Wit at several weapons.

Witty. Sir, I'm no boy, I'm deep in one and twenty, The second years approaching. Old K. A fine time For a youth to live by his wits then I should think, If e'er he mean to make account of any. Witty. Wits, Sir? Old K. I Wits Sir, if it be so strange to thee, I'm sorry I spent that time to get a Fool, I might have imploy'd my pains a great deal better; Thou knowst all that I have, I ha' got by my wits, And yet to see how urgent thou art too; It grieves me thou art so degenerate To trouble me for means, I never offer'd it My Parents from a School-boy, past nineteen once, See what these times are grown to, before twenty I rush'd into the world, which is indeed Much like the Art of swiming, he that will attain to't Must fall plump, and duck himself at first, And that will make him hardy and advent'rous, And not stand putting in one foot, and shiver, And then draw t'other after, like a quake-buttock; Well he may make a padler i'th' world, From hand to mouth, but never a brave Swimmer, Born up by th' chin, as I bore up my self, With my strong industry that never fail'd me; For he that lies born up with Patrimonies, Looks like a long great Ass that swims with bladders, Come but one prick of adverse fortune to him He sinks, because he never try'd to swim When Wit plaies with the billows that choak'd him. Witty. Why is it not a fashion for a Father, Sir, Out of his yearly thousands to allow His only Son, a competent brace of hundreds; Or such a toy? Old K. Yes, if he mean to spoil him, Or mar his wits he may, but never I, This is my humor, Sir, which you'll find constant; I love Wit so well, because I liv'd by't, That I'll give no man power out of my means to hurt it, And that's a kind of gratitude to my raiser, Which great ones oft forget; I admire much This Ages dulness, when I scarce writ man, The first degree that e'er I took in thriving, I lay intelligencer close for wenching, Could give this Lord or Knight a true Certificate Of all the Maiden-heads extant, how many lay 'Mongst Chambermaids, how many 'mongst Exchange [Wenches,] Though never many there I must confess They have a trick to utter Ware so fast; I knew which Lady had a mind to fall, Which Gentlewoman new divorc'd, which Tradesman breaking, The price of every sinner to a hair, And where to raise each price; which were the Tearmers, That would give Velvet Petticoats, Tissue Gowns, Which Pieces, Angels, Suppers, and Half Crowns; I knew how to match, and make my market. Could give intelligence where the Pox lay leidger, And then to see the Letchers shift a point, 'Twas sport and profit too; how they would shun Their ador'd Mistriss chambers, and run fearfully, Like Rats from burning houses, so brought I My Clyents[a] the game still safe together, And noble gamesters lov'd me, and I felt it. Give me a man that lives by his wits, say I, And's never left a Groat, there's the true Gallant. When I grew somewhat pursie, I grew then In mens opinions too, and confidences, They put things call'd Executorships upon me, The charge of Orphans, little sensless creatures, Whom in their Childhoods I bound forth to Felt-makers, To make 'em lose, and work away their Gentry, Disguise their tender natures with hard custom, So wrought 'em out in time, there I rise ungently, Nor do I fear to discourse this unto thee, I'm arm'd at all points against treachery, I hold my humor firm, if I can see thee thrive by Thy wits while I live, I shall have the more courage To trust thee with my Lands when I dye; if not, The next best wit I can hear of, carries 'em: For since in my time and knowledge, so many rich children Of the City, conclude in beggery, I'de rather Make a wise stranger my Executor, then a foolish Son my Heir, and to have my Lands call'd after my Wit, than after my name; and that's my nature. Witty. 'Tis a strange harsh one, must I still shift then? I come brave Cheats, once to my trade agen. And I'll ply't harder now than e'er I did for't, You'll part with nothing then, Sir? Old K. Not a jot, Sir. Witty. If I should ask you blessing e'r I goe, Sir, I think you would not give't me. Old K. Let me but hear thou liv'st by thy wits once Thou shalt have any thing, thou'rt none of mine else, Then why should I take care for thee? Witty. 'Thank your bounty. [Exit. Old K. So wealth love me, and long life, I beseech it, As I do love the man that lives by his wits, He comes so near my nature; I'm grown old now, And even arriv'd at my last cheat I fear me, But 'twill make shift to bury me, by day-light too, And discharge all my Legacies, 'tis so wealthy, And never trouble any Interest money: I've yet a Neece to wed, over whose steps I have plac'd a trusty watchful Guardianess, For fear some poor Earl steal her, 't has been threat'ned, To redeem mortgag'd Land, but he shall miss on't; To prevent which, I have sought out a match for her, Fop of Fop-Hall, he writes himself, I take it, The antient'st Fop in England, with whom I've privately Compounded for the third part of her portion.

And she seems pleas'd, so two parts rest with me, He's come; Sir Gregory, welcome, what's he Sir? Sir Greg. Young Cuningam, a Norfolk Gentleman, One that has liv'd upon the Fops, my kindred, Ever since my remembrance; he's a wit indeed, And we all strive to have him, nay, 'tis certain Some of our name has gone to Law for him; Now 'tis my turn to keep him, and indeed He's plaguy chargeable, as all your wits are, But I will give him over when I list, I ha' us'd wits so before. Old K. I hope when y'are married Sir, you'll shake him off.

Old K. Excuse the niceness, Sir, that care's your frien[d], Perhaps had she been seen, you had never seen her; There's many a spent thing call'd, and't like your honor, That lies in wait for her, at first snap she's a Countess, Drawn with six Mares through Fleetstreet, and a Coachman, Sitting bare-headed to their Flanders buttocks, This whets him on. Sir Greg. Pray let's clap up the business, Sir, I long to see her, are you sure you have her, Is she not there already[?] Hark, oh hark. Old K. How now, what's that Sir? Sir Greg. Every Caroach goes by, Goes ev'n to th' heart of me. Old K. I'll have that doubt eas'd, Sir, Instantly eas'd, Sir Gregory, and now I think on't A toy comes i' my mind, seeing your friend there, We'll have a little sport, give you but way to't, And put a trick upon her, I love Wit pretiously, You shall not be seen yet, we'll stale your friend first, If't please but him to stand for the Anti-mask. Sir Gr. Puh, he shall stand for any thing, why his supper Lies i'my breeches here, I'll make him fast else. Old K. Then come you forth more unexpectedly The Mask it self, a thousand a year joynture, The cloud, your frien[d] will be then drawn away, And only you the beauty of the Play. Sir Gr. For Red and Black, I'll put down all your Fullers, Let but your Neece bring White, and we have three colours. [Exit Sir Greg. Old K. I'm given to understand you are a Wit, Sir. Cuning. I'm one that Fortune shews small favour to, Sir. Old K. Why there you conclude it, whether you will or no, Sir; To tell you truth, I'm taken with a Wit. Cun. Fowlers catch Woodcocks so, let not them know so much. Old K. A pestilence mazard, a Duke Humphrey spark Had rather lose his dinner than his jest, I say I love a Wit the best of all things. Cun. Always except your self. Old K. Has giv'n't me twice now.

All with a breath, I thank him; but that I love a Wit I should be heartily angry; cuds, my Neece, You know the business with her. Cun. With a Woman? 'Tis ev'n the very same it was I'm sure Five thousand years ago, no fool can miss it. Old K. This is the Gentleman I promis'd Neece, To present to your affection. Cun. ['W]are that Arrow. Old K. Deliver me the truth now of your liking. Cun. I'm spoil'd already, that such poor lean Game Should be found out as I am. Old K. Go set to her Sir—ha, ha, ha. Cun. How noble is this virtue in you, Lady, Your eye may seem to commit a thousand slaughters On your dull servants which truly tasted Conclude all in comforts. Old K. Puh. Neece. It rather shews what a true worth can make, Such as yours is. Old K. And that's not worth a groat, How like you him Neece? Neece. It shall appear how well, Sir, I humbly thank you for him. Old K. Hah? ha, good gullery, he does it well i'faith, Light, as if he meant to purchase Lip-land there: Hold, hold, bear off I say, slid your part hangs too long. Cun. My joys are mockeries. Neece. Y'have both exprest a worthy care and love, Sir, Had mine own eye been set at liberty, To make a publick choice (believe my truth, Sir) It could not ha' done better for my heart Than your good providence has. Old K. You will say so then, Alas sweet Neece, all this is but the scabbard, Now I draw forth the weapon. Neece. How? Old K. Sir Gregory, Approach thou lad of thousands.

Sir Gr. Who calls me? Neece. What motion's this, the Model of Ninivie? Old K. Accost her daintily now, let me advise thee. Sir Gr. I was advis'd to bestow dainty cost on you. Neece. You were ill advis'd, back, and take better counsel; You may have good for an Angel, the least cost You can bestow upon a woman, Sir Trebles ten Counsellors Fees in Lady-ware, Y'are over head and ears, e'r you be aware, Faith keep a batchelor still, and go to Bowls, Sir, Follow your Mistriss there, and prick and save, Sir; For other Mistresses will make you a slave, Sir. Sir Gr. So, so, I have my lerrepoop already. Old K. Why how now Neece, this is the man I tell you. Neece. He, hang him, Sir, I know you do but mock, This is the man you would say. Old K. The Devil rides I think. Cun. I must use cunning here. Old K. Make me not mad, use him with all respect, This is the man I swear. Neece. Would you could perswade me to that; Alass, you cannot go beyond me Uncle, You carry a Jest well, I must confess, For a man of your years, but— Old K. I'm wrought beside my self. Cun. I never beheld comliness till this minute. Guar. Oh good sweet Sir, pray offer not these words To an old Gentlewoman. Neece. Sir. Cun. Away fifteen, Here's Fifty one exceeds thee. Neece. What's the business? Cun. Give me these motherly creatures, come, ne'er smother it, I know you are a teeming woman yet. Guard. Troth a young Gent. might do much I think, Sir. Cun. Go too then. Guard. And I should play my part, or I were ingrateful. Neece. Can you so soon neglect me! Cun. Hence I'm busie. Old K. This cross point came in luckily, impudent baggage. Hang from the Gentleman, art thou not asham'd To be a Widows hind'rance? Cun. Are you angry, Sir? Old K. You're welcome, pray court on, I shall desire Your honest wise acquaintance; vex me not After my care and pains to find a match for thee, Lest I confine thy life to some out-chamber, Where thou shalt waste the sweetness of thy youth, Like a consuming Light in her own socket, And not allow'd a male creature about thee; A very Monky, thy necessity Shall prize at a thousand pound, a Chimney sweeper At Fifteen hundred. Neece. But are you serious, Uncle? Old K. Serious. Neece. Pray let me look upon the Gentleman With more heed; then I did but hum him over In haste, good faith, as Lawyers Chancery sheets; Beshrew my blood, a tollerable man, Now I distinctly read him. Sir Gr. Hum, hum, hum. Neece. Say he be black, he's of a very good pitch, Well ankled, two good confident calves, they look As if they would not shrink at the ninth child; The redness i'th face, why that's in fashion, Most of your high bloods have it, sign of greatness marry; 'Tis to be taken down too with May-butter, I'll send to my Lady Spend-tail for her Medicine. Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, de dum. Neece. He's qualified too, believe me. Sir Gr. Lum te dum, de dum, de dum. Neece. Where was my judgement? Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, te dum, te dum. Neece. Perfections cover'd mess. Sir Gr. Lum te dum, te dum, te dum. Neece. It smoaks apparantly, pardon sweet Sir, The error of my Sex. Old K. Why, well [s]aid Neece, Upon submission you must pardon her now, Sir. Sir Gr. I'll do't by course, do you think I'm an ass, Knight? Here's first my hand, now't goes to the Seal-Office. Old K. Formally finisht, how goes this Suit forward? Cun. I'm taking measure of the Widows mind, Sir, I hope to fit her heart. Guard. Who would have dreamt Of a young morsel now? things come in minutes. Sir Gr. Trust him not Widow, he's a younger brother, He'll swear and lie; believe me he's worth nothing. Guard. He brings more content to a woman with that nothing, Than he that brings his thousands without any thing, We have presidents for that amongst great Ladies. Old K. Come, come, no language now shall be in fashion, But your Love-phrase, the bell to procreation. [Exeunt.

Witty. Pox, there's nothing puts me besides my wits, but this fourth, This last illiterate share, there's no conscience in't. Ruin. Sir, it has ever been so, where I have practis'd, and must be. Still where I am, nor has it been undeserv'd at the years End, and shuffle the Almanack together, vacations and Term-times, one with another, though I say't, my wife is a Woman of a good spirit, then it is no lay-share. Pris. Faith for this five year, Ego possum probare, I have had A hungry penurious share with 'em, and she has had as much As I always. Witty. Present, or not present? Pris. Residens aut non residens, per fidem.

Old K. Tush Nephew (I'll call you so) for if there be No other obstacles than those you speak of They are but Powder-charges without pellets, You may safely front 'em; and warrant your own danger.

Old K. And surely, Sir, that is a principle Amongst your principal Ladies, they require Valour, either in a friend or a Husband.

Sir Gr. Blows for a Soldier, i'faith Sir, and I'm in Practise that way.

Sir Gr. And some Scholar she would have me besides, Tush, that shall be no bar, 'tis a quality in a Gentleman, but of the least question. Pris. Salvete Domini benignissimi, munificentissimi. Old K. Salvete dicis ad nos? jubeo te salvere, Nay, Sir, we have Latine, and other metall in us too. Sir, you shall see me talk with this fellow now. Sir Gr. I could find in my heart to talk with him too, If I could understand him. Pris. Charissimi, Doctissimique, Domini, ex abundantia. Charitatis vestræ estote propitii in me jejunum Miserum, pauperem, & omni consolatione exulem. Old K. A pretty Scholar by my faith, Sir, but I'll to him agen. Sir Gr. Does he beg or steal in this Language, can you tell Sir? He may take away my good name from me, and I ne'er The wiser. Old K. He begs, he begs, Sir. Pris. Ecce, ecce, in occulis lachrymarum flumen, in ore Fames sitisq; ignis in vultu, pudor & impudentia, In omni parte necessitas & indigentia. Old K. Audi tu bonus socius, tu es Scholasticus, sic intelligo, Ego faciam argumentum, mark now Sir, now I fetch Him up. Sir Gr. I have been fetcht up a hundred times for this, Yet I could never learn half so much. Old K. Audi, & responde, hoc est Argumentum, nomen est Nomen, ergo, quod est tibi nomen? Responde nunc, Responde argumentum meum. Have I not put him to't, Sir? Sir Gr. Yes Sir, I think so. Witty. Step in, the rascal is put out of his pen'd Speech, And he can go no farther. Old K. Cur non respondes? Pris. Oh Domine, tanta mea est miseria. Witty. So, he's almost in agen. Pris. Ut nocte mecum pernoctat egestas, luce quotidie Paupertas habitat. Old K. Sed quod est tibi nomen: & quis dedit? Responde Argumentum.

Old K. Stay, stay Sir I will talk a little with him first, Let me alone with both, I will try whether they Live by their wits or no; for such a man I love, And what? you both beg together then?

Witty. Nay, I'll have a bout with your Scholar too, To ask you why you should be poor (yet richly learn'd) Were no question, at least, you can easily Answer it; but whether you have learning enough, To deserve to be poor or no (since poverty is Commonly the meed of Learning) is yet to be tryed; You have the Languages, I mean the chief, As the Hebrew, Syriack, Greek, Latine, &c. Pris. Aliquantulum, non totaliter, Domine. Old K. The Latine I have sufficiently tried him in, And I promise you Sir, he is very well grounded. Witty. I will prove him in some of the rest. Toi[s] miois fatherois iste Cock-scomboy? Pris. Kay yonkeron nigitton oy fouleroi Asinisoy. Witty. Cheateron ton biton? Pris. Tous pollous strikerous, Angelo to peeso. Witty. Certainly Sir, a very excellent Scholar in the Greek. Old K. I do note a wondrous readiness in him.

Look you good fellows, here's one round Shilling more that lay conceal'd.

And to confirm your self in me renate, I hope you'll find my wits legitimate. [Exeunt.

Serv. Nay Lady. Lady. Put me not in mind on't, prethee, You cannot do a greater wrong to Women, For in our wants, 'tis the most chief affliction To have that name remembred; 'tis a Title That misery mocks us by, and the worlds malice, Scorn and contempt has not wherewith to work On humble Callings; they are safe, and lye Level with pitty still, and pale distress Is no great stranger to 'em; but when fortune Looks with a stormy face on our conditions, We find affliction work, and envy pastime, And our worst enemy than that most abuses us, Is that we are call'd by, Lady, Oh my spirit, Will nothing make thee humble? I am well methinks, And can live quiet with my fate sometimes, Until I look into the world agen, Then I begin to rave at my Stars bitterness, To see how many muckhils plac'd above me; Peasants and Droyls, Caroches full of Dunghils, Whose very birth stinks in a generous nostril, Glistring by night like Glow-worms through the High streets Hurried by Torch-light in the Foot-mans hands That shew like running Fire-drakes through the City, And I put to my shifts and wits to live, Nay sometimes danger too; on Foot, on Horseback, And earn my supper manfully e'r I get it, Many a meal I have purchas'd at that rate,

Fed with a wound upon me, stampt at midnight. Hah, what are you? Pris. Now you may tell your self, Lady. [Pulls off's beard. Lady. Oh Mr. Priscian, what's the project, For you n'er come without one. Pris. First, your Husband, Sir Ruinous Gentry greets you with best wishes, And here has sent you your full share by me In five Cheats and two Robberies. Lady. And what comes it too? Prisc. Near upon thirteen pound. Lady. A goodly share, 'Twill put a Lady scarce in Philip and Cheyney, With three small Bugle Laces, like a Chambermaid, Here's precious lifting. Pris. 'Las you must consider, Lady, 'Tis but young Term, Attornies ha small doings yet, Then Highway Lawyers, they must needs ha little, We'ave had no great good luck to speak troth, Beauty, Since your stout Ladyship parted from's at Highgate, But there's a fair hope now for a present hunder'd, Here's mans Apparel, your Horse stands at door. Lady. And what's the virtuous plot now? Prisc. Marry Lady, You, like a brave young Gallant must be robb'd. Lady. I robb'd? Pris. Nay then— Lady. Well, well, go on, let's hear Sir. Pris. Here's a seal'd bag of a Hunder'd, which indeed Are Counters all, only some sixteen Groats Of white money i'th' mouth on't. Lady. So, what Saddle have I? Pris. Monsieur Laroon's the Frenchmans. Lady. That agen, You know so well it is not for my stride, How oft have I complain'd on't? Pris. You may have [Jockey's] then, the little Scotch one, You must dispatch. [Exit Pris. Lady. I'll soon be ready, Sir, Before you ha shifted Saddles, many Women Have their wealth flow to 'em, I was made I see To help my fortune, not my fortune me. [Exit.

Cun. My ways are Goblin-led, and the night-Elf Still draws me from my home, yet I follow, Sure, 'tis not altogether fabulous, Such Haggs do get dominion of our tongues So soon as we speak, the Inchantment binds; I have dissembled such a trouble on me, As my best wits can hardly clear agen; Piping through this old reed, the Guardianess, With purpose that my harmony shall reach And please the Ladies ear, she stops below, And ecchoes back my Love unto my Lips, Perswaded by most violent arguments Of self-love in her self; I am so self-fool, To doat upon her hunder'd wrinkl'd face; I could beggar her to accept the gifts She would throw upon me; 'twere charity, But for pities sake I will be a niggard And undo her, refusing to take from her; I'm haunted agen, if it take not now I'll break the Spell.

Guard. Sweet Cuningam, welcome; What? a whole day absent? Birds that build Nests Have care to keep 'em. Cun. That's granted, But not continually to sit upon 'em; Less in the youngling season, else they desire To fly abroad, and recreate their labours, Then they return with fresher appetite To work agen. Guard. Well, well, you have built a Nest That will stand all storms, you need not mistrust A weather-wrack, and one day it may be The youngling season too, then I hope You'll ne'er fly out of sight. Cun. There will be pains, I see to shake this Burr off, and sweetest, Prethee how fares thy charge? has my good friend Sir Gregory, the countenance of a Lover? Guard. No by my troth, not in my mind, methinks (Setting his Worship aside) he looks like a fool. Cun. Nay i'faith, ne'r divide his Worship from him for that Small matter; Fool and Worship are no such Strangers now adaies, but my meaning is, Has he thy Ladies countenance of Love? Looks she like a welcome on him? plainly, Have they as good hope of one another, As Cupid bless us, we have? Guard. Troth I know not, I can perceive no forwardness in my charge, But I protest I wish the Knight better For your sake, Bird. Cun. Why thanks sweet Bird, and with my heart I wish, That he had as strong and likely hope of her As thou hast of me. Guard. Well, he's like to speed Ne'er the worse for that good wish, and I'll tell you Bird (for secrets are not to be kept betwixt us two) My charge thinks well of you. Cun. Of me? for what? Guard. For my sake, I mean so, I have heard her A hundred times, since her Uncle gave her The first bob about you, that she'd doe somewhat For my sake, if things went well together, We have spoke of doors and bolts, and things and things, Go too, I'll tell you all, but you'll find Some advancement, for my sake, I do believe. Cun. Faith be not sparing, tell me. Guard. By my Lady You shall pardon me for that, 'twere a shame If men should hear all that women speak behind Their backs sometimes. Cun. You must give me leave yet, At least to give her thanks. Guard. Nor that neither, She must not take [a] notice of my blabbing, It is sufficient you shall give me thanks, For 'tis for my sake if she be bountiful, She loves me, and loves you too for my sake. Cun. How shall I, knowing this, but be ingrate, Not to repay her with my dearest duty. Guard. I, but you must not know it, if you tell All that I open to you; you'll shame us both; A far off you may kiss your hand, blush or so, But I'll allow no nearer conference. Cun. Whoop! you'll be jealous I perceive now. Guard. Jealous? why there's no true love without it, Bird, I must be jealous of thee, but for her, (Were it within my duty to my Master) I durst trust her with the strongest temp[t]er, And I dare swear her now as pure a Virgin As e'er was welcom'd to a marriage bed; If thoughts may be untainted, hers are so. Cun. And where's the cause of your fear then? Guard. Well, well; When things are past, and the wedding Torches Lighted at Matches, to kindle better fire, Then I'll tell you more. Cun. Come, come, I see farther, That if we were married, you'd be jealous. Guard. I protest I should a little, but not of her It is the married woman (if you mark it) And not the Maid that longs, the appetite Follows the first taste, when we have relisht We wish cloying, the taste once pleas'd before, Then our desire is whetted on to more, But I reveal too much to you, i'faith Bird. Cun. Not a whit i'faith, Bird, betwixt you and I, I am beholding for bettering of my knowledg. Guard. Nay, you shall know more of me, if you'll be rul'd But make not things common. Cun. Ud' so, your Lady? Guard. I, 'tis no matter, she'll like well of this, Our familiarity is her content.

Nee. This present from Sir Greg[o]ry? Clow. From my Master, the Worshipful, right Sir Greg[o]ry Fop. Nee. A Ruffe? and what might be his high conceit In sending of a Ruff?

Nee. A witty and unhappy conceit, does he mean As he seems to say unto that reverence? [Toward Cuning. He does wooe her sure.

Nee. Else she wooes him, now his eyes shoots this way; And what was the reason for that, Sir? [Toward Cun.

Nee. I'll fit him aptly, either I'll awake His wits (if he have any,) or force him To appear (as yet I cannot think him) Without any. Sirrah, tell me one thing true That I shall aske you now, Was this device Your Masters own? I doubt his wit in it; He's not so ingen[i]us.

Cun. The fool makes mirth i'faith, I would hear some. Guard. Come, you shall hear none but me. Nee. Come hither, friend, nay, come nearer me; did Thy Master send thee to me? he may be wise, But did not shew it much in that; men sometimes May wrong themselves unawares, when they least think on't; Was Vulcan ever so unwise to send Mars To be his spokesman, when he went a wooing? Send thee? hey-ho, a pretty rowling eye. Clow. I can turn up the white and the black too, and need be forsooth. Nee. Why, here's an amor[o]us nose. [Clow.] You see the worst of my nose, forsooth. Nee. A cheek, how I could put it now in dalliance, A pair of Lips, oh that we were uney'd, I could suck Sugar from 'em, what a beard's here! When will the Knight thy Master have such a Stamp of manhood on his face? nay, do not blush. Clow. 'Tis nothing but my flesh and blood that rises so. Cun. 'Death, she courts the fool. Guard. Away, away, 'tis sport, do not mind it. Nee. Give me thy hand, come, be familiar; [I, h]ere's a promising palm; what a soft Handful of pleasure's here, here's Down compar'd With Flocks and quilted Straw, thy Knights fingers Are lean mattrice rubbers to these Feathers, I prethee let me lean my cheek upon't. What a soft pillow's here! Clow. Hum, umh, hu, hum. Neece. Why there's a courage in that lively passion, Measure thee all o'r, there's not a limb But has his full proportion, it is my voice, There's no compare betwixt the Knight and thee, The goodlier man [by] half, at once now I see thee all over.

Cun. Hang of Fleshook, fasten thine itchy claspe On some dry Toad-stool that will kindle with thee, And burn together. Guard. Oh abominable, Why do you not love me? Cun. No, never did; I took thee down a little way to Enforce a Vomit from my offended stomach, Now thou'rt up agen, I loath thee filthily. Guard. Oh villain. Cun. Why dost thou not see a sight. Would make a man abjure the sight of Women. Neece. Ha, ha, ha, he's vext; ha, ha, ha. Clow. Ha, ha, ha. Neece. Why dost thou laugh? Clow. Because thou laugh'st, nothing else i'faith. Cun. She has but mockt my folly, else she finds not The bosome of my purpose, some other way, Must make me know; I'll try her, and may chance quit The fine dexterity of her Lady-wit. [Exit. Neec. Yes introth, I laught to think of thy Master, Now, what he would think if he knew this?

Neece. Yes, thou shouldst say truth, and I believe thee; Well, for this time we'll part, you perceive something, Our tongues betray our hearts, there's our weakness, But pray be silent. Clow. As Mouse in Cheese, or Goose in Hay i'faith. Neece. Look, we are cut off, there's my hand where my Lips would be. Clow. I'll wink, and think 'em thy Lips, farewel. [Exit. Neece. Now Guardianess, I need not ask where you have been. Guard. Oh Lady, never was woman so abus'd.

Neece. Now I'll make a firm trial of your love, As you love me, not a word more at this time, Not a syllable, 'tis the seal of love, take heed. Clow. Hum, hum, hum, hum—. He humhs loath to depart. [Exit Clown. Neece. So, this pleasant trouble's gone, now Guardianess, What? your eyes easing your heart, the cause woman? Guard. The cause is false man, Madam, oh Lady, I have been gull'd in a shining Carbuncle, A very Glo-worm, that I thought had fire in't, And 'tis as cold as Ice. Neece. And justly serv'd, Wouldst thou once think that such an [erring] spring Would dote upon thine Autumn? Guard. Oh, had you heard him but protest. Neece. I would not have believ'd him, Thou might'st have perceiv'd how I mock'd thy folly. In wanton imitation with the Fool, Go weep the sin of thy credulity, Not of thy loss, for it was never thine, And it is gain to miss it; wert thou so dull? Nay, yet thou'rt stupid and uncapable, Why, thou wert but the bait to fish with, not The prey, the stale to catch another Bird with. Guard. Indeed he call'd me Bird. Neece. Yet thou perceiv'st not, It is your Neece he loves, wouldst thou be made A stalking Jade? 'tis she examine it, I'll hurry all awry, and tread my path Over unbeaten grounds, go level to the mark, Not by circular bouts, rare things are pleasing, And rare's but seldom in the simple sence, But has her Emphasis with eminence. [Exit. Guard. My Neece? she the rival of my abuse? My flesh and blood wrong me? I'll Aunt her for't;

Oh opportunity, thou blessest me Now Gentlewoman are you parted so soon? Where's your friend I pray? your Cuningam? Mir. What say you Aunt? Guard. Come, come, your Cuningame? I am not blind with age yet, nor deaf. Mir. Dumb I am sure you are not, what ail you Aunt? Are you not well?

Mir. Revenge should follow injury, Which never reacht so far as thought in me Towards you Aunt. Guard. Your cunning, minion, Nor your Cuningame; can either blind me, The gentle Beggar loves you. Mir. Beseech you, Let me stay your error, I begin to hear, And shake off my amazement; if you think That ever any passage treating love Hath been betwixt us yet commenc'd, any Silent eye-glance that might but sparkle fire, So much as Brother and Sister might meet with, The Lip-salute, so much as strangers might Take a farewel with, the commixed hands, Nay, but the least thought of the least of these; In troth you wrong your bosom, by that truth (Which I think yet you durst be bail for in me, If it were offer'd ye) I am as free As all this protestation. Guard. May I believe this? Mir. If ever you'll believe truth: why, I thought he had spoke love to you, and if his heart prompted his tongue, sure I did hear so much. Guard. Oh falsest man, Ixion's plague fell on me, Never by woman (such a masculine cloud) So airy and so subtle was embrac'd. Mir. By no cause in me, by my life dear Aunt. Guard. I believe you, then help in my revenge, And you shall do't, or lose my love for ever, I'll have him quitted at his equal weapon, Thou art young, follow him, bait his desires With all the Engines of a womans wit, Stretch modesty even to the highest pitch; He cannot freeze at such a flaming beauty; And when thou hast him by th' amorous gills, Think on my vengeance, choak up his desires, Then let his banquetings be Tantalisme, Let thy disdain spurn the dissembler out; Oh I should climb my Stars, and sit above, To see him burn to ashes in his love. Mir. This will be a strange taste, Aunt, and an Unwilling labour, yet in your injunction I am a servant to't. Guard. Thou'lt undertak't? Mir. Yes, let the success commend it self hereafter. Guard. Effect it Girl, my substance is thy store, Nothing but want of Will makes woman poor. [Exeunt.

Lady Ruin. Nay, I am your own, 'tis in your pleasure How you'll deal with me; yet I would intreat, You will not make that which is bad enough, Worse than it need be, by a second ill, When it can render you no second profit; If it be coin you seek, you have your prey, All my store I vow, (and it weighs a hundred) My life, or any hurt you give my body, Can inrich you no more. Witty. You may pursue. L. Ruin. As I am a Gentleman; I never will, Only we'll bind you to quiet behaviour Till you call out for Bail, and on th' other Side of the hedge leave you; but keep the peace Till we be out of hearing, for by that We shall be out of danger, if we come back, We come with a mischief. Lady. You need not fear me. Prisc. Come, we'll bestow you then. [Exit Ruin. Prisc. and Lady. Wit. Why law you Sir, is not this a swifter Revenue than, Sic probas, ergo's & igitur's can bring in? why is not this one of your Syllogismes in Barbara? Omne utile est honestum. Cred. Well Sir, a little more of this acquaintance Will make me know you fully, I protest. You have (at first sight) made me conscious Of such a deed my dreams ne'er prompted, yet I could almost have wish'd rather ye'ad rob'd me Of my Cloak, (for my Purse 'tis a Scholars) Than to have made me a robber. I had rather have answered three difficult questions, Than this one, as easie, as yet it seems. Witty. Tush, you shall never come to farther answer for't; Can you confess your penurious Uncle, In his full face of love, to be so strict A Nigard to your Commons, that you are fain To size your belly out with Shoulder Fees? With Rumps and Kidneys, and Cues of single Beer, And yet make Daymy to feed more daintily, At this easier rate? fie Master Credulous, I blush for you. Cred. This is a truth undeniable. Wit. Why go to then, I hope I know your Uncle, How does he use his Son, nearer than you? Cred. Faith, like his Jade, upon the bare Commons, Turn'd out to pick his living as he can get it; He would have been glad to have shar'd in such A purchase, and thank'd his good fortune too.

But mum no more—is all safe, Bullies? Ruin. Secure, the Gentleman thinks him most happy in his loss, With his safe life and limbs, and redoubles His first vow, as he is a Gentleman, Never to pursue us. Wit. Well away then, Disperse you with Master Credulous, who still Shall bear the purchase, Priscian and I, Will take some other course: You know our meeting At the Three Cups in St Gile's, with this proviso, (For 'tis a Law with us) that nothing be open'd Till all be present, the looser saies a hundred, And it can weigh no less. Ruin. Come, Sir, we'll be your guide. Cred. My honesty, which till now was never forfeited, All shall be close till our meeting. [Exit Cred. and Ruin. Witty. Tush, I believ't. And then all shall out; where's the thief that's robb'd?

L. Rui. Here Master Oldcraft, all follows now. Witty. 'Twas neatly done, wench, now to turn that bag Of counterfeits to current pieces, & actum est. L. Rui. You are the Chymist, we'll blow the fire still, If you can mingle the ingredients. Witty. I will not miss a cause, a quantity, a dram, You know the place. Pris. I have told her that, Sir. Witty. Good, turn Ruinous to be a Constable, I'm sure We want not beards of all sorts, from the Worshipful Magistrate to the under Watchman; Because we must have no danger of life, But a cleanly cheat, attach Credulous, The cause is plain, the theft found about him; Then fall I in his own Cosins shape By mere accident, where finding him distrest, I with some difficulty must fetch him off, With promise that his Uncle shall shut up all With double restitution: Master Constable, Ruinous His mouth shall be stopt; you, Mistriss rob-thief, Shall have your share of what we can gull my Father of; Is't plain enough? L. Rui. As plain a cozenage as can be, faith. Witty. Father, I come again, and again when this is Past too, Father, one will beget another; I'd be loath to leave your posterity barren, You were best [to] come to composition Father, Two hundred pieces yearly allow me yet, It will [be] cheaper (Father) than my wit, For I will cheat none but you, dear Father. [Exeunt.

Old K. Why now you take the course Sir Gregory Fop: I could enforce her, and I list, but love That's gently won, is a man's own for ever, Have you prepar'd good Musick? Sir Gr. As fine a noise, Uncle, as heart can wish. O[l]d K. Why that's done like a Suitor, They must be woo'd a hundred several ways, Before you obtain the right way in a woman, 'Tis an odd creature, full of creeks and windings. The Serpent has not more; for sh'as all his, And then her own beside came in by her mother. Sir Gr. A fearful portion for a man to venture on. Old K. But the way found once by the wits of men, There is no creature lies so tame agen. Sir Gr. I promise you, not a house-Rabbit, Sir. Old K. No sucker on 'em all. Sir Gr. What a thing's that? They're pretty fools I warrant, when they'r tame As a man can lay his lips [to]. Old K. How were you bred, Sir? Did you never make a fool of a Tenants daughter? Sir Gr. Never i'faith, they ha' made some fools for me, And brought 'em many a time under their aprons. Old [K] They could not shew you the way plainlier, I think, To make a fool again. Sir Gr. There's fools enough, Sir, 'Less they were wiser. Old K. This is wondrous rare, Come you to London with a Maiden-head, Knight? A Gentleman of your rank ride with a Cloak-bag? Never an Hostess by the way to leave it with? Nor Tapsters Sister? nor head-Ostlers Wife? What no body? Sir Gr. Well mock'd old Wit-monger, I keep it for your Neece. Old K. Do not say so for shame, she'll laugh at thee, A wife ne'er looks for't, 'tis a batchelors penny, He may giv't to a begger-wench, i'th' progress time, And ne'er be call'd to account for't. [Ex. Sir Gr. Would I had known so much, I could ha' stopt a beggers mouth by th' way.

That rail'd upon me, 'cause I'd give her nothing— What, are they come? Pag. And plac'd directly, Sir, Under her window. Sir Gr. What may I call you, Gentleman? Boy. A poor servant to the Viol, I'm the Voice, Sir. Sir Gr. In good time Master Voice? Boy. Indeed good time does get the mastery. Sir Gr. What Countreyman, Master Voice. Boy. Sir, born at Ely, we all set up in El[y,] But our house commonly breaks in Rutland-shire. Sir Gr. A shrewd place by my faith, it may well break your voice, It breaks many a mans back; come, set to your business.

Fain would I wake you, Sweet, but fear I should invite you to worse chear; In your dreams you cannot fare Meaner than Musick; no compare; None of your slumbers are compil'd Under the pleasure makes a Child; Your day-delights, so well compact, That what you think, turns all to act: I'd wish my life no better play, Your dream by night, your thought by day. Wake gently, wake, Part softly from your dreams; The morning flies To your fair eyes, To take her special beams. Sir Gr. I hear her up, here Master Voice, Pay you the Instruments, save what you can,

To keep you when you're crackt. [Exit Boy. Neece. Who should this be? That I'm so much beholding to, for sweetness? Pray Heaven it happens right. Sir Gr. Good morrow, Mistriss. Neece. An ill day and a thousand come upon thee. Sir Gr. 'Light, that's six hundred more than any Almanack has. Neece. Comes it from thee? it is the mangiest Musick That ever woman heard. Sir Gr. Nay, say not so, Lady, There's not an itch about 'em. Neece. I could curse My attentive powers, for giving entrance to't; There is no boldness like the impudence That's lockt in a fools bloud, how durst you do this? In conscience I abus'd you as sufficiently As woman could a man; insatiate Coxcomb, The mocks and spiteful language I have given thee, Would o' my life ha' serv'd ten reasonable men, And rise contented too, and left enough for their friends. Thou glutton at abuses, never satisfied? I am perswaded thou devour'st more flouts Than all thy body's worth, and still a hungred! A mischief of that maw, prethee seek elsewhere, Introth I am weary of abusing thee; Get thee a fresh Mistriss, thou'st make work enough; I do not think there's scorn enough in Town To serve thy turn, take the Court-Ladies in, And all their Women to 'em, that exceed 'em. Sir Gr. Is this in earnest, Lady? Neece. Oh unsatiable! Dost thou count all this but an earnest yet? I'd thought I'd paid thee all the whole sum, trust me; Thou'lt begger my derision utterly If thou stay'st longer, I shall want a laugh: If I knew where to borrow a contempt Would hold thee tack, stay and be hang'd, thou shouldst then: But thou'st no conscience now to extort hate from me, When one has spent all she can make upon thee; Must I begin to pay thee hire again? After I have rid thee twice? faith 'tis unreasonable. Sir Gr. Say you so? I'll know that presently. [Exit. Neece. Now he runs To fetch my Uncle to this musty bargain, But I have better ware always at hand. And lay by this still, when he comes to cheapen.

Cun. I met the Musick now, yet cannot learn What entertainment he receiv'd from her. Nee. There's some body set already, I must to't, I see, Well, well, Sir Gregory? Cun. Hah, Sir Gregory? Nee. Where e'er you come, you may well boast your conquest. Cun. She's lost y'faith, enough, has fortune then Remembred her great boy? she seldom fails 'em. Nee. H' was the unlikeliest man at first, methought, To have my love, we never met but wrangled. Cun. A pox upon that wrangling, say I still, I never knew it fail yet, where e'er't came; It never comes but like a storm of hail, 'Tis sure to bring fine weather at the tail on't, There's not one match 'mongst twenty made without it, It fights i' th' tongue, but sure to agree i' th' haunches. Nee. That man that should ha' told me when time was. I should ha' had him, had been laught at piteously, But see how things will change! Cun. Here's a heart feels it—Oh the deceitful promises of love! What trust should a man put i' th' lip of woman? She kist me with that strength, as if sh'ad meant To ha' set the fair print of her soul upon me. Nee. I would ha' sworn 'twould ne'er ha been a match once. Cun. I'll hear no more, I'm mad to hear so much, Why should I aim my thoughts at better fortunes Than younger brothers have? that's a Maid with nothing, Or some old Soap-boilers Widow, without Teeth, There waits my fortune for me, seek no farther. [Ex. Cun.

Old K. You tell me things, Sir Gregory, that cannot be. She will not, nor she dares not. Sir Gr. Would I were whipt then. Nee. I'll make as little shew of love, Sir Gregory, As ever Woman did, you shall not know You have my heart a good while. Old K. Heard you that? Nee. Man will insult so soon, 'tis his condition, 'Tis good to keep him off as long as we can, I've much ado, I swear; and love i' th' end Will have his course, let Maids do what they can, They are but frail things till they end in man. Old K. What say you to this, Sir? Sir Gr. This is somewhat handsome. Nee. And by that little wrangling that I fain'd, Now I shall try how constant his love is, Although't went sore against my heart to chide him. Sir Gr. Alas poor Gentlewoman. Old K. Now y'are sure of truth, You hear her own thoughts speak. Sir Gr. They speak indeed. Old K. Go, you're a brainless Coax; a Toy, a Fop, I'll go no farther than your name, Sir Gr[egory] I'll right my self there; were you from this place, You should perceive I'm heartily angry with you, Offer to sow strife 'twixt my Neece and I? Good morrow Neece, good morrow. Nee. Many fair ones to you, Sir. Old K. Go, you're a Coxcomb. How dost Neece this morning? An idle shallow fool: sleep'st thou well, Girl? Fortune may very well provide thee Lordships, For honesty has left thee little manners. Sir Gr. How am I bang'd o'both sides! Old K. Abuse kindnesse? Will't take the air to day Neece? Nee. When you please, Sir, There stands the Heir behind you I must take, (Which I'd as lieve take, as take him I swear.) Old K. La' you; do you hear't continued to your teeth now? A pox of all such Gregories; what a hand [Neece lets fall her Scarfe. Have I with you! Sir Gr. No more y'feck, I ha' done, Sir: Lady, your Scarf's fal'n down. Nee. 'Tis but your luck, Sir, And does presage the Mistriss must fall shortly, You may wear it, and you please. Old K. There's a trick for you, You're parlously belov'd, you should complain. Sir Gr. Yes, when I complain, Sir, Then do your worst, there I'll deceive you, Sir. Old K. You are a Dolt, and so I leave you, Sir. [Exit. Sir Gr. Ah sirrah, Mistriss were you caught, i'faith? We overheard you all; I must not know I have your heart, take heed o' that, I pray, I knew some Scarf would come. Nee. He's quite gone, sure: Ah you base Coxcomb, couldst thou come again? And so abus'd as thou wast? Sir Gr. How? Nee. 'Twould ha' kill'd A sensible man, he would ha' gone to his chamber, And broke his heart by this time. Sir Gr. Thank you heartily. Nee. Or fixt a naked Rapier in a Wall, Like him that earn'd his Knighthood, e'r he had it, And then refus'd upon't, ran up to th' hilts. Sir Gr. Yes, let him run for me, I was never brought up to't, I never profest running i' my life. Nee. What art thou made on? thou tough villanous vermin. Will nothing destroy thee? Sir Gr. Yes, yes, assure your self Unkind words may do much. Nee. Why, dost thou want 'em? I've e'en consum'd my spleen to help thee to 'em: Tell me what sort of words they be would speed thee? I'll see what I can do yet. Sir Gr. I'm much beholding to you, You're willing to bestow huge pains upon me. Nee. I should account nothing too much to rid thee. Sir Gr. I wonder you'd not offer to destroy me, All the while your Uncle was here. Neece. Why there thou betray'st thy house; we of the Old-Crafts Were born to more wit than so. Sir Greg. I wear your favor here. Neece. Would it might rot thy arme off: if thou knewst With what contempt thou hast it, what hearts bitterness, How many cunning curses came along with it, Thoud'st quake to handle it. Sir Greg. A pox, tak't again then; Who'd be thus plagu'd of all hands? Neece. No, wear't still, But long I hope thou shalt not, 'tis but cast Upon thee, purposely to serve another That has more right to't, as in some Countries they convey Their treasure upon Asses to their friends; If mine be but so wise, and apprehensive, As my opinion gives him to my heart, It stayes not long on thy desertless arme; I'll make thee e'er I ha' done, not dare to wear Any thing of mine, although I give't thee freely; Kiss it you may, and make what shew you can, But sure you carry't to a worthier Man, And so good morrow to you. [Exit. Sir Greg. Hu hum, ha hum; I han't the spirit now to dash my brains out, Nor the audacity to kill my self, But I could cry my heart out, that's as good, For so't be out, no matter which way it comes, If I can dye with a fillip, or depart At hot-cockles, What's that to any man? If there be so much death that serves my turn there. Every one knows the state of his own body, No Carrion kills a Kite, but then agen There's Cheese will choak a Daw; time I were dead I'faith, If I knew which way without hurt or danger. I am a Maiden-Knight, and cannot look Upon a naked weapon with any modesty, Else 'twould go hard with me, and to complain To Sir Perfidious the old Knight agen, Were to be more abus'd; perhaps he would beat me well, But ne'er believe me.

And few Men dye o' beating, that were lost too: Oh, here's my friend, I'll make my moan to him. Cun. I cannot tear her memory from my heart, That treads mine down, was ever man so fool'd That profest wit? Sir Greg. O Cuningame? Cun. Sir Gregory? The choice, the Victor, the Towns happy Man? Sir Greg. 'Snigs, What do'st mean? come I to thee for comfort, and do'st abuse me too? Cun. Abuse you? How Sir? With justifying your fortune, and your joyes? Sir Greg. Pray hold your hand, Sir, I've been bob'd enough, You come with a new way now; strike me merrily, But when a man's sore beaten o' both sides already, Then the least tap in jest goes to the guts on him; Wilt ha the truth? I'm made the rankest ass That e'er was born to Lordships. Cun. What? No Sir? Sir Greg. I had not thought my body could a yielded All those foul scurvie names that she has call'd me, I wonder whence she fetcht 'em? Cun. Is this credible? Sir Greg. She pin'd this Scarf upon me afore her Unckle, But his back turn'd, she curst me so for wearing on't, The very brawn of mine arme has ak'd ever since, Yet in a manner forc't me to wear't still, But hop't I should not long; if good luck serve I should meet one that has more wit and worth Should take it from me, 'twas but lent to me, And sent to him for a token. Cun. I conceit it, I know the Man That lies in wait for't, part with't by all means, In any case, you are way-laid about it. Sir Greg. How Sir? way-laid? Cun. Pox of a Scarf, say I, I prize my friends life 'bove a million on 'em, You shall be rul'd, Sir, I know more than you. Sir Greg. If you know more than I, let me be rid on't, 'Lass, 'tis not for my wearing, so she told me. Cun. No, no, give me't, the knave shall miss his purpose, And you shall live. Sir Greg. I would, as long as I could, Sir. Cun. No more replyes, you shall, I'll prevent this, Pompey shall march without it. Sir Greg. What, is't he? My Man that was? Cun. Call him your deadly Enemy; You give him too fair a name, you deal too nobly, He bears a bloody mind, a cruel foe, Sir, I care not if he heard me. Sir Greg. But, Do you hear, Sir? Can't sound with reason she should affect him? Cun. Do you talk of reason? I never thought to have heard Such a word come from you; reason in love? Would you give that, no Doctor could e'er give? Has not a Deputy married his Cook-maid? An Aldermans Widow, one that was her turn-broach? Nay, Has not a great Lady brought her Stable Into her Chamber: lay with her Horse-keeper? Sir Greg. Did ever love play such Jades tricks, Sir? Cun. Oh thousands, thousands: Beware a sturdy Clown e're while you live, Sir; 'Tis like a huswifery in most Shires about us; You shall ha' Farmers Widows wed thin Gentlemen, Much like your self, but put'em to no stress; What work can they do, with small trap-stick legs? They keep Clowns to stop gaps, and drive in pegs, A drudgery fit for Hindes, e'en back agen, Sir, Your're safest at returning. Sir Greg. Think you so, Sir? Cun. But, How came this Clown to be call'd Pompey first? Sir Greg. Push, one good-man Cæsar, a Pump-maker kersen'd him; Pompey he writes himself, but his right name's Pumpey, And stunk too when I had him, now he's crank. Cun. I'm glad I know so much to quell his pride, Sir, Walk you still that way, I'll make use of this, To resolve all my doubts, and place this favor On some new Mistriss, only for a try, And if it meet my thoughts, I'll swear 'tis I. [Exit. Sir Greg. Is Pompey grown so malepert? so frampel? The onely cutter about Ladies honors?

And his blade soonest out? O. K. Now, What's the news, Sir? Sir Gre. I dare not say but good; oh excellent good, Sir. O. K. I hope now you're resolv'd she loves you, Knight? Sir Gr. Cuds me, What else Sir? that's not to do now. O. K. You would not think how desperately you anger'd me, When you bely'd her goodness; oh you vext me, Even to a Palsey. Sir Greg. What a thing was that Sir?

Neece. 'Tis, that 'tis; as I have hope of sweetness, the Scarfe's gone; Worthy wise friend, I doat upon thy cunning, We two shall be well matcht, our Issue-male, sure Will be born Counsellors; is't possible? Thou shalt have another token out of hand for't; Nay, since the way's found, pitty thou shouldst want, y'faith, O my best joy, and dearest. O. K. Well said, Neece, So violent 'fore your Uncle? What will you do In secret then? Sir Greg. Marry call me slave, and rascal. Neece. Your Scarfe—the Scarfe I gave you— O. K. Mass that's true Neece, I ne'er thought upon that; the Scarfe she gave you—Sir? What dumb? No answer from you? the Scarfe? Sir Greg. I was way-laid about it, my life threatned; Life's life, Scarfe's but a Scarfe, and so I parted from't. Neece. Unfortunate woman! my first favor too? O. K. Will you be still an ass? no reconcilement 'Twixt you and wit? Are you so far fallen out, You'l never come together? I tell you true, I'm very lowsily asham'd on you, That's the worst shame that can be; Thus bayting on him: now his heart's hook't in, I'll make him, e'er I ha' done, take her with nothing, I love a man that lives by his wits alife; Nay leave, sweet Neece, 'tis but a Scarfe, let it go. Neece. The going of it never grieves me, Sir. It is the manner, the manner— Sir Greg. O dissembling Marmaset! If I durst speak, Or could be believ'd when I speak, What a tale could I tell, to make hair stand upright now! Neece. Nay, Sir, at your request you shall perceive, Uncle, With what renewing love I forgive this: Here's a fair Diamond, Sir, I'll try how long You can keep that. Sir Greg. Not very long, you know't too, Like a cunning witch as you are. Neece. Y'are best let him ha' that too. Sir Greg. So I were, I think, there were no living else, I thank you, as you have handled the matter. O. K. Why this is musical now, and Tuesday next Shall tune your Instruments, that's the day set. Neece. A match, good Uncle. O. K. Sir, you hear me too? Sir Greg. Oh very well, I'm for you. Neece. What e'er you hear, you know my mind.

O. K. Oh torture! torture! thou carriest a sting i'thy tail, Thou never brought'st good news i'thy life yet, And that's an ill quality, leave it when thou wilt. Witty. Why you receive a blessing the wrong way, Sir, Call you not this good newes? to save at once Sir Your credit and your kinsmans life together; Would it not vex your peace, and gaule your worth? T'have one of your name hang'd? O. K. Peace, no such words, boy. Wit. Be thankful for the blessing of prevention then. O. K. Le' me see, there was none hang'd out of our house since Brute, I ha' search't both Stow, and Hollinshead. Wit. O Sir. O. K. I'll see what Polychronicon sayes anon too. Wit. 'Twas a miraculous fortune that I heard on't. O. K. I would thou'dst never heard on't. Wit. That's true too, So it had ne'er been done; to see the luck on't, He was ev'n brought to Justice Aurums threshold, There had flew'n forth a Mittimus straight for Newgate; And note the fortune too, Sessions a Thursday, Jury cull'd out a Friday, Judgment a Saturday, Dungeon a Sunday, Tyburne a Munday, Miseries quotidian ague, when't begins once, Every day pulls him, till he pull his last. O. K. No more, I say, 'tis an ill theam: where left you him? Wit. He's i'th' Constables hands below i'th' Hall, Sir, Poor Gentleman, and his accuser with him. O. K. What's he? Wit. A Judges Son 'tis thought, so much the worse too, He'l hang his enemy, an't shall cost him nothing, That's a great priviledge. O. K. Within there?

Ser. Sir? O. K. Call up the folks i'th' Hall. I had such hope on him, For a Scholar too, a thing thou ne'er wast fit for Therefore erected all my joyes in him; Got a Welch Benefice in reversion for him, Dean of Cardigan, has his grace already, He can marry and bury, yet ne'er a hair on's face;

Like a French Vicar, and, Does he bring such fruits to Town with him? A Thief at his first lighting? Oh good den to you. Wit. Nay, sweet Sir, you'r so vext now, you'l grieve him, And hurt your self. O. K. Away, I'll hear no counsel; Come you but once in seven year to your Uncle, And at that time must you be brought home too? And by a Constable? Wit. Oh speak low, Sir, Remember your own credit, you profess You love a Man o'wit, begin at home, Sir, Express it i'your self. Lady. Nay, Master Constable, Shew your self a wise man, 'gainst your nature too. Ruin. Sir, no Dish-porridgment, we have brought home As good men as ye. O. K. Out, a North-Brittain Constable, that tongue Will publish all, it speaks so broad already; Are you the Gentleman. Lady. The unfortunate one, Sir, That fell into the power of merciless Thieves, Whereof this fellow, whom I'd call your kinsman, As little as I could (for the fair reverence I owe to fame and years) was the prime villain. O.K. A wicked prime. Wit. Nay, not so loud, sweet father. Lad. The rest are fled, but I shall meet with 'em, Hang one of 'em I will certain, I ha' swore it, And 'twas my luck to light upon this first. O.K. A Cambridge man for this? these your degrees, Sir? Nine years at University for this fellowship? Wit. Take your voice lower, dear Sir. O.K. What's your loss, Sir? Lady. That which offends me to repeat, the Money's whole, Sir, 'Tis i'th' Constables hands there, a seal'd hundred, But I will not receive it. O.K. No? Not the Money, Sir, Having confest 'tis all? Lady. 'Tis all the Money, Sir, But 'tis not all I lost, for when they bound me, They took a Diamond hung at my shirt string, Which fear of life made me forget to hide; It being the sparkling witness of a Contract, 'Twixt a great Lawyers daughter and my self. Wit. I told you what he was; What does the Diamond Concern my Cozen, Sir? Lady. No more did the Money, But he shall answer all now. Wit. There's your conscience, It shewes from whence you sprung. Lady. Sprung? I had leapt a Thief, Had I leapt some of your alliance. Wit. Slave! Lady. You prevent me still. O.K. 'Slid, Son, Are you mad? Lady. Come, come, I'll take a legal course. O.K. Will you undo us all? What's your demand, Sir? Now we're in's danger too. Lady. A hundred Mark, Sir, I will not bait a doit. Witty. A hundred Rascals. Lady. Sir, find 'em out in your own blood, and take 'em. Wit. Go take your course, follow the Law, and spare not. O. K. Does fury make you drunk? know you what you say? Wit. A hundred dogs dungs, do your worst. O. K. You do I'm sure; Whose loud now? Wit. What his own asking? O. K. Not in such a case? Wit. You shall have but threescore pound; spite a your teeth, I'll see you hang'd first. O. K. And what's seven pound more man? That all this coyle's about? stay, I say, he shall ha't. Wit. It is your own, you may do what you please with it; Pardon my zeal, I would ha' sav'd you money; Give him all his own asking? O. K. What's that to you, Sir? Be sparing of your own, teach me to pinch In such a case as this? go, go, live by your wits, go. Wit. I practise all I can. O. K. Follow you me, Sir, And, Master Constable, come from the knave, And be a witness of a full recompence. Wit. Pray stop the Constables mouth, what ere you do Sir. O. K. Yet agen? as if I meant not to do that my self, Without your counsel? As for you, precious kinsman, Your first years fruits in Wales shall go to rack for this, You lie not in my house, I'll pack you out, And pay for your lodging rather.

Witty. Oh fie Cozen, These are ill courses, you a Scholar too? Cred. I was drawn into't most unfortunately, By filthy deboist company. Wit. I, I, I. 'Tis even the spoil of all our youth in England. What were they Gentlemen? Cred. Faith so like some on 'em, They were ev'n the worse agen. Wit. Hum. Cred. Great Tobacco [swivers], They would go near to rob with a pipe in their mouths. Wit. What, no? Cred. Faith leave it Cozen, because my Rascals use it. Wit. So they do meat and drink, must worthy Gentlemen Refrain their food for that? an honest man May eat of the same Pig some Parson dines with, A Lawyer and a fool feed of one Woodcock, Yet one ne'er the simpler, t'other ne'er the wiser; 'Tis not meat, drink, or smoak, dish, cup, or pipe, Co-operates to the making of a Knave, 'Tis the condition makes a slave, a slave, There's London Philosophy for you; I tell you Cozen, You cannot be too cautelous, nice, or dainty, In your society here, especially When you come raw from the University, Before the World has hard'ned you a little, For as a butter'd loaf is a Scholars breakfast there, So a poach't Scholar is a cheaters dinner here, I ha' known seven of 'em supt up at a Meale. Cred. Why a poacht Scholar? Wit. 'Cause he powres himself forth, And all his secrets, at the first acquaintance, Never so crafty to be eaten i'th' shell, But is outstript of all he has at first, And goes down glib, he's swallowed with sharp wit, Stead of Wine Vinegar. Cred. I shall think, Cozen, O' your poach't Scholar, while I live.

Serv. Master Credulous, Your Uncle wills you to forbear the House, You must with me, I'm charg'd to see you plac'd In some new lodging about Theeving Lane, What the conceit's, I know not, but commands you To be seen here no more, till you hear further. Cred. Here's a strange welcome, Sir. Wit. This is the World, Cozen; When a Man's fame's once poyson'd, fare thee well Lad.

This is the happiest cheat I e'er claim'd share in, It has a two-fold fortune, gets me coyne, And puts him out of grace, that stood between me, My fathers Cambridge Jewel, much suspected To be his Heir, now there's a bar in's hopes.

Ruin. It chinks, make haste. Lady. The Goat at Smithfield Pens.

Wit. Zo, zo, zufficient. Master Cuningame? I never have ill luck when I meet a wit. Cun. A Wit's better to meet, than to follow then, For I ha' none so good I can commend yet, But commonly men unfortunate to themselves, Are luckiest to their friends, and so may I be. Wit. I run o'er so much worth, going but in haste from you, All my deliberate friendship cannot equal. Cun. 'Tis but to shew, that you can place sometimes,

Your modesty a top of all your virtues. [Exit Wit. This Gentleman may pleasure me yet agen; I am so haunted with this broad-brim'd hat, Of the last progress block, with the young hat-band, Made for a sucking Devil of two years old, I know not where to turn my self. Mir. Sir? Cun. More torture? Mir. 'Tis rumor'd that you love me. Cun. A my troth Gentlewoman, Rumor's as false a knave as ever pist then, Pray tell him so from me; I cannot fain With a sweet Gentlewoman, I must deal down right. Mir. I heard, though you dissembled with my Aunt, Sir, And that makes me more confident. Cun. There's no falshood, But payes us our own some way, I confess I Fain'd with her, 'twas for a weightier purpose, But not with thee, I swear. Mir. Nor I with you then, Although my Aunt enjoyn'd me to dissemble, To right her splene, I love you faithfully. Cun. Light, this is worse than 'twas. Mir. I find such worth in you, I cannot, nay I dare not dally with you, For fear the flame consume me. Cun. Here's fresh trouble, This drives me to my conscience, for 'tis foul To injure one that deals directly with me. Mir. I crave but such a truth from your love, Sir, As mine brings you, and that's proportionable. Cun. A good Geometrician, 'shrew my heart; Why are you out o'your wits, pretty plump Gentlewoman, You talk so desperately? 'tis a great happiness, Love has made one on's wiser than another, We should be both cast away else; Yet I love gratitude, I must requite you, I shall be sick else, but to give you me, A thing you must not take, if you mean to live, For a' my troth I hardly can my self; No wise Physitian will prescribe me for you. Alass, your state is weak, you had need of Cordials, Some rich Electuary, made of a Son an Heir, An elder brother, in a Cullisse, whole, 'Tmust be some wealthy Gregory, boyl'd to a Jelly, That must restore you to the state of new Gowns, French Ruffs, and mutable head-tires. Mir. But, Where is he, Sir? One that's so rich will ne'er wed me with nothing. Cun. Then see thy Conscience, and thy wit together, Would'st thou have me then, that has nothing neither? What say you to Fop Gregory the first, yonder? Will you acknowledge your time amply recompenc'd? Full satisfaction upon loves record? Without any more suit, if I combine you? Mir. Yes, by this honest kiss. Cun. You're a wise Clyent, To pay your fee before-hand, but all do so, You know the worst already, that's the best too. Mir. I know he's a fool. Cun. You'r shrewdly hurt then; This is your comfort, your great wisest Women Pick their first Husband still out of that house, And some will have 'em to chuse, if they bury twenty. Mir. I'm of their minds, that like him for a [first] Husband, To run youths race with [him], 'tis very pleasant, But when I'm old, I'd alwayes wish for a wiser. Cun. You may have me by that time: For this first business, Rest upon my performance. Mir. With all thankfulness. Cun. I have a project you must aid me in too. Mir. You bind me to all lawful action, Sir. Cun. Pray wear this Scarf about you. Mir. I conjecture now— Cun. There's a Court Principle for't, one office must help another; As for example, for your cast o' Manchits out o'th' Pantry, I'll allow you a Goose out o'th' Kitchin. Mir. 'Tis very sociably done, Sir, farewel performance, I shall be bold to call you so. Cun. Do, sweet confidence,

If I can match my two broad brim'd hats; 'Tis he, I know the Maggot by his head; Now shall I learn newes of him, my precious chief. Sir Greg. I have been seeking for you i'th' bowling-Green, Enquir'd at Nettletons, and Anthonies Ordinary, T'ha's vext me to the heart, look, I've a Diamond here, And it cannot find a Master. Cun. No? That's hard y'faith. Sir Greg. It does belong to some body, a —— on him, I would he had it, do's but trouble me, And she that sent it, is so waspish too, There's no returning to her till't be gone. Cun. Oh, ho, ah sirrah, are you come? Sir Greg. What's that friend? Cun. Do you note that corner sparkle? Sir Greg. Which? which? which Sir? Cun. At the West end o'th' Coller. Sir Greg. Oh I see't now. Cun. 'Tis an apparent mark; this is the stone, Sir, That so much blood is threatned to be shed for. Sir Greg. I pray. Cun. A tun at least. Sir Greg. They must not find't i'me then, they must Goe where 'tis to be had. Cun. 'Tis well it came to my hands first, Sir Gregory, I know where this must go. Sir Greg. Am I discharg'd on't? Cun. My life for yours now. [Draws. Sir Greg. What now? Cun. 'Tis discretion, Sir, I'll stand upon my Guard all the while I ha't. Sir Greg. 'Troth thou tak'st too much danger on thee still, To preserve me alive. Cun. 'Tis a friends duty, Sir, Nay, by a toy that I have late thought upon, I'll u[n]dertake to get your Mistriss for you. Sir Greg. Thou wilt not? Wilt? Cun. Contract her by a trick, Sir, When she least thinks on't. Sir Greg. There's the right way to't, For if she think on't once, shee'l never do't. Cun. She does abuse you still then? Sir Greg. A——damnably, Every time worse than other; yet her Uncle Thinks the day holds a Tuesday; say it did, Sir, She's so familiarly us'd to call me Rascal, She'll quite forget to wed me by my own name, And then that Marriage cannot hold in Law, you know. Cun. Will you leave all to me? Sir Greg. Who should I leave it to? Cun. 'Tis our luck to love Neeces; I love a Neece too. Sir Greg. I would you did y'faith. Cun. But mine's a kind wretch. Sir Greg. I marry Sir, I would mine were so too. Cun. No rascal comes in her mouth. Sir Greg. Troth, and mine has little else in hers. Cun. Mine sends me tokens, All the World knows not on. Sir Greg. Mine gives me tokens too, very fine tokens, But I dare not wear 'em. Cun. Mine's kind in secret. Sir Greg. And there mine's a hell-cat. Cun. We have a day set too. Sir Greg. 'Slid, so have we man, But there's no sign of ever coming together. Cun. I'll tell thee who 'tis, the old womans Neece. Sir Greg. Is't she? Cun. I would your luck had been no worse for mildness; But mum, no more words on't to your Lady. Sir Greg. Foh! Cun. No blabbing, as you love me. Sir Greg. None of our blood Were ever bablers. Cun. Prethee convey this Letter to her, But at any hand let not your Mistriss see't. Sir Greg. Yet agen Sir? Cun. There's a Jewel in't, The very art would make her doat upon't. Sir Greg. Say you so? And she shall see't for that trick only. Cun. Remember but your Mistriss, and all's well. Sir Greg. Nay, if I do not, hang me. [Exit. Cun. I believe you; This is the onely way to return a token, I know he will do't now, 'cause he's charg'd to'th' contrary. He's the nearest kin to a Woman, of a thing Made without substance, that a man can find agen, Some Petticoat begot him, I'll be whipt else, Engendring with an old pair of paund hose, Lying in some hot chamber o'er the Kitchin: Very steame bred him, He never came where Rem in Re e'er grew; The generation of a hundred such Cannot make a man stand in a white sheet, For 'tis no act in Law, nor can a Constable Pick out a bawdy business for Bridewell in't;