
discharged against me; he stands there, like a mortar-piece,[866]
to blow us. There was a haberdasher's wife of small[866][869]
wit near him, that railed upon me till her pinked porringer[866] 45
fell off her head, for kindling such a combustion in the[866][870]
state. I missed the meteor once, and hit that woman, who[866]
cried out 'Clubs!' when I might see from far some forty[866][871]
truncheoners draw to her succour, which were the hope o'[866][872]
the Strand, where she was quartered. They fell on; I made[866][873] 50
good my place: at length they came to the broomstaff to[866][874]
me; I defied 'em still: when suddenly a file of boys behind[866][874][875]
'em, loose shot, delivered such a shower of pebbles, that[866][875][876]
I was fain to draw mine honour in and let 'em win the[866]
work: the devil was amongst 'em, I think, surely.[866] 55
Port. These are the youths that thunder at a play-house[866]
and fight for bitten apples; that no audience, but[866]
the tribulation of Tower-hill, or the limbs of Limehouse,[866][877][878]
their dear brothers, are able to endure. I have some of[866][879]
'em in Limbo Patrum, and there they are like to dance[866] 60
these three days; besides the running banquet of two[866]
beadles that is to come.[866]
Enter Lord Chamberlain.
Cham. Mercy o' me, what a multitude are here![880]
They grow still too; from all parts they are coming,
As if we kept a fair here. Where are these porters,[881] 65
These lazy knaves? Ye have made a fine hand, fellows:[882]
There's a trim rabble let in: are all these
Your faithful friends o' the suburbs? We shall have
Great store of room, no doubt, left for the ladies,
When they pass back from the christening.