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A COMEDY, IN FIVE ACTS.-BY PHILIP MASS INGER,
LADY ALLWORTK. Sie GILES OVERREACH. ALLWORTH.
Tap. Advance your Plymouth cloak,
There dwells, and within call, if it please your SCENE I.-A Village.
A potent monarch, call'd the constable, (worship, WELLBORN discovered, in tattered apparel, knocking That does command a citadel, call'd the stocks; at the Alehouse-door; TAPWELL and FROTH Such as with great dexterity will hale come from the house.
Your threadbare, tatter'dWell. No credit ? nor no liquor ?
Well. Rascal! slave! Tap. Not a suck, sir;
Fro'h. No rage, sir. Not the remainder of a single can,
Tap. At his own peril. Do not put yourself Left by a drunken porter.
In too much heat, there being no water near Froth. Not the dropping of the tap for your To quench your thirst; and other drink, I take it, morning's draught, sir:
You must no more remember; not in a dream, sir. 'Tis verity, I assure you.
Well. Why, thou unthankful villain, dar'st thou Well. Verity, you brach!
talk thus ? The devil turned precisian? Rogue, what am I? Is not thy house, and all thou hast, my gift? Tap. Troth, durst I trust you with a looking- Tap. I find it not in chalk; and Timothy Tapwell glass,
Does keep no other register.
Whose riots fed and cloth'd thee? Wert thou not Well. How? dog! (Raising his cudgel.)
Born on my father's land, and proud to be No. 6.—THE BRITISH DRAMA.
"Twas I, that, when I heard thee swear, if ever
Tap. I must, sir;
For, from the tavern to the taphouse, all,
Well. They're well rewarded,
But, since you're grown forgetful, I will help
Tap. 0, 0, 0!
Froth. Help, help!
Enter ALLWORTH. Allw. Hold, for my sake, hold; Deny me, Frank? They are not worth your anger. Well. For once, thou hast redeemed them from this sceptre, (Shaking his cudgel.) But let 'em vanish; Nay, if you grumble, I revoke my pardon. (Wellborn and Allworth talk apart.) Froth. This comes of your prating, husband. Tap. Patience, Froth; There's law to cure our bruises.
Well. How's this?
Allie. Nay, be not angry. Well. Money from thee? From a boy? one that lives At the devotion of a stepmother, And the uncertain favour of a lord?
I'll eat my arms first. Howsoe'er blind Fortune Hath spent the utmost of her malice on me, Though I am rudely thrust out of an alehouse, And thus accoutred,-know not where to eat,