Page:The Works of Ben Jonson - Gifford - Volume 6.djvu/206

For you, one Turfe, if your name be Toby Turfe,
Who have let fall, they say, the hue and cry;
And you shall answer it afore the justice.

Turfe. Heaven and hell, dogs and devils, what is this!
Neighbours, was ever constable thus cross'd?
What shall we do?

Med. Faith, all go hang ourselves;
I know no other way to scape the law.

Re-enter Puppy.

Pup. News, news, O news———

Turfe. What, hast thou found out Clay?

Pup. No, sir, the news is, that I cannot find him.

Hugh. Why do you dally, you damn'd russet-coat?
You peasant, nay, you clown, you constable!
See that you bring forth the suspected party,
Or by mine honour, which I won in field,
I'll make you pay for it afore the justice.

Turfe. Fie, fie! O wife, I'm now in a fine pickle.
He that was most suspected is not found;
And which now makes me think he did the deed,
He thus absents him, and dares not be seen.
Captain, my innocence will plead for me.
Wife, I must go, needs, whom the devil drives:
Pray for me, wife and daughter, pray for me.

Hugh. I'll lead the way—thus is the match put off,—
And if my plot succeed, as I have laid it,
My captainship shall cost him many a crown.
[Aside. Exeunt all but Dame T. Awd. and Puppy. 

Dame T.. So, we have brought our eggs to a fair market.
Out on that villain Clay! would he do a robbery?
I'll ne'er trust smooth-faced tileman for his sake.