(SCENE 2.)

_Enter Sucket and Crackby[61].

Suc_. Come, deport your selfe with a more elated countenance: a personage of your rare endowments so dejected! 'tis fitt for groomes, not men magnanimous, to be so bashfull: speake boldly to them, that like cannon shott your breath may batter; you would hardly dare to take in townes and expugne fortresses, that cannot demolish a paltry woman.

Crac. Pox of this Country, it has metamorphisd me. Would I were in my native Citty ayre agen, within the wholesome smell of seacole: the vapor[s] rising from the lands new dunged are more infectious to me then the common sewer ith sicknes time. Ime certaine of my selfe Ime impudent enough and can dissemble as well as ere my Father did to gett his wealth, but this country has tane my edge of quite; but I begin to sound the reason of it.

Suc. What may it be imagind.

Crac. Why, here are no Taverns where for my crowne I can have food provocative, besides the gaining of many precious phrase[s] for (from?) divers gallants new frenchefied. Theirs nothing to excite desire but creame and eggs, and they are so common every clowne devoures them. Were each egge at twelve pence, or as deare as lobsters, I could afford to eate them, but I hate all that is vulgar; 'tis most base.

Suc. Pish, tis dificience in your resolution: Suppose your mistress were an enemy You were to encounter in sterne duell.

Crac. 'Tis well my Enemie is a woman; I should feare else to suppose the meeting. Resolution! how can a man have resolution that drinkes nought but ale able to kill a Dutchman? Conduit water is nector to it,

Suc. Nay, but I say, suppose—

Crac. Suppose! Why here are no wenches halfe so amorous as Citty tripennies[62]: those that are bewtifull the dew is not so cold. I did but begg a curtesie of a chambermaide, and she laughd at me! Ile to the Citty againe, that's certaine; where for my angell I can imbrace pl[enty]. If I stay here a little longer, for want of exercise I shall forget whether a woman be fish or flesh: I have almost don't already.

Suc. O, heeres your uncle, move him; you conceive me; He must disburse.

Crac. And 'tis as hard to wrest a penny from him as from a bawd.

Enter Sir Gefferie and Bunche.

Sir Geff. Erect that locke a little; theres a hayre Which, like a foreman of a shop, does strive To be above his fellowes. Pish! this glasse Is falsly silverd, maks me look as gray As if I were 4 score.

Bun. What does he want of it?

Sir Geff. Combe with more circumspection, knave; these perfumes Have a dull odor; there is meale among them, My Mrs. will not scent them.

Crac. Uncle, my friend, My martiall fellow is deficient In this ubiquitarie mettall, silver: You must impart.

Sir Geff. This garter is not well tide, fellow: where Wert thou brought up? thou knowest not to tie A rose yet, knave: a little straiter: so, Now, tis indifferent. Who can say that I Am old now?

Bun. Marry, that can I or any one which sees you.

Suc. Death to my reputation! Sir, we are gent[lemen] and deserve regard: Will you not be responsible?

Sir Geff. Alas, good Captaine, I was meditating how to salute my lady this morning. You have bin a traviler: had I best do it in the Italian garbe or with a Spanish gravity? your French mode is grown so common every vintners boy has it as perfect as his anon, anon, sir. Hum, I must consider on it.

Crac. Nay, but uncle, uncle, shall we have answeare concerning this mony, uncle? You must disburse; that is the souldiers phrase. You see this man; regard him.

Suc. Death of vallor! I can hold no longer; I shall rise in wroth against him.

Crac. Dee heare, Uncle? you must furnish him; he wilbe irefull presently, and then a whole bagg will not satisfie him; heele eate your gold in anger and drinke silver in great sack glasses.

Sir Geff. Pox o'this Congee; 't shalbe thus, no thus; That writhing of my body does become me Infinitly. Now to begett an active Complement that, like a matins sung By virgins, may enchant her amorous ear. The Spanish Basolas[63] manos sounds, methinks, As harsh as a Morisco kettledrum; The French boniour is ordinary as their Disease: hees not a gent that cannot parlee. I must invent some new and polite phrases.

Crac. Shall I have answeare yet, sir.

Sir Geff. Pish, you disturbe me.—Gratulate her rest, Force an encomium on her huswifry For being up so early.—Bunch, where is my nephew?

Crac. I have bin here this halfe hower and could not get answere.

Sir Geff, To what, good nephew?—I was meditating a little seriously.

Crac. Concerning this white earth.

Sir Geff. Youde know the nature of it? If it be marle 'tis good to manure land; if clay, to make tobacco pipes.

Crac. I meane mony.

Sir Geff. O mony, Nephew: Ide thought youde learnd ith Citty How to use mony: here we do imploy it To purchase land and other necessaries.

Suc. Infamy to fame and noble reputation! Old man, dost thou disdaine valour? I tell thee, Catterpillar, I must have mony.

Sir Geff. 'Tis reason good you should; it is fitting to cherish men of armes. There is a treasurer in the county, Captaine, pays souldiers pensions: if any be due to you Ile write my letter, you shall receive it.

Bun. Faith, there he mett with you.

Crac. I see a storme a coming. Uncle, I wilbe answerable upon account: my souldier must have mettall.

Sir Geff. Iron and Steele is most convenient for Souldiers; but, since you say it, Nephew, he shall have it: how much must it be?

Suc. A score of Angells shall satisfie for the confrontment you have offred me in being dilatory.

Sir Geff. Bunch, deliver him ten pounds;—but, dee heare.

Bunch, let be in light gold; 'twill serve his turn as well as heavier: it may be he is one of those projectors transports it beyond sea.

Enter Magdalen.

Mag. Sir, I come to give you notice my ladyes walkd into the garden.

Sir Geff. Life! is she upp so early?

Mag. An hower since, beleeve it.

Crac. Is my Mistress stirring?

Mag. In truth, I know not.

Sir Geff. Nephew, demeane your selfe with[64] all respect Toward the gentlewoman you affect. You must learne with here since the citty Could spare you none.—Ile to the lady.

[Exeunt Bunch, Sir Geff. and Mag.

Crac. Captaine, shalls into th'Celler, Captaine?

Suc. I like the Motion.

Crac. Come away, then: there is indifferent liquor in this house, but that ith towne is most abominable. Weele drinke our owne healths, Captaine.

Suc. Well considered; 'tis for our reputation.

[Exeunt omnes.