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Bartholomew Fair.

THE PURITANS.

Scenes selected from Bartholomew Fair, in illustration of the manners of a Puritan Family and their Pastor.

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ.

John Littlewit, a Proctor.

Zeal-of-the-Land Busy, Suitor to Dame.

Purecraft, a Banbury Man.

Win-the-Fight, Wife of Littlewit.

Dame Purecraft, her Mother, and a Widow.

The other personages in these scenes are too numerous to be described, and their action will serve only to bring the Puritan family into play.

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[Mr. Littlewit persuades his wife to manifest a carnal longing for roast pig in the Bartholomew Fair. He desires himself to be present at an Interlude on the Tragical History of Hero and Leander, which he has written for a booth at the fair. Zeal-ofthe-Land Busy, their Pastor, has to settle the casuistical question of eating pig in Smithfield before the Littlewits can take their pleasure.]

Lit. Win, you see 'tis in fashion to go to the Fair, Win; we must to the Fair too, you and I, Win. I have an affair in the Fair, Win, a puppet-play of mine own making, say nothing, that I writ for the motion-man, which you must see, Win.

Mrs. Lit. I would I might, John ; but my mother will never consent to such a profane motion, she will call it.

Lit. Tut, we'll have a device, a dainty one. Now Wit, help at a pinch, good Wit come, come good Wit, an it be thy will! I have it, Win, I have it i'faith, and 'tis a fine one. Win, long to eat of a pig, sweet Win, in the Fair, do you see, in the heart of the Fair, not at Pye-corner. Your mother will do any thing, Win, to

satisfy your longing, you know; pray thee long presently; and be sick o' the sudden, good Win. I'll go in and tell her; cut thy lace in the mean time, and play the hypocrite, sweet Win.

Mrs. Lit. No, I'll not make me unready for it: I can be hypocrite enough, though I were never so straitlaced.

Lit. You say true, you have been bred in the family, and brought up to't. Our mother is a most elect hypocrite, and has maintained us all this seven year with it, like gentlefolks.

Mrs. Lit. Ay, let her alone, John, she is not a wise wilful widow for nothing; nor a sanctified sister for a song. And let me alone too, I have somewhat of the mother in me, you shall see ; fetch her, fetch her-[Exit LITTLEWIT.] Ah! ah! [Seems to swoon.

Re-enter LITTLEWIT with Dame PURECRAFT. Pure. Now, the blaze of the beauteous discipline, fright away this evil from our house! how now, Winthe-fight, child! how do you? sweet child, speak to me. Mrs. Lit. Yes, forsooth.

Pure. Look up, sweet Win-the-fight, and suffer not the enemy to enter you at this door, remember that your education has been with the purest: What polluted one was it, that named first the unclean beast, pig, to you, child?

Mrs. Lit. Uh, uh !

Lit. Not I, on my sincerity, mother? she longed above three hours ere she would let me know it.-Who was it, Win?

Mrs. Lit. A profane black thing with a beard, John. Pure. O, resist it, Win-the-fight, it is the tempter, the wicked tempter, you may know it by the fleshly motion of pig; be strong against it, and its foul tempta

tions, in these assaults, whereby it broacheth flesh and blood, as it were on the weaker side; and pray against its carnal provocations; good child, sweet child, pray.

Lit. Good mother, I pray you, that she may eat some pig, and her belly full too; and do not you cast away your own child, and perhaps one of mine, with your tale of the tempter. How do you do, Win, are you not sick? Mrs. Lit. Yes, a great deal, John, uh, uh!

Pure. What shall we do? Call our zealous brother Busy hither, for his faithful fortification in this charge of the adversary. [Exit LITTLEWIT.] Child, my dear child, you shall eat pig; be comforted, my sweet child. Mrs. Lit. Ay, but in the Fair, mother.

Pure. I mean in the Fair, if it can be any way made or found lawful.

Re-enter LITTLEWIT.

Where is our brother Busy? will he not come? Look up, child.

Lit. Presently, mother, as soon as he has cleansed his beard. I found him fast by the teeth in the cold-turkey pie in the cupboard, with a great white loaf on his left hand, and a glass of malmsey on his right.

Pure. Slander not the brethren, wicked one.
Lit. Here he is now, purified, mother.

Enter ZEAL-OF-THE-LAND Busy.

Pure. O brother Busy your help here, to edify and raise us up in a scruple: my daughter Win-the-fight is visited with a natural disease of women, called a longing to eat pig.

Lit. Ay sir, a Bartholomew pig; and in the Fair.

Pure. And I would be satisfied from you, religiouslywise, whether a widow of the sanctified assembly, or a

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