_Ju._ That I like not. _Tob._ Nor I, they walk'd me the Fools Morris. _Lur._ A Book of Wicked Women. _Ju._ That's well thought on. _[L]ur._ Of rude, malicious Women, of proud Women, Of scolding Women, we shall ne'er get in. _Boy._ A ballad of wrong'd Maids. _La._ I'll buy that. _Lur._ A little, very little Book, Of good and godly Women, a very little one, So little you may put it in a Nutshel. _Tob._ With a small print that no body can read it. _Nur._ Peace sirrah, or I'll tear your Books. _Ju._ Open the door and let him in, I love him. _Lur._ A Book of evil Magistrates. _La._ I marry d'ye hear that Justice. _Lur._ And their eviller wives, That wear their Places in their Petticoats. _Ju._ D'ye hear that Lady. _Boy._ A Book new printed against Playing, Dancing, Masking, May-poles; a zealous Brothers Book, And full of Fables. _Lur._ Another Book of Women, of mad women, Women that were born in _March_. [_Exit._ _La._ Are you got in? We would ha pull'd your knaves hide else; this fellow Was sent to abuse us, but we shall have time To talk more with this Justice. _Ju._ Farewel Madam, as you like this, come visit me agen, You and your treble strings, now scold your hearts out-- _Wo._ Shall he carry it thus away? _Nur._ Go to the Judge, and what you'll have us swear-- _La._ I thank ye heartily, I'll keep that for the last, I will go home, And leave him to his Conscience for a while, If it sleep long, I'll wake it with a vengeance. [_Exit._ _Enter Servants._ _1._ What book has he given thee? _2._ A dainty book, a book of the great Navy, Of fifteen hundred ships of Cannon-proof, Built upon Whales to keep their keels from sinking: And Dragons in 'em, that spit fire ten mile; And Elephants that carry goodly Castles. _1._ Dost thou believe it? _2._ Shall we not believe Books in print? _1._ I have _John Taylors_ book of Hempseed too, Which for two lines I hapned on by chance, I reverence. _2._ I prethee what are they? _1._ They are so pat upon the time, as if He studied to answer the late Histriomastix, Talking of change and transformations, That wittily, and learnedly he bangs him, So many a Puritans ruff, though starch'd in print, Be turn'd to Paper, and a Play writ in't [A Play in the Puritans ruff? I'll buy his Works for't, And confute _Horace_ with a Water Poet:] What hast there a Ballad too? _2._ [This?] This is a piece of Poetry indeed; [_He sings; Justice cries within._ What noise is that? _1._ Some cry i th' streets; prethee sing on. [_Sing[s] again._ _2._ Agen, dost not hear? 'tis i'th' house certainly? _1._ 'Tis a strange noise! and has a tang o'th' Justice.