Very well, Sir, very well, Sir; it shall be done, As fast as ever I can prepare: Who dips[167] with the devil, he had need have a long spoon, Or else full small will be his fare. Yet a proper gentleman I am, of truth: Yea, that may ye see by my long side-gown: Yea, but what am I? a scholar, or a schoolmaster, or else some youth. A lawyer, a student, or else a country clown: A broom-man, a basket-maker, or a baker of pies, A flesh or a fishmonger, or a sower of lies? A louse or a louser, a leek or a lark, A dreamer, a drumble,[168] a fire or a spark? A caitiff, a cutthroat, a creeper in corners, A hairbrain, a hangman, or a grafter of horners? By the gods, I know not how best to devise, My name or my property well to disguise. A merchant, a May-pole, a man or a mackerel, A crab or a crevis, a crane or a cockerel? Most of all these my nature doth enjoy; Sometime I advance them, sometime I destroy. A maid or a mussel-boat, a wife or a wild duck? As bold as blind bayard, as wise as a wood-cock. As fine as fi’pence, as proud as a peacock, As stout as a stockfish, as meek as a meacock. As big as a beggar, as fat as a fool, As true as a tinker, as rich as an owl: With hey-trick, how troll, trey-trip and trey-trace, Troll-hazard with a vengeance, I beshrew his knave’s face; For tro and troll-hazard keep such a range, That poor Haphazard was never so strange: But yet, Haphazard, be of good cheer, Go play and repast thee, man, be merry to-yere.[169] Though victual be dainty and hard for to get, Yet perhaps a number will die of the sweat:[170] Though it be in hazard, yet happily I may, Though money be lacking, yet one day go gay. _Enter_ MANSIPULUS. When, Maud, with a pestilence! what, mak’st thou no haste? Of barberry[171] incense belike thou wouldest taste! By the gods, I have stayed a full great while: My lord he is near at hand by this at the church-stile, And all for Maud mumble-turd, that mangpodding madge, By the gods, if she hie not, I’ll give her my badge. [_Enter_ MANSIPULA.] MANSIPULA. What, drake-nosed drivel, begin you to flont? I’ll fry you in a faggot-stick, by Cock, goodman lout. You boaster, you bragger, you brawling knave, I’ll pay thee thy forty-pence, thou brawling slave My lady’s great business belike is at end, When you, goodman dawcock, lust for to wend. You cod’s-head, you crack-rope, you chattering pie, Have with ye, have at ye, your manhood to try. [_Beat and hustle him._] HAPHAZARD. What! hold your hands, masters. What! fie for shame, fie! What culling, what lulling, what stir have we here? What tugging, what lugging, what pugging by the ear. What, part and be friends, and end all this strife. MANSIPULUS. Nay, rather I wish her the end of my knife.