HANGING FAIR
Jack:
Struck of a heap, I am, by such immense mobbing. What a press n push like heygomad! Should be easy to nick a dobbin.
Nell:
Newgate Fair day’s bigger n any Rag Fair. All shapes o sharpers n charlatans come ‘ere. Give ‘em the goby. Be leary! Take care!
Jack:
Don’t you worry yer poll ‘bout Jack, A rum kiddy, me nimbles too quick. I’ll ne’er be choked for a crack. But this roar’s vastly deaf’ning: rattler’s wheels, Beat o hooves, vendors’ cries n handbells, Them saucebox balladers lip a chant n squeal.
Nell:
Look, Jack, a catgutscraper! Drownded by the booming bells of St Sepulchre. Keep your squinters open for bruised fruit in the gutter.
Jack:
Next yond pump, that craven cully bleeds like a pig, His crown cracked in cudgel play By mighty whacks from stout sticks.
Nell:
That’s no game. Quick! The recruiting dealer! He’ll have you put in the cart and heed you Not. Dive behind that furmity tent. Them’s the gangers. Those brawnybuttocks will bait and bleed you, Chained through the tail like a maddened badger. Amercy. Too late! I think they’ve seed you.
Captain Skin:
Run mad after that slangboy, ye scum! I’ll be shot if I don’t press more volunteers. Catch that skulker so full o piss n tantrums! Two months’ wages on the nail! Slops from the Purser!
Nell:
You cannot touch him. We cannot offer nought.