He will not force away your hens, your bacon,
When you have ventur'd hard for't, nor take from you
The fattest of your puddings: under him
Each man shall eat his own stolen eggs, and butter,
In his own shade, or sun-shine, and enjoy
His own dear Dell, Doxy, or Mort, at night
In his own straw, with his own shirt, or sheet,
That he hath filch'd that day, I, and possess
What he can purchase, back, or belly-cheats
To his own prop: he will have no purveyers
For Pigs, and poultry.
_Clau._ That we must have, my learned oratour,
It is our will, and every man to keep
In his own path and circuit.
_Hig._ Do you hear?
You must hereafter maund on your own pads he saies.
_Clau._ And what they get there, is their own, besides
To give good words.
_Hig._ Do you mark? to cut been whids,
That is the second Law.
_Clau._ And keep a-foot
The humble, and the common phrase of begging,
Lest men discover us.
_Hig._ Yes; and cry sometimes,
To move compassion: Sir, there is a table,
That doth command all these things, and enjoyns 'em,
Be perfect in their crutches, their feign'd plaisters,
And their torn pass-ports, with the ways to stammer,
And to be dumb, and deaf, and blind, and lame,
There, all the halting paces are set down,
I'th' learned language.
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