_Lur._ 'Tis Mr. _Wildbrain_ sure, and yet me thinks His fashion's strangely alt'red, sirrah Watchman, You ragamuffin, turn you louzie Bears skin: You with the Bed-rid Bill. _Wild._ H'as found me out; There's no avoiding him, I had rather now Be arraign'd at _Newgate_ for a robbery, Than answer to his Articles: your Will Sir, I am in haste. _Lur._ Nay, then I will make bold wi'ye; A Watchman, and asham'd to shew his countenance, His face of authority? I have seen that physiognomy; Were you never in prison for pilfering? _Wild._ How the rogue worries me. _Lur._ Why may not this Be the villain robb'd my house last night, And walks disguis'd in this malignant rugg, Arm'd with a tun of Iron? I will have you Before a Magistrate. _Wild._ What will become of me? _Lur._ What art thou? speak. _Wild._ I am the wandring Jew, and please your worship. _Lur._ By your leave _Rabbi_, I will shew you then A Synagogue, iclip't _Bridewel_, where you, Under correction, may rest your self: You have brought a bill to guard you, there be dog-wh[ip]s To firk such rugg'd currs, whips without bells Indeed. _Wild._ Bells. _Lur._ How he sweats! _Wild._ I must be known, as good at first; now jeer on, But do not anger me too impudently, The _Rabbi_ will be mov'd then. _Lur._ How? _Jack Wildbrain_, What time o'th' Moon man, ha? what strange bells Hast in thy brains? _Wild._ No more bells, No more bells, they ring backwards. _Lur._ Why, where's the wench, the blessing that befel thee? The unexpected happiness? where's that _Jack_? Where are thy golden days? _Wild._ It was his trick, as sure as I am louzie, But how to be reveng'd-- _Lur._ Fie, fie, _Jack_, Marry a Watchmans widow in thy young daies, With a revenue of old Iron and a Rugg? Is this the Paragon, the dainty piece, The delicate divine rogue? _Wild._ 'Tis enough, I am undone, Mark'd for a misery, and so leave prating; Give me my Bill. _Lur._ You need not ask your Taylors, Unless you had better Linings; it may be, To avoid suspition, you are going thus Disguis'd to your fair Mistriss. _Wild._ Mock no further, Or as I live, I'll lay my Bill o' thy pate, I'll take a Watchmans fury into my fingers, To ha no judgement to distinguish persons, And knock thee down. _Lur._ Come, I ha done, and now Will speak some comfort to thee, I will lead thee Now to my Mistriss hitherto conceal'd; She shall take pity on thee too, she loves A handsome man; thy misery invites me To do thee good, I'll not be jealous, _Jack_; Her beauty shall commend it self; but do not, When I have brought you into grace, supplant me. _Wild._ Art thou in earnest? by this cold Iron-- _Lur._ No oaths, I am not costive; here she comes.