SCENE VI.

_Enter Don_ John.

_John._ Was ever man so paid for being curious? Ever so bob'd for searching out adventures, As I am? did the Devil lead me? must I needs be peeping Into mens houses where I had no business, And make my self a mischief? 'Tis well carried; I must take other mens occasions on me, And be I know not whom: most finely handled: What have I got by this now? what's the purchase? A piece of evening Arras work, a child, Indeed an Infidel: this comes of peeping: A lump got out of laziness; good white bread Let's have no bawling with ye: 'sdeath, have I Known wenches thus long, all the ways of wenches Their snares and subtilties? have I read over All their School learnings, div'd into their quiddits, And am I now bum-fidled with a Bastard? Fetch'd over with a Card of five, and in mine old days, After the dire massacre of a million Of Maiden-heads? caught the common way, i'th' night too Under anothers name, to make the matter Carry more weight about it? well _Don John_, You will be wiser one day, when ye have purchas'd A heavy of these Butter-prints together, With searching out conceal'd iniquities, Without commission: why, it would never grieve me, If I had got this Ginger-bread: never stirr'd me, So I had had a stroak for't: 't had been Justice Then to have kept it; but to raise a dayrie For other mens adulteries, consume my self in candles, And scowring works, in Nurses Bells and Babies, Only for charity, for meer I thank you, A little troubles me: the least touch for it, Had but my breeches got it, had contented me. Whose e're it is, sure 't had a wealthy Mother, For 'tis well cloathed, and if I be not cozen'd, Well lin'd within: to leave it here were barbarous, And ten to one would kill it: a more sin Then his that got it: well, I will dispose on't, And keep it, as they keep deaths heads in rings, To cry _memento_ to me; no more peeping. Now all the danger is to qualifie The good old gentlewoman, at whose house we live, For she will fall upon me with a Catechism Of four hours long: I must endure all; For I will know this Mother: Come good wonder, Let you and I be jogging: your starv'd trebble Will waken the rude watch else: all that be Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee. [_Exit._