Beggars Bush | Page 6

hour.
Fer. What is't? see: Snap has got it.
Snap. A good crown, marry.
Prig. A crown of gold.
Fer. For our new King: good luck.
Ginks. To the common treasury with it; if't be gold, Thither it must.
Prig. Spoke like a Patriot, Ferret-- King Clause, I bid God save thee first, first, Clause, After this golden token of a crown; Where's oratour Higgen with his gratuling speech now In all our names?
Fer. Here he is pumping for it.
Gin. H'has cough'd the second time, 'tis but once more And then it comes.
Fer. So, out with all: expect now--
Hig. That thou art chosen, venerable Clause, Our King and Soveraign; Monarch o'th'Maunders, Thus we throw up our Nab-cheats, first for joy, And then our filches; last, we clap our fambles, Three subject signs, we do it without envy: For who is he here did not wish thee chosen, Now thou art chosen? ask 'em: all will say so, Nay swear't: 'tis for the King, but let that pass. When last in conference at the bouzing ken This other day we sat about our dead Prince Of famous memory: (rest go with his rags:) And that I saw thee at the tables end, Rise mov'd, and gravely leaning on one Crutch, Lift the other like a Scepter at my head, I then presag'd thou shortly wouldst be King, And now thou art so: but what need presage To us, that might have read it in thy beard As well, as he that chose thee? by that beard Thou wert found out, and mark'd for Soveraignty. O happy beard! but happier Prince, whose beard Was so remark'd, as marked out our Prince, Not bating us a hair. Long may it grow, And thick, and fair, that who lives under it, May live as safe, as under Beggars Bush, Of which this is the thing, that but the type.
Om. Excellent, excellent orator, forward good Higgen, Give him leave to spit: the fine, well-spoken Higgen.
Hig. This is the beard, the bush, or bushy-beard, Under whose gold and silver raign 'twas said So many ages since, we all should smile On impositions, taxes, grievances, Knots in a State, and whips unto a Subject, Lye lurking in this beard, but all kemb'd out: If now, the Beard be such, what is the Prince That owes the Beard? a Father; no, a Grand-father; Nay the great Grand-father of you his people. He will not force away your hens, your bacon, When you have ventur'd hard for't, nor take from you The fattest of your puddings: under him Each man shall eat his own stolen eggs, and butter, In his own shade, or sun-shine, and enjoy His own dear Dell, Doxy, or Mort, at night In his own straw, with his own shirt, or sheet, That he hath filch'd that day, I, and possess What he can purchase, back, or belly-cheats To his own prop: he will have no purveyers For Pigs, and poultry.
Clau. That we must have, my learned oratour, It is our will, and every man to keep In his own path and circuit.
Hig. Do you hear? You must hereafter maund on your own pads he saies.
Clau. And what they get there, is their own, besides To give good words.
Hig. Do you mark? to cut been whids, That is the second Law.
Clau. And keep a-foot The humble, and the common phrase of begging, Lest men discover us.
Hig. Yes; and cry sometimes, To move compassion: Sir, there is a table, That doth command all these things, and enjoyns 'em, Be perfect in their crutches, their feign'd plaisters, And their torn pass-ports, with the ways to stammer, And to be dumb, and deaf, and blind, and lame, There, all the halting paces are set down, I'th' learned language.
Clau. Thither I refer them, Those, you at leisure shall interpret to them. We love no heaps of laws, where few will serve.
Om. O gracious Prince, 'save, 'save the good King Clause.
Hig. A Song to crown him.
Fer. Set a Centinel out first.
Snap. The word?
Hig. A Cove comes, and fumbumbis to it.-- Strike.
The SONG.
Cast our Caps and cares away: this is Beggars Holy-day, At the Crowning of our King, thus we ever dance and sing. In the world look out and see: where's so happy a Prince as he? Where the Nation live so free, and so merry as do we? Be it peace, or be it war, here at liberty we are, And enjoy our ease and rest; To the field we are not prest; Nor are call'd into the Town, to be troubled with the Gown. Hang all Officers we cry, and the Magistrate too, by; When the Subsidie's encreast, we are not a penny Sest. Nor will any go to Law, with the Beggar for a straw. All which happiness he brags, he doth owe unto