The Staple of News. Act 1. Scene 3.

Peni-boy, Canter, to them singing.

Goo morning to my Joy, My jolly Peni-boy!
The Lord, and the Prince of Plenty!
I come to see what Riches, Thou bearest in thy Breeches,
The first of thy One and Twenty:
What, do thy Pockets gingle? Or shall we need to mingle
Our strength both of Foot and Horses!
These Fellows look so eager, As if they would beleaguer
And Heir in the midst of his Forces!
I hope they be no Serjeants! That hang upon thy Margents.
This Rogue has the Joul of a Jaylor!
[The young Peni-boy answers in tune.
P.Ju. O Founder, no such matter, My Spurrier, and my Hatter,
My Linnen-man, and my Taylor.
Thou should'st have been brought in too, Shoomaker,
If the time had been longer, and Thom Barber.
How do'st thou like my Company, old Canter?
Do I not muster a brave Troop? all Bill-men?
Present your Arms before my Founder here,
This is my Founder, this same learned Canter!
He brought me the first news of my Fathers death,
I thank him, and ever since, I call him Founder,
[He takes the Bills, and puts them up in his Pockets.
Worship him, Boys, I'll read only the Sums,
And pass 'em straight.     Sho. Now Ale.
Rest. And strong Ale bless him.
P.Jun. Gods so, some Ale, and Sugar from my Founder!
Good Bills, sufficient Bills, these Bills may pass.
P.Jun. I do not like those Paper-squibs, good Master.
They may undo your store, I mean, of Credit,
And fire your Arsenall, if case you do not
In time make good those Outer-works, your Pockets,
And take a Garrison in of some two hundred,
To beat these Pioneers off, that carry a Mine
Would blow you up, at last. Secure your Casamates,
Here Master Picklock, Sir, your Man o' Law,
And learn'd Atturny, has sent you a Bag of Munition.
P.Jun. What is't?     P.Ca. Three hundred Pieces.
P.Jun. I'll dispatch 'em.
P.Ca. Do, I would have your strengths lin'd, and perfum'd
With Gold as well as Amber.     P.Jun. God a mercy,
Come, Ad solvendum, Boys! there, there, and there, &c.
[He pays all.
I look on nothing but Totalis.     P.Ca. See!
The difference 'twixt the Covetous and the Prodigal!
"The Covetous Man never has Money! and
"The Prodigal will have none shortly!     P.Jun. Ha,
What says my Founder? I thank you, I thank you Sirs.
All. God bless your Worship, and your Worship Chanter.
P.Ca. I say 'tis nobly done, to cherish Shopkeepers,
And pay their Bills, without examining thus.
P.Jun. Alas! they have had a pitiful hard time on't,
A long vacation, from their cozening.
Poor Rascalls, I do do it out of Charity.
I would advance their Trade again, and have them
Haste to be Rich, swear and forswear wealthily,
What do you stay for, Sirrah?     Spu. To my Box Sir.
P.Jun. Your Box, why, there's an Angel, if my spurs
[He gives the Spurrier, to his Box.
Be not right Rippon.     Spu. Give me never a Penny
If I strike not thorow your Bounty with the Rowels.
P.Jun. Do'st thou want any Money Founder?
P.Ca. Who, Sir, I,
Did I not tell you I was bred i' the Mines,
Under Sir Bevis Bullion.     P.Jun. That is true,
I quite forgot, you Mine-men want no Money.
Your Streets are pav'd with't: there, the Molten Silver
Runs out like Cream on Cakes of Gold.     P.Ca. And Rubies
Do grow like Strawberries.
P.Jun. 'Twere brave being there!
Come Thom, we'll go to the Office now.     P.Ca. What Office?
P.Jun. News Office, the New Staple; thou shalt go too,
'Tis here i' the House, on the same Floor, Thom. says.
Come Founder, let us trade in Ale and Nutmegs.