SCENE I. JOBSON'S House.
Enter JOBSON and NELL.

Nell. PR'YTHEE, good Jobson, stay with me tonight, and for once make merry at home.

Job. Peace, peace, you jade, and go spin; for if I ack any thread for my stitching, I will punish you by virtue of my sovereign authority.

Nell. Ay, marry, no doubt of that, whilst you take your swing at the alehouse, spend your substance, get as drunk as a beast, and then come home like a sot, and use one like a dog.

Job. Nounz! do you prate? Why, how now, brazenface, do you speak ill of the government? Don't you know, hussy, that I am king in my own house, and that this is treason against my majesty?

Nell. Did ever one hear such stuff? But I pray you now, Jobson, don't go to the alehouse to-night.

Job. Well, I'll humour you for once; but don't grow saucy upot; for I am invited by sir John Loverule's butler, and am to be princely drunk with punch at the hall-place: we shall have a bowl large enough to swim in.

Nell. But they say, husband, the new lady w ot suffer a stranger to enter her doors; she grudge e a draught of small beer to her own servants, and se ral of the tenants have come home with bree from her ladyship's own hands, only for eme beer in the house.

Bus

Job. A plague on her for a fanatical ja almost distracted the good knight. abroad, feasting with her relations, and come home to-night; and we are to have. a fiddle, and merry gambols.

Nell. O, dear husband, let me go with yo as merry as the night's long.

Job. Why how now, you bold baggage be carried to a company of smooth-fac'd, e ing, lazy, serving-men? No, no, you jade cuckold.

Nell. I'm sure they would make me promised I should see the house; and not been here before since you married an home.

Job. Why, thou most audacious strumpe dispute with me, thy lord and master? Ge or else my strap shall wind about thy foundedly.

AIR.

He that has the best wife,
She's the plague of his life;

But for her who will scold and will quer
Let him cut her off short

Of her meat and her sport,

And ten times a day hoop her barrel, brave
And ten times a day hoop her barrel.

Nell. Well, we poor women must always and never have any joy; but you men run a at your pleasure.

Job. Why, you most pestilent baggage, v hoop'd? Be gone,

Nell.. 1 must obey.

Job. Stay; now I think on't, here's sixpence

e

get ale and apples, stretch and puff thyself up with amb's wool, rejoice and revel by thyself, be drunk and wallow in thy own sty, like a grumbling sow as thou

art.

He that has the best wife,

She's the plague of his life, &c.

[Sings.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. SIR JOHN LOVERULE'S House.

Enter Butler, Cook, Footman, Coachman, Lucy,
LETTICE, &C.

But. I would the blind fiddler and our dancing neighbours were here, that we might rejoice a little, while our termagan lady is abroad: I have made a most Sovereign bowl of punch.

Lucy. We had need rejoice sometimes, for our devilish new lady w I never suffer it in her hearing.

Enter blind Fiddler, JOBSON, and Neighbours. But. Welcome, welcome all; this is our wish.Honest old acquaintance, goodman Jobson, how dost thou?

Job. By my troth, I am always sharp-set towards punch, and am now come with a firm resolution, though but a poor cobler, to be as richly drunk as a lord: I am a true English heart, and look upon drunkenness as the best part of the liberty of the subject.

But. Come, Jobson, we'll bring out our bowl of punch in solemn procession; aud then for a song to [Exeunt. crown our happiness. Re-enter JOBSON, Butler, &c. with a Bowl of Punch.

AIR.

Come, jolly Bacchus, god of wine,
Crown this night with pleasure;
Let none at cares of life repine,
To destroy our pleasure:

Fill up the mighty sparkling bowl,
That every true and loyal soul
May drink and sing without control,
To support our pleasure.

Thus, mighty Bacchus, shalt thou be
Guardian of our pleasure;
That under thy protection we

May enjoy new pleasure.
And as the hours glide away,
We'll in thy name invoke their stay,
And sing thy praises that we may
Live and die with pleasure.

But. The king and the royal family in a

So we'll tarry and drink duvn the moon, brave boys, So we'll tarry and drink down the roun,

Omnes. Huzza!

Enter SIR JOHN LOVER

and Levy I

VERULE.

fiends are

Lady L. O heaven and earth whats here within my doors? Is hell broke loose? What troops here? Sirrah, you impudent rascal, speak

Sir J. For shame, my dear.-As this is a time of mirth and jollity, it has always been the custom of my house to give my servants liberty in this season, and to treat my country neighbours, that with innocent sports they may divert themselves.

Lady L. I say, meddle with you an govern my own house without your Shall I ask you leave to correc}{ Sir J. I thought, madam, fri and these my tenants and ser▾

བ་་་.