Then haue we heere, yong Dizie, and yong Mr Deepevow,
and Mr Copperspurre, and Mr Starue-Lackey the Rapier
and dagger man, and yong Drop-heire that kild lustie
Pudding, and Mr Forthlight the Tilter, and braue Mr
Shootie the great Traueller, and wilde Halfe-Canne that
stabb'd Pots, and I thinke fortie more, all great doers in
our Trade, and are now for the Lords sake.
Enter Abhorson.
Abh. Sirrah, bring Barnardine hether
Clo. Mr Barnardine, you must rise and be hang'd,
Mr Barnardine
Abh. What hoa Barnardine.
Barnardine within.
Bar. A pox o'your throats: who makes that noyse
there? What are you?
Clo. Your friends Sir, the Hangman:
You must be so good Sir to rise, and be put to death
Bar. Away you Rogue, away, I am sleepie
Abh. Tell him he must awake,
And that quickly too
Clo. Pray Master Barnardine, awake till you are executed,
and sleepe afterwards
Ab. Go in to him, and fetch him out
Clo. He is comming Sir, he is comming: I heare his
Straw russle.
Enter Barnardine.
Abh. Is the Axe vpon the blocke, sirrah?
Clo. Verie readie Sir
Bar. How now Abhorson?
What's the newes with you?
Abh. Truly Sir, I would desire you to clap into your
prayers: for looke you, the Warrants come
Bar. You Rogue, I haue bin drinking all night,
I am not fitted for't
Clo. Oh, the better Sir: for he that drinkes all night,
and is hanged betimes in the morning, may sleepe the
sounder all the next day.
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