Epi.  Have any Christian soule broke from my Iayle This night, and gone i’the dark to find out heaven?  Are any of my hated prisoners dead?

Clown.  Dead? yes; and five more come into the world instead of one.  These Christians are like Artichoaks of Jerusalam; they over-runne any ground they grow in.

Epi.  Are they so fruitfull?

Clown.  Fruitfull! a Hee Christian told me that amongst them the young fellowes are such Earing rioted[173] Rascals that they will runne into the parke of Matrimony at sixteene; are Bucks of the first head at eighteenes and by twenty carry in some places their hornes on their backs.

Epi.  On their backs?  What kind of Christians are they?

Clown.  Marry, these are Christian Butchers, who when their Oxen are flead throw their skinnes on their shoulders.

Epi.  I thought they had beene Cuckolds.

Clown.  Amongst them? no; there’s no woman, that’s a true Christian, will horne her husband.  There dyed to night no lesse than six and a halfe in our Iayle.

Epi.  How? six and a halfe?

Clown.  One was a girle of thirteene, with child.

Epi.  Thy tidings fats me.

Clown.  You may have one or two of ’em drest to your Dinner to make you more fat.

Epi.  Unhallowed slave! let a Jew eate Pork, when I but touch a Christian.

Clown.  You are not of my dyet:  Would I had a young Loyne of Porke to my Supper, and two Loynes of a pretty sweate Christian after Supper.

Epi.  Would thou mightst eate and choake.

Clown.  Never at such meate; it goes downe without chawing.

Epi.  We have a taske in hand, to kill a Serpent
Which spits her poyson in our kingdomes face. 
And that we speake not of (?); lives still
That Witch Victoria, wife to Bellizarius? 
Is Death afraid to touch the Hagge? does hunger
Tremble to gnaw her flesh off, dry up her blood
And make her eate her selfe in Curses, ha?

Clown.  Ha? your mouth gapes as if you would eate me.  The King commanded she should be laden with Irons,—­I have laid two load upon her; then to pop her into the Dungeon,—­I thrust her downe as deepe as I could; then to give her no meate,—­alas my cheekes cry out, I have meate little enough for my selfe.  Three days and three nights has her Cupboard had no victuals in it; I saw no lesse than Fifty sixe Mice runne out of the hole she lies in, and not a crumme of bread or bit of cheese amongst them.

Epi.  ’Tis the better.

Clown.  I heard her one morning cough pittifully; upon which I gave her a messe of Porredge piping-hot.

Epi.  Thou Dog, ’tis Death.

Clown.  Nay but, Sir, I powr’d ’em downe scalding as they were on her head, because they say they are good for a cold, and I thinke that kill’d her; for to try if she were alive or no I did but even now tye a Crust to a packe-threed on a pinne, but shee leapt not at it; so that I am sure shee’s worms meate by this.