"Go to! you and your faws! Tell's, and truly, what's come to the Earl, or I'll have thee whipped."

"Well, to escape whipping more than at your bidding,

learn that the Earl of Effex is not now Master of the Horse."

"What? in difgrace?"

"Ay! with Fortune (his dear Mistress.")

"How?"

"Why, he hath fallen from her wheel."

"Ha' done with your figures! What's happened the Earl?"

"Why, his horse mastered him: Argal, he's not Master o' the Horfe!"

"By'r la'kin thou art a merry fellow, Mr. Tarleton."

"Said I not well, my Lord could lie no lower?"

"On a Tuesday. He fell on a Tuesday; argal, he lay on

a Tuesday!"

"I faith, thou motley-minded gentleman, thou lieft on a Friday, then for not a word o' this is true!"

""Tis, fir, o' my confcience, la ! "

"Your confcience! much!"

"Well, fir, a poor fool's confcience keepeth his heart as tidy and content as many a wife man's that I wot on. The Patch's calf-fkin will hold out against wet weather when your philofopher's dudds be drenched thorough!"

""Tis well faid, Dick, well faid-lad!"

"The fool may dabble i' the Court holy water when witty Lords o' the Council get fhent for foiling o' their fingers."

"Go to go to, firrah! thou haft faid more than thou wotteft the fenfe of."

"Ah! All Tarleton fayeth is well faid when it jumps with your humour! A's a mere crabbed zany when the jeft bites!"

"On my Chriftian confcience this one Chriftening will beget a thoufand. Here will be Father, Godfather, and all together!" KING HENRY VIII. act v. fc. III.

S it had been foretold, there were old ufes and

great ringing of the joy-bells at Steeple

Claydon. Large gatherings about Master

Horne's Tavern; both within, where the ftoups passed from hand to hand, and on the benches outfide, where those whose pleasure was not fo thirsty fat chattering. 'Zekiel, having feen foreign parts, had learned the pleasure of tobacco, and fmoked to the wonderment of all. At the Smithy, by the Mill-race, aged folk were telling all they knew of the anceftors of the Chenies, their honours and their pedigree, their acts and sufferings. Boys, now let out for half-holiday, were getting ready for a bonfire on the green; quieter

girls stood wreathing corn-flowers and fweet herbs very deftly, to crown the village Well and household Glories. And the old bedesmen and almfwomen might be seen struggling and straggling up towards the hofpitable Hall. Young men and maidens, aged folk and children, all were as happy as the merry bells of Steeple-Claydon could atteft.

At his desk, in the deferted schoolroom, fitteth Master Horneboke. He is scratching his wit for a Device. Some pageant. Belike Mofes in the Bulrushes, or fuch. 'Tis an hard matter, and vexatious; for there ftand, just opposite him, packed against the wall of the old church of Chenies, the still inebriate Waights, knocking a noife, as they fay, for hire. They shall be paid handsomely; fo in confcience must they play roundly. The more 'money the bigger mufic: the greater found the better mirth! An the Waights of old Chenies make lefs stir than the joy-bells of Steeple-Claydon, let Mafter Horneboke look to 't! Sir Thomas should have no wrong; but the worth of his worship's benevolence!

At this juncture interfereth Master Constable, dragging off one (him o' the Tabor), who was rubbing and thumping

on his evil inftrument in an impertinent and untimely way. He, being the outside man, was but lamely propped up: and thus the taking of him left the refidue but a precarious and ill-balanced confort.

There's

"Come away, you! I'll give you Jack Drum's entertainment shall heal your ailing, I warrant! Some lenten stuff will diet your humours more better than the feast toward! Come away! And you there, with the Cymbals, or what you call 'em, don't let me hear you crashing in at all seasons when indeed there is no occafion! no remiffion o' the tune!' fay you? Let's e'en ha' more remiffion o' your clanging, then, in filent charity! There's that Grimes there, fo choke full that a'd fain blow his oboe through a's nofe! But 'tis all one, your Drunken Waight maketh your Godly Puritan. The devout ballads of Master Graves, this Grimes will fet to brawls and hornpipes; and, when the discord be too grofs for the Tavern, they be welcome enough i' the Conventicles!"

"Very true for you, good Mafter Conftable!" quoth Horneboke. "Take 'em all away with yourself, and leave me to write in peace."

"What! art writing of a book? Wife Schoolmafter!"