Act the Third
Scene I Edinburgh
Enter Slipper one way, and Sir Bartram another way.
Sir Bar. Ho, fellow! stay, and let me speak with thee.
Slip. Fellow! friend, thou dost disbuse me; I am a gentleman.
Sir Bar. A gentleman! how so?
Slip. Why, I rub horses, sir.
Sir Bar. And what of that?
Slip. O simple-witted! mark my reason. They that do good service in the commonweal are gentlemen; but such as rub horses do good service in the commonweal; ergo, tarbox, master courtier, a horse-keeper is a gentleman.
Sir Bar. Here is overmuch wit, in good earnest. But, sirrah, where is thy master?
Slip. Neither above ground nor under ground, drawing out red into white, swallowing that down without chawing that was never made without treading.
Sir Bar. Why, where is he, then?
Slip. Why, in his cellar, drinking a cup of neat and brisk claret, in a bowl of silver. O, sir, the wine runs trillill down his throat, which cost the poor vintner many a stamp before it was made. But I must hence, sir, I have haste.
Sir Bar. Why, whither now, I prithee?
Slip. Faith, sir, to Sir Silvester, a knight, hard by, upon my master’s errand, whom I must certify this, that the lease of East Spring shall be confirmed; and therefore must I bid him provide trash, for my master is no friend without money.
Sir Bar. [aside]. This is the thing for which I su’d so long,
This is the lease which I, by Gnatho’s means,
Sought to possess by patent from the king;
But he, injurious man, who lives by crafts,
And sells king’s favours for who will give most,
Hath taken bribes of me, yet covertly
Will sell away the thing pertains to me:
But I have found a present help, I hope,
For to prevent his purpose and deceit.—
Stay, gentle friend.
Slip. A good word; thou hast won me: this word is like a warm caudle to a cold stomach.
Sir Bar. Sirrah, wilt thou, for money and reward,
Convey me certain letters, out of hand,
From out thy master’s pocket?
Slip. Will I, sir? why, were it to rob my father, hang my mother, or any such like trifles, I am at your commandment, sir. What will you give me, sir?
Sir Bar. A hundred pounds.
Slip. I am your man: give me earnest. I am dead at a pocket, sir; why, I am a lifter, master, by my occupation.
Sir Bar. A lifter! what is that?
Slip. Why, sir, I can lift a pot as well as any man, and pick a purse as soon as any thief in my country.
Sir Bar. Why, fellow, hold; here is earnest, ten pound to assure thee. [Gives money]. Go, despatch, and bring it me to yonder tavern thou seest; and assure thyself, thou shalt both have thy skin full of wine and the rest of thy money.
Slip. I will, sir.—Now room for a gentleman, my masters! who gives me money for a fair new angel,271 a trim new angel? [Exeunt.