Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 6.djvu/151

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A TALE OF A TUB.
141
The greatest clerks are not the wisest men
Ever. Here they are both! what, sirs, disputing,
And holding arguments of verse and prose,
And no green thing afore the door, that shews,
Or speaks a wedding!

Scri. Those were verses now,
Your worship spake, and run upon vive veet.

Turfe. Feet, vrom my mouth, D'oge! leave your 'zurd upinions,
And get me in some boughs.

Scri. Let them have leaves first.
There's nothing green but bays and rosemary.

Pup. And they are too good for strewings, your maids say.

Turfe. You take up 'dority still to vouch against me.
All the twelve smocks in the house, zure, are your authors.
Get some fresh hay then, to lay under foot;
Some holly and ivy to make vine the posts:
Is't not zon Valentine's day, and mistress Awdrey,
[Exit Pappy.] Your young dame, to be married?
I wonder Clay
Should be so tedious; he's to play son Valentine:
And the clown sluggard is not come fro' Kilborn yet!

Med. Do you call your son in law clown, an't please your worship?

Turfe. Yes and vor worship too, my neighbour Medlay,
A Middlesex clown, and one of Finsbury.
They were the first colons of the kingdom here,
The primitory colons, my Diogenes says,
Where's D'ogenes, my writer, now? What were those
You told me, D'ogenes, were the first colons
Of the country, that the Romans brought in here?