OVER. _O tempora! O mores!_ I would not have lost my discovery of this one grievance, for my place, and worship o' the bench. How is the poor subject abused here! Well, I will fall in with her, and with her Mooncalf, and win out wonders of enormity. [_Comes forward._]--By thy leave, goodly woman, and the fatness of the Fair, oily as the king's constable's lamp, and shining as his shooing-horn! hath thy ale virtue, or thy beer strength, that the tongue of man may be tickled, and his palate pleased in the morning? Let thy pretty nephew here go search and see. URS. What new roarer is this? MOON. O Lord! do you not know him, mistress? 'tis mad Arthur of Bradley, that makes the orations.--Brave master, old Arthur of Bradley, how do you? welcome to the Fair! when shall we hear you again, to handle your matters, with your back against a booth, ha? I have been one of your little disciples, in my days. OVER. Let me drink, boy, with my love, thy aunt, here; that I may be eloquent: but of thy best, lest it be bitter in my mouth, and my words fall foul on the Fair. URS. Why dost thou not fetch him drink, and offer him to sit? MOON. Is it ale or beer, master Arthur? OVER. Thy best, pretty stripling, thy best; the same thy dove drinketh, and thou drawest on holydays. URS. Bring him a sixpenny bottle of ale: they say, a fool's handsel is lucky. OVER. Bring both, child. [_Sits down in the booth._] Ale for Arthur, and Beer for Bradley. Ale for thine aunt, boy. [_Exit Mooncalf._]--My disguise takes to the very wish and reach of it. I shall, by the benefit of this, discover enough, and more: and yet get off with the reputation of what I would be: a certain middling thing, between a fool and a madman. [_Aside._ _Enter KNOCKEM._ KNOCK. What! my little lean Ursula! my she-bear! art thou alive yet, with thy litter of pigs to grunt out another Bartholomew Fair? ha! URS. Yes, and to amble a foot, when the Fair is done, to hear you groan out of a cart, up the heavy hill-- KNOCK. Of Holbourn, Ursula, meanst thou so? for what, for what, pretty Urse? URS. For cutting halfpenny purses, or stealing little penny dogs out o' the Fair. KNOCK. O! good words, good words, Urse. OVER. Another special enormity. A cut-purse of the sword, the boot, and the feather! those are his marks. [_Aside._ _Re-enter MOONCALF, with the ale, etc._ URS. You are one of those horse-leaches that gave out I was dead, in Turnbull-street, of a surfeit of bottle-ale and tripes? KNOCK. No, 'twas better meat, Urse: cow's udders, cow's udders! URS. Well, I shall be meet with your mumbling mouth one day. KNOCK. What! thou'lt poison me with a newt in a bottle of ale, wilt thou? or a spider in a tobacco-pipe, Urse? Come, there's no malice in these fat folks, I never fear thee, an I can scape thy lean Mooncalf here. Let's drink it out, good Urse, and no vapours! [_Exit Ursula._