The GOSSIP'S BRAWL, OR, The WOMEN wear the BREECHES. A Mock COMEDY. The Actors Names, Nick Pot, a Tapster. Joan Ruggles, a Dungel-raker. Doll Crabb, a Fishwoman. Megg Lant-Ale, a Tub-woman. Bess Bunghole, an Hostess, WHO All to try the Mastery of their Tongues, New wet their Whistles, Barley-Oyl their Lungs, Then raised with Choler, Spleen and Gaul, Their Tongues advance, and then gins the Brawl. LONDON, Jan. 30. 1654. Printed in the Year of women's honesty, 1655. The GOSSIP'S BRAWL, OR, The WOMEN wear the BREECHES. Enter Nick-pot, and his Guests Joan Ruggles, Doll Crab, and Megg Lant-Ale. Nick-pot. WHat is't ye drink Ladies? A merry Pot of Ale, or a quartern of the best in the House? Joan Ruggles. Let us have both Nick; I am so troubled with the Wind at my stomach, That if it were not for the comfort of a little Sniffe, I should be at Death's door, B●ing us some Spanish Tobacco too Nick, As I take it, it is a great expeller of Rheum. Exit Nick Pot. Doll. I can take a Pipe too as well as another Woman; Yet my Husband grumbles at me; Grudges me a little Strong Water before I go to the gate in the morning for my Ware, But i'faith, i'faith, I'll meet with him for a base trick I'll warrant him; the more he grudges, the more I'll have it, if Gold or silver will buyed. Enter Nick-Pot with Strong-Water, Ale and Tobacco. Nick. Here's that will make a Cat speak, a Coward valiant, a Cripple caper, a poor man a King, and wash away all Diseases, Megg. This is a Cup of as good Ale as ever was tipped over a Tongue, I have served six turns in a morning, and given my Customers as good cuntent as men need to desire from a Woman. Turns it off. Joan. Here's to ye good Doll, remembering Ned, he is a kind lad I'll warrant him, and a good friend to a Woman. Doll. You say right by my trot Neighbour Joan, he is as sweet a man as ever lay by a woman's side, and one is as tender of a Mistress' credit; Well, well, were but my Husband such a man, I should love him too well? but to tell you true, He is a very Boar to me, and lies in the bed by me like a log rather than a man, turns his breech, and surreverence farts like a Stone-horse: Come, come, the World little knows what we poor Women endure. She turns off her Cup. Megg. Nay neighbour, 'tis not your case alone; I have one more like a Devil then a man, alas my head's but weak woman, considering the kicks and blows I have had, that sometimes a double-Pott turns my Head: and then, if but Will the Soldier leads me home; you know a Woman can't be backward in requiting a man's Courtesy, and send for a Cup at home; but if he comes in before he be gone, oh 'tis death to him Woman! and though he will sit you as dumb as an unbribed Lawyer, till he be gone, yet he's no sooner out of doors, but he calls me at his pleasure, says I am the Soldier's Whore, the Cobbler's Whore, the Broom man's Whore, the Tinker's Whore, nay Nick the Chimney-sweepers Whore, when (by this good drink Neighbour) I know no more dishonesty by them then I do by my own Bawdy. Cries. If ye talk of Husbands! come, come, I swallow twenty of these in a day. She drinks off her Cup and sighs. Joan. Well, I have a contented man to my husband, I may go when I will, and come when I will, and bring home a hundred Friends one after another, he's never the man that will say, Jugg, why dost thou so? shall be so attentive I'll warrant ye, to fetch beer, go of an arrant; nay rather than a friend should be lated home, will lie out of his Bed for him; and he loses nothing by't at the years end. Doll. he's a right Genteman borne I'll warrant him; Well I had a Husband would do so, Cries. But he was too good for this life. Drinks. Enter Tapster▪ sits down, and his Wife comes in after him, and finds him kissing Joan Tub-woman. Bess. Are ye got amongst your Whores ye Rogue? Ye lick-spicket Rogue; 'tis something that makes ye so drowsy a Nights; I'll broach your Noddle for ye, but I'll wake ye; Are ye so ramphant with a Pox t'ye? Kicks him out. Doll. Do ye hear, Mistress Bung-breech, Who do you call Whore, pray? Bess. Not you goody draggle-tayl with the doggs-Skin muff at your breech. Doll. We shall have ye at Bum-barrell again shortly in the Cellar with the Brewer's Clerk; crack me that nut, crack me that nut, good Mistress Nick-pot. Bess. Out ye Bastard-bearing Whore; who lay inn in the Cage you Whore? who lay inn in the Cage: Doll. No marvel your Whoreship should tell me of a Bastard in the Cage, when you have lain in with no less than 3 in the same place yourself; did not I bring you clouts ye Whore, lend ye money to pay for the washing of your lousy Smock, and bring you a Posset with a pox to ye, and Bread for your Whores hid. Bess. Bread for my Whores hid, you broad-faced Jade you; you have forgot since you were knocked by two Rogues under Mount-Mill and after came home as drunk as a Bitch; 'twas when ye fell down in the dirt, and said you had the Falling-sickness with a pox to ye. Doll. So, so, Mistress Nick and Froth, with the Hawks Nose, cut out of Marlbrough Chalk, Is this the thanks I have for lending you money to redeem your Husband's Cloak, when you had pawned it to be drunk withal; is it; is it. Bess. Yes, yes, Mistress Flownder-mouth, you shall have thanks with a Pox to ye, ye old Lecherous Jade you; I was never down-diddled by a Barber's Boy, on a Cobbler's stall ye Whore, when his boy run his Awl in your buttocks, to teach ye to place ye Whore; Marry goyp, come up with a foul smell, can you troth or gallop, Minion? Doll. Go, go, to Tower-Hill, and get your Gun scoured ye Jade; I never was the Hangman's. Whore yet, nor had the Brewer come home with me to tip my Gigg five times in a day; I was never Fluxed in the Spittle yet of the P— so I was not. Doll. Marry foh, come up my dirty Cousin; your Husband says you are a Jade; I never tired going to Hackney for Turnip's yet; mark ye that Puss. Bess. Indeed Mistress Tickle-— T— with the basket of Crabs in your breech; go home and get your poor Husband a Mess of Porridge ye Jade, high ye home, high ye home ye Jade, there's a Hogg in the Cupboard. Bess. To Hy-bury-Barn, to Hybury Barn you drum-arsed Jade, go to your Fiddler there; come I could say something. Doll. Say your heart out if you will, thou Whore, thy Neighbour knows what thou art well enough; I faith Puttock, He blaze your coat i'll warrant you. Bess. Thou fetch a Warrant for me Pisspot; do, do, I'd have thee begin once; go Pawn thy Petticoat & waistcoat again to fee Lawyers, then come to me for money to withdrawing thy Recognisiones, about your ugly tongue, and am I thus rewarded. I faith Sponge, I'll handle ye for Buttock I warrant ye: you'll lie in again shortly, then pray Neighbour lend me a Kerchief for my head, lend me a sheet, lend me a Candle, a little butter, etc. No, thou Ditch of damnation, thou shalt have a Rope and Butter, before thou shalt borrow a Pin of me. Doll. Bear witness Neighbour, she called me Witch; I'll scratch ye Alehouse Polecatt— Bess. Murder, Murder, Murder, fetch the Constable. Enter Nick-Pot the Tapsier. Nick. Do ye knock here? Bess. Out ye sneaking Rogue, will ye suffer me to be murdered amongst your Whores? the best in the Parish shall understand whether I must be murdered in my own House or no? they shall Sirrah: they shall understand whether you be a man fitting for a Licence, or to govern a House? Exit Bess Bunghole. Megg. Tapster, what have we to Pay? Sure the Deviill is got into this Alehouse my Ears are dumb with the very Noise of your Tongues. Nick-Pot. Here is three shillings Strong-Waters, two shillings in Ale, and twelve Pence Tobacco, that is six shillings just; and ye are all welcome. Doll. The Devil pay the shot, i'll pay not: Penny: Shall we pay our Money to be abused? No, I'll be righted I'll warrant you, if the best Law in England will right me; Though the Rogue my Husband will not take my part, I shall find friends that shall tickle ye for Law i' faith. Nick-pot. I'll have my Money before you go hence, else I'll make th' Room too hot for ye. Joan. You shall be glad to look up, what shall honest Women be ravished in their Reputations; No, no w● stand upon our reputations, and our integrities, and scorn to have our credits and good Names drownded in an Ale-tub, I'll make you know Sirrah, that some of us that sit here have had Husbands that have born all Offices in the Parish from the Scabbender to the Headborrow; come Neighbours, let us go, why do we spend our Tongues and Brains upon this Nick-pot, this simple cuckoldly Tapster. Nick-Pot, Give me my shot give me my Money, I'll not trust a penny; my Brewer must be paid. Joan. Paid you Tap-lash Rogue, you Lant-liquor Rogue come Neighbours we'll pay him, let's piss out his Eyes. EPILOGUE. Who from bad Women, thus as evil flies, May lose a Reckoning, to preserve his eyes. Exeunt omnes. FINIS.