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The Divell is an Aſſe. That is, to day, The name of what you are met for, a new Play. Yet, Grandee’s, would you were not come to grace Our matter, with allowing vs no place. Though you preſume Satan a ſubtill thing, 5 And may haue heard hee’s worne in a thumbe-ring; Doe not on theſe preſumptions, force vs act, In compaſſe of a cheeſe-trencher. This tract Will ne’er admit our vice, becauſe of yours. Anone, who, worſe then you, the fault endures 10 That your ſelues make? when you will thruſt and ſpurne, And knocke vs o’ the elbowes, and bid, turne; As if, when wee had ſpoke, wee muſt be gone, Or, till wee ſpeake, muſt all runne in, to one, Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth? 15 Would wee could ſtand due North; or had no South, If that offend: or were Muſcouy glaſſe, That you might looke our Scenes through as they paſſe. We know not how to affect you. If you’ll come To ſee new Playes, pray you affoord vs roome, 20 And ſhew this, but the ſame face you haue done Your deare delight, the Diuell of Edmunton. Or, if, for want of roome it muſt miſ-carry, ’Twill be but Iuſtice, that your cenſure tarry, Till you giue ſome. And when ſixe times you ha’ ſeen’t, 25 If this Play doe not like, the Diuell is in’t.

Hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c. To earth? and, why to earth, thou foooliſh Spirit? What wold’ſt thou do on earth? Pvg. For that, great Chiefe! As time ſhal work. I do but ask my mon’th. Which euery petty pui’nee Diuell has; 5 Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare Some thing, may gaine a longer grant, perhaps. Sat. For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two? Entring a Sow, to make her caſt her farrow? Or croſſing of a Mercat-womans Mare, 10 Twixt this, and Totnam? theſe were wont to be Your maine atchieuements, Pug, You haue ſome plot, now, Vpon a tonning of Ale, to ſtale the yeſt, Or keepe the churne ſo, that the buttter come not; Spight o’ the houſewiues cord, or her hot ſpit? 15 Or ſome good Ribibe, about Kentiſh Towne, Or Hogſden, you would hang now, for a witch, Becauſe ſhee will not let you play round Robbin: And you’ll goe ſowre the Citizens Creame ’gainſt Sunday? That ſhe may be accus’d for’t, and condemn’d, 20 By a Middleſex Iury, to the ſatisfaction Of their offended friends, the Londiners wiues Whoſe teeth were ſet on edge with it? Fooliſh feind, Stay i’ your place, know your owne ſtrengths, and put not Beyond the ſpheare of your actiuity. 25 You are too dull a Diuell to be truſted [96] Forth in thoſe parts, Pug, vpon any affayre That may concerne our name, on earth. It is not Euery ones worke. The ſtate of Hell muſt care Whom it imployes, in point of reputation, 30 Heere about London. You would make, I thinke An Agent, to be ſent, for Lancaſhire, Proper inough; or ſome parts of Northumberland, So yo’ had good inſtructions, Pug. Pvg. O Chiefe! You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee. 35 Proue me but for a fortnight, for a weeke, And lend mee but a Vice, to carry with mee, To practice there-with any play-fellow, And, you will ſee, there will come more vpon’t, Then you’ll imagine, pretious Chiefe. Sat. What Vice? 40 What kind wouldſt th’ haue it of? Pvg. Why, any Fraud; Or Couetouſneſſe; or Lady Vanity; Or old Iniquity: I’ll call him hither. Ini. What is he, calls vpon me, and would ſeeme to lack a Vice? Ere his words be halfe ſpoken, I am with him in a trice; 45 Here, there, and euery where, as the Cat is with the mice: True vetus Iniquitas. Lack’ſt thou Cards, friend, or Dice? I will teach thee cheate, Child, to cog, lye, and ſwagger, And euer and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger: To ſweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iuuentus, 50 In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-houſe. Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly, With a Wench that shall feede thee, with cock-ſtones and gelly. Pvg. Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is! Ini. Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape 55 From the top of Pauls-ſteeple, to the Standard in Cheepe: And lead thee a daunce, through the ſtreets without faile, Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my tayle. We will ſuruay the Suburbs, and make forth our ſallyes, Downe Petticoate-lane, and vp the Smock-allies, 60 To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes. To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes: From thence, wee will put in at Cuſtome-houſe key there, And ſee, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there, Falſe with their Maſters; and gueld many a full packe, 65 To ſpend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool-ſacke. Pvg. Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe? Ini. Nay, boy, I wil bring thee to the Bawds, and the Royſters, At Belins-gate, feaſting with claret-wine, and oyſters, From thence ſhoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i’ the Vintry, 70 And ſee, there the gimblets, how they make their entry! Or, if thou hadſt rather, to the Strand downe to fall, ’Gainſt the Lawyers come dabled from Weſtminſter-hall [97] And marke how they cling, with their clyents together, Like Iuie to Oake; so Veluet to Leather: 75 Ha, boy, I would ſhew thee. Pvg. Rare, rare! Div. Peace, dotard, And thou more ignorant thing, that ſo admir’ſt. Art thou the ſpirit thou ſeem’ſt? ſo poore? to chooſe This, for a Vice, t’aduance the cauſe of Hell, Now? as Vice ſtands this preſent yeere? Remember, 80 What number it is. Six hundred and ſixteene. Had it but beene fiue hundred, though ſome ſixty Aboue; that’s fifty yeeres agone, and ſix, (When euery great man had his Vice ſtand by him, In his long coat, ſhaking his wooden dagger) 85 I could conſent, that, then this your graue choice Might haue done that with his Lord Chiefe, the which Moſt of his chamber can doe now. But Pug, As the times are, who is it, will receiue you? What company will you goe to? or whom mix with? 90 Where canſt thou carry him? except to Tauernes? To mount vp ona joynt-ſtoole, with a Iewes-trumpe, To put downe Cokeley, and that muſt be to Citizens? He ne’re will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes. Hee may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner, 95 Skip with a rime o’ the Table, from New-nothing, And take his Almaine-leape into a cuſtard, Shall make my Lad Maioreſſe, and her ſiſters, Laugh all their hoods ouer their shoulders. But, This is not that will doe, they are other things 100 That are receiu’d now vpon earth, for Vices; Stranger, and newer: and chang’d euery houre. They ride ’hem like their horſes off their legges, And here they come to Hell, whole legions of ’hem, Euery weeke tyr’d. Wee, ſtill ſtriue to breed, 105 And reare ’hem vp new ones; but they doe not ſtand, When they come there: they turne ’hem on our hands. And it is fear’d they haue a ſtud o’ their owne Will put downe ours. Both our breed, and trade VVill ſuddenly decay, if we preuent not. 110 Vnleſſe it be a Vice of quality, Or faſhion, now, they take none from vs. Car-men Are got into the yellow ſtarch, and Chimney-ſweepers To their tabacco, and ſtrong-waters, Hum, Meath, and Obarni. VVe muſt therefore ayme 115 At extraordinary ſubtill ones, now, When we doe ſend to keepe vs vp in credit. Not old Iniquities. Get you e’ne backe, Sir, To making of your rope of ſand againe. You are not for the manners, nor the times: [98] 120 They haue their Vices, there, moſt like to Vertues; You cannnot know ’hem, apart, by any difference: They weare the ſame clothes, eate the ſame meate, Sleepe i’ the ſelfe-ſame beds, rid i’ thoſe coaches. Or very like, foure horſes in a coach, 125 As the beſt men and women. Tiſſue gownes, Garters and roſes, foureſcore pound a paire, Embroydred ſtockings, cut-worke ſmocks, and ſhirts, More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride, Then ere they were of true nobility! 130 But Pug, ſince you doe burne with ſuch deſire To doe the Common-wealth of Hell ſome ſeruice; I am content, aſſuming of a body, You goe to earth, and viſit men, a day. But you muſt take a body ready made, Pug, 135 I can create you none: nor ſhall you forme Your ſelfe an aery one, but become ſubiect To all impreſſion of the fleſh, you take, So farre as humane frailty. So, this morning, There is a handſome Cutpurſe hang’d at Tiborne, 140 Whoſe ſpirit departed, you may enter his body: For clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman, Or let our tribe of Brokers furniſh you. And, looke, how farre your ſubtilty can worke Thorow thoſe organs, with that body, ſpye 145 Amongſt mankind, (you cannot there want vices, And therefore the leſſe need to carry ’hem wi’ you) But as you make your ſoone at nights relation, And we ſhall find, it merits from the State, Your ſhall haue both truſt from vs, and imployment. 150 Pvg. Most gracious Chiefe! Div. Onely, thus more I bind you, To ſerue the firſt man that you meete; and him I’le ſhew you, now: Obserue him. Yon’ is hee, He ſhewes Fitz-dottrel to him, comming forth. You ſhall ſee, firſt, after your clothing. Follow him: But once engag’d, there you muſt ſtay and fixe; Not ſhift, vntill the midnights cocke doe crow. Pvg. Any conditions to be gone. Div. Away, then. 157

I, they doe, now, name Bretnor, as before, [97] They talk’d of Greſham, and of Doctor Fore-man, Francklin, and Fiske, and Sauory (he was in too) But there’s not one of theſe, that euer could Yet ſhew a man the Diuell, in true ſort. 5 They haue their chriſtalls, I doe know, and rings, And virgin parchment, and their dead-mens ſculls Their rauens wings, their lights, and pentacles, With characters; I ha’ ſeene all theſe. But— Would I might ſee the Diuell. I would giue 10 A hundred o’ theſe pictures, to ſee him Once out of picture. May I proue a cuckold, (And that’s the one maine mortall thing I feare) If I beginne not, now, to thinke, the Painters Haue onely made him. ’Slight, he would be ſeene, 15 One time or other elſe. He would not let An ancient gentleman, of a good houſe, As moſt are now in England, the Fitz-Dottrel’s Runne wilde, and call vpon him thus in vaine, As I ha’ done this twelue mone’th. If he be not, 20 At all, why, are there Coniurers? If they be not, Why, are there lawes againſt ’hem? The beſt artiſts Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London, Essex, and Kent, I haue had in pay to raiſe him, Theſe fifty weekes, and yet h’appeares not. ’Sdeath, 25 I ſhall ſuſpect, they, can make circles onely Shortly, and know but his hard names. They doe ſay, H’will meet a man (of himſelfe) that has a mind to him. If hee would ſo, I haue a minde and a halfe for him: He ſhould not be long abſent. Pray thee, come 30 I long for thee. An’ I were with child by him, And my wife too; I could not more. Come, yet, He expreſſes a longing to ſee the Diuell Good Beelezebub. Were hee a kinde diuell, And had humanity in him, hee would come, but To ſaue ones longing. I ſhould vſe him well, 35 I ſweare, and with reſpect (would he would try mee) Not, as the Conjurers doe, when they ha’ rais’d him. Get him in bonds, and ſend him poſt, on errands. A thouſand miles, it is prepoſterous, that; And I beleeue, is the true cauſe he comes not. [100] 40 And hee has reaſon. Who would be engag’d, That might liue freely, as he may doe? I ſweare, They are wrong all. The burn’t child dreads the fire. They doe not know to entertaine the Diuell. I would ſo welcome him, obſerue his diet, 45 Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of ’hem, I’ my own houſe; lend him my wiues wrought pillowes: And as I am an honeſt man, I thinke, If he had a minde to her, too; I should grant him, To make our friend-ſhip perfect. So I would not 50 To euery man. If hee but heare me, now? And ſhould come to mee in a braue young ſhape, And take me at my word? ha! Who is this?

Sir, your good pardon, that I thus preſume Vpon your priuacy. I am borne a Gentleman, A younger brother; but, in ſome diſgrace, Now, with my friends: and want ſome little meanes, To keepe me vpright, while things be reconcil’d. 5 Pleaſe you, to let my ſeruice be of vſe to you, Sir. Fit. Seruice? ’fore hell, my heart was at my mouth, Till I had view’d his ſhooes well: for, thoſe roſes Were bigge inough to hide a clouen foote. Hee lookes and ſuruay’s his feet: ouer and ouer. No, friend, my number’s full. I haue one ſeruant, 10 Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome Vnto the bruſh: for, iuſt so farre, I truſt him. He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke, Butler, and Steward; lookes vnto my horſe: And helpes to watch my wife. H’has all the places, 15 That I can thinke on, from the garret downward, E’en to the manger, and the curry-combe. Pvg. Sir, I ſhall put your worſhip to no charge, More then my meate, and that but very little, I’le ſerue you for your loue. Fit. Ha? without wages? 20 I’le harken o’ that eare, were I at leaſure. But now, I’m buſie. ’Pr’y the, friend forbeare mee, And’ thou hadſt beene a Diuell, I ſhould ſay [101] Somewhat more to thee. Thou doſt hinder, now, My meditations. Pvg. Sir, I am a Diuell. 25 Fit. How! Pvg. A true Diuell, S^r. Fit. Nay, now, you ly: Vnder your fauour, friend, for, I’ll not quarrell. I look’d o’ your feet, afore, you cannot coozen mee, Your ſhoo’s not clouen, Sir, you are whole hoof’d. He viewes his feete againe. Pvg. Sir, that’s a popular error, deceiues many: 30 But I am that, I tell you. Fit. What’s your name? Pvg. My name is Diuell, S^r. Fit. Sai’ſt thou true. Pvg. in-deed, S^r. Fit. ’Slid! there’s ſome omen i’ this! what countryman? Pvg. Of Derby-ſhire, S^r. about the Peake. Fit. That Hole Belong’d to your Anceſtors? Pvg. Yes, Diuells arſe, S^r. 35 Fit. I’ll entertaine him for the name ſake. Ha? And turne away my tother man? and ſaue Foure pound a yeere by that? there’s lucke, and thrift too! The very Diuell may come, heereafter, as well. Friend, I receiue you: but (withall) I acquaint you, 40 Aforehand, if yo’ offend mee, I muſt beat you. It is a kinde of exerciſe, I vſe. And cannot be without. Pvg. Yes, if I doe not Offend, you can, ſure. Fit. Faith, Diuell, very hardly: I’ll call you by your ſurname, ’cauſe I loue it. 45

Yonder hee walkes, Sir, I’ll goe lift him for you. Wit. To him, good Ingine, raiſe him vp by degrees, Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it. Shew your ſelfe now, a Mathematicall broker. Ing. I’ll warrant you for halfe a piece. Wit. ’Tis done, S^r. 5 Man. Is’t poſſible there ſhould be ſuch a man? Wit. You ſhall be your owne witneſſe, I’ll not labour To tempt you paſt your faith. Man. And is his wife So very handſome, ſay you? Wit. I ha’ not ſeene her, Since I came home from trauell: and they ſay, 10 Shee is not alter’d. Then, before I went, I ſaw her once; but ſo, as ſhee hath ſtuck Still i’ my view, no obiect hath remou’d her. Man. ’Tis a faire gueſt, Friend, beauty: and once lodg’d [102] Deepe in the eyes, ſhee hardly leaues the Inne. 15 How do’s he keepe her? Wit. Very braue. Howeuer, Himselfe be fordide, hee is ſenſuall that way. In euery dreſſing, hee do’s ſtudy her. Man. And furniſh forth himselfe ſo from the Brokers? Wit. Yes, that’s a hyr’d ſuite, hee now has one, 20 To ſee the Diuell is an Aſſe, to day, in: (This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him) He dares not miſſe a new Play, or a Feaſt, What rate ſoeuer clothes be at; and thinkes Himſelfe ſtill new, in other mens old. Man. But ſtay, 25 Do’s he loue meat ſo? Wit. Faith he do’s not hate it. But that’s not it. His belly and his palate Would be compounded with for reaſon. Mary, A wit he has, of that ſtrange credit with him, ’Gainſt all mankinde; as it doth make him doe 30 Iuſt what it liſt: it rauiſhes him forth, Whither it pleaſe, to any aſſembly’or place, And would conclude him ruin’d, ſhould hee ſcape One publike meeting, out of the beliefe He has of his owne great, and Catholike ſtrengths, 35 In arguing, and diſcourſe. It takes, I ſee: H’has got the cloak vpon him. Ingine hath won Fitzdottrel, to ’ſay on the cloake. Fit. A faire garment, By my faith, Ingine! Ing. It was neuer made, Sir, For three ſcore pound, I aſſure you: ’Twill yeeld thirty. The pluſh, Sir, coſt three pound, ten ſhillings a yard! 40 And then the lace, and veluet. Fit. I ſhall, Ingine, Be look’d at, pretitly, in it! Art thou ſure The Play is play’d to day? Ing. O here’s the bill, S^r. Hee giues him the Play-bill. I’, had forgot to gi’t you. Fit. Ha? the Diuell! I will not loſe you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you, 45 The Gallant is ſo furious in his folly? So mad vpon the matter, that hee’ll part With’s cloake vpo’ theſe termes? Ing. Truſt not your Ingine, Breake me to pieces elſe, as you would doe A rotten Crane, or an old ruſty Iacke, 50 That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him. Fit. I ſhall doe that, to ſatisfie you, Ingine, And my ſelfe too. With your leaue, Gentlemen. Hee turnes to Wittipol. Which of you is it, is ſo meere Idolater To my wiues beauty, and ſo very prodigall 55 Vnto my patience, that, for the ſhort parlee? Of one ſwift houres quarter, with my wife, He will depart with (let mee ſee) this cloake here The price of folly? Sir, are you the man? Wit. I am that vent’rer, Sir. Fit. Good time! your name 60 Is Witty-pol? Wit. The ſame, S^r. Fit. And ’tis told me, [103] Yo’ haue trauell’d lately? Wit. That I haue, S^r. Fit. Truly, Your trauells may haue alter’d your complexion; But ſure, your wit ſtood ſtill. Wit. It may well be, Sir. All heads ha’ not like growth. Fit. The good mans grauity, 65 That left you land, your father, neuer taught you Theſe pleaſant matches? Wit. No, nor can his mirth, With whom I make ’hem, put me off. Fit. You are Reſolu’d then? Wit. Yes, S^r. Fit. Beauty is the Saint, You’ll ſacrifice your ſelfe, into the ſhirt too? 70 Wit. So I may ſtill cloth, and keepe warme your wiſdome? Fit. You lade me S^r! Wit. I know what you wil beare, S^r. Fit. Well, to the point. ’Tis only, Sir, you ſay, To ſpeake vnto my wife? Wit. Only, to ſpeake to her. Fit. And in my preſence? Wit. In your very preſence. 75 Fit. And in my hearing? Wit. In your hearing: ſo, You interrupt vs not. Fit. For the ſhort ſpace You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre, I thinke I ſhall, with ſome conuenient ſtudy, And this good helpe to boot, bring my ſelfe to’t. 80 Hee ſhrugs himſelfe vp in the cloake. Wit. I aske no more. Fit. Pleaſe you, walk to’ard my houſe, Speake what you liſt; that time is yours: My right I haue departed with. But, not beyond, A minute, or a ſecond, looke for. Length, And drawing out, ma’aduance much, to theſe matches. 85 And I except all kiſſing. Kiſſes are Silent petitions ſtill with willing Louers. Wit. Louers? How falls that o’ your phantſie? Fit. Sir. I doe know ſomewhat. I forbid all lip-worke. Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties. 90 Who couets vnfit things, denies him ſelfe. Fit. You ſay well, Sir, ’Twas prettily ſaid, that ſame, He do’s, indeed. I’ll haue no touches, therefore, Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles Caſt ’bout the waſt, but all be done at diſtance. 95 Loue is brought vp with thoſe ſoft migniard handlings; His pulſe lies in his palme: and I defend All melting ioynts, and fingers, (that’s my bargaine) I doe defend ’hem, any thing like action. But talke, Sir, what you will. Vſe all the Tropes 100 And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you: And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir. Ingine, God b’w’you. Wit. Sir, I muſt condition To haue this Gentleman by, a witneſſe. Fit. Well, I am content, ſo he be ſilent. Man. Yes, S r. 105 Fit. Come Diuell, I’ll make you roome, ſtreight. But I’ll ſhew you Firſt, to your Miſtreſſe, who’s no common one, You muſt conceiue, that brings this game to ſee her. [104] I hope thou’ſt brought me good lucke. Pvg. I ſhall do’t. Sir.

Ingine, you hope o’ your halfe piece? ’Tis there, Sir. Be gone. Friend Manly, who’s within here? fixed? Wittipol knocks his friend o’ the breſt. Man. I am directly in a fit of wonder What’ll be the iſſue of this conference! Wit. For that, ne’r vex your ſelfe, till the euent. 5 How like yo’ him? Man. I would faine ſee more of him. Wit. What thinke you of this? Man. I am paſt degrees of thinking. Old Africk, and the new America, With all their fruite of Monſters cannot ſhew So iuſt a prodigie. Wit. Could you haue beleeu’d, 10 Without your ſight, a minde ſo ſordide inward, Should be ſo ſpecious, and layd forth abroad, To all the ſhew, that euer ſhop, or ware was? Man. I beleeue any thing now, though I confeſſe His Vices are the moſt extremities 15 I euer knew in nature. But, why loues hee The Diuell ſo? Wit. O S^r! for hidden treaſure, Hee hopes to finde: and has propos’d himſelfe So infinite a Maſſe, as to recouer, He cares not what he parts with, of the preſent, 20 To his men of Art, who are the race, may coyne him. Promiſe gold-mountaines, and the couetous Are ſtill moſt prodigall. Man. But ha’ you faith, That he will hold his bargaine? Wit. O deare, Sir! He will not off on’t. Feare him not. I know him. 25 One baſeneſſe ſtill accompanies another. See! he is heere already, and his wife too. Man. A wondrous handſome creature, as I liue!

Come wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, bluſh not. M^rs. Fi. Why, what do you meane Sir? ha’ you your reaſon? Fit. Wife, I do not know, that I haue lent it forth To any one; at leaſt, without a pawne, wife: Or that I’haue eat or drunke the thing, of late, 5 That ſhould corrupt it. Wherefore gentle wife, Obey, it is thy vertue: hold no acts Of diſputation. M^rs. Fi. Are you not enough The talke, of feaſts, and meetingy, but you’ll ſtill Make argument for freſh? Fit. Why, carefull wedlocke, 10 If I haue haue a longing to haue one tale more Goe of mee, what is that to thee, deare heart? Why ſhouldſt thou enuy my delight? or croſſe it? By being ſolicitous, when it not concernes thee? M^rs. Fi. Yes, I haue ſhare in this. The ſcorne will fall 15 As bittterly on me, where both are laught at. Fit. Laught at, ſweet bird? is that the ſcruple? Come, come, Thou art a Niaiſe. A Niaiſe is a young Hawke, tane crying out of the neſt. Which of your great houſes, (I will not meane at home, here, but abroad) Your families in France, wife, ſend not forth 20 Something, within the ſeuen yeere, may be laught at? I doe not ſay ſeuen moneths, nor ſeuen weekes, Nor ſeuen daies, nor houres: but ſeuen yeere wife. I giue ’hem time. Once, within ſeuen yeere, I thinke they may doe ſomething may be laught at. 25 In France, I keepe me there, ſtill. Wherefore, wife, Let them that liſt, laugh ſtill, rather then weepe For me; Heere is a cloake coſt fifty pound, wife, Which I can ſell for thirty, when I ha’ ſeene All London in’t, and London has ſeene mee. 30 To day, I goe to the Black-fryers Play-houſe, Sit ithe view, ſalute all my acquaintance, Riſe vp betweene the Acts, let fall my cloake, Publiſh a handſome man, and a rich ſuite (As that’s a ſpeciall end, why we goe thither, 35 All that pretend, to ſtand for’t o’ the Stage) The Ladies aske who’s that? (For, they doe come [106] To ſee vs, Loue, as wee doe to ſee them) Now, I ſhall loſe all this, for the falſe feare Of being laught at? Yes, wuſſe. Let ’hem laugh, wife, 40 Let me haue ſuch another cloake to morrow. And let ’hem laugh againe, wife, and againe, And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter, All my young Gallants, let ’hem bring their friends too: Shall I forbid ’hem? No, let heauen forbid ’hem: 45 Or wit, if’t haue any charge on ’hem. Come, thy eare, wife, Is all, I’ll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir, Thou, onely art to heare, not ſpeake a word, Doue, To ought he ſayes. That I doe gi’ you in precept, No leſſe then councell, on your wiue-hood, wife, 50 Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Loue (As you muſt looke for theſe) or ſay, he raile; What ere his arts be, wife, I will haue thee Delude ’hem with a trick, thy obſtinate ſilence; I know aduantages; and I loue to hit 55 Theſe pragmaticke young men, at their owne weapons. Is your watch ready? Here my ſaile beares, for you: Tack toward him, ſweet Pinnace, where’s your watch? He diſpoſes his wife to his place, and ſets his watch. Wit. I’le ſet it. Sir, with yours. M^rs. Fi. I muſt obey. Man. Her modeſty ſeemes to ſuffer with her beauty, 60 And ſo, as if his folly were away, It were worth pitty. Fit. Now, th’are right, beginne, Sir. But firſt, let me repeat the contract, briefely. Hee repeats his contract againe. I am, Sir, to inioy this cloake, I ſtand in, Freely, and as your gift; vpon condition 65 You may as freely, ſpeake here to my ſpouſe, Your quarter of an houre alwaies keeping The meaſur’d diſtance of your yard, or more, From my ſaid Spouſe: and in my ſight and hearing. This is your couenant? Wit. Yes, but you’ll allow 70 For this time ſpent, now? Fit. Set ’hem ſo much backe. Wit. I thinke, I ſhall not need it. Fit. Well, begin, Sir, There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that ruſh. Wit. If you interrupt me, Sir, I ſhall diſcloake you. Wittipol beginnes. The time I haue purchaſt, Lady, is but ſhort; 75 And, therefore, if I imploy it thriftily, I hope I ſtand the neerer to my pardon. I am not here, to tell you, you are faire, Or louely, or how well you dreſſe you, Lady, I’ll ſaue my ſelfe that eloquence of your glaſſe, 80 Which can ſpeake these things better to you then I. And ’tis a knowledge, wherein fooles may be As wiſe as a Count Parliament. Nor come I, With any preiudice, or doubt, that you [107] Should, to the notice of your owne worth, neede 85 Leaſt reuelation. Shee’s a ſimple woman, Know’s not her good: (who euer knowes her ill) And at all caracts. That you are the wife, To ſo much blaſted fleſh, as ſcarce hath ſoule, In ſtead of ſalt, to keepe it ſweete; I thinke, 90 Will aske no witneſſes, to proue. The cold Sheetes that you lie in, with the watching candle, That ſees, how dull to any thaw of beauty, Pieces, and quarters, halfe, and whole nights, ſometimes, The Diuell-giuen Elfine Squire, your husband, 95 Doth leaue you, quitting heere his proper circle, For a much-worſe i’ the walks of Lincolnes Inne, Vnder the Elmes, t’expect the feind in vaine, there Will confeſſe for you. Fit. I did looke for this geere. Wit. And what a daughter of darkneſſe, he do’s make you, 100 Lock’d vp from all ſociety, or object; Your eye not let to looke vpon a face, Vnder a Conjurers (or ſome mould for one, Hollow, and leane like his) but, by great meanes, As I now make; your owne too ſenſible ſufferings, 105 Without the extraordinary aydes, Of ſpells, or ſpirits, may aſſure you, Lady. For my part, I proteſt ’gainſt all ſuch practice, I worke by no falſe arts, medicines, or charmes To be said forward and backward. Fit. No, I except: 110 Wit. Sir I ſhall ease you. He offers to diſcloake him. Fit. Mum. Wit. Nor haue I ends, Lady, Vpon you, more then this: to tell you how Loue Beauties good Angell, he that waits vpon her At all occaſions, and no leſſe then Fortune, Helps th’ aduenturous, in mee makes that proffer, 115 Which neuer faire one was ſo fond, to loſe; Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedome: On the firſt ſight, I lou’d you: ſince which time, Though I haue trauell’d, I haue beene in trauell More for this second blessing of your eyes 120 Which now I’haue purchas’d, then for all aymes elſe. Thinke of it, Lady, be your minde as actiue, As is your beauty: view your object well. Examine both my faſhion, and my yeeres; Things, that are like, are ſoone familiar: 125 And Nature ioyes, ſtill in equality. Let not the ſigne o’ the husband fright you, Lady. But ere your ſpring be gone, inioy it. Flowers, Though faire, are oft but of one morning. Thinke, All beauty doth not laſt vntill the autumne. 130 You grow old, while I tell you this. And ſuch, [108] As cannot vſe the preſent, are not wiſe. If Loue and Fortune will take care of vs, Why ſhould our will be wanting? This is all. What doe you anſwer, Lady? Shee stands mute. Fit. Now, the sport comes. 135 Let him ſtill waite, waite, waite: while the watch goes, And the time runs. Wife! Wit. How! not any word? Nay, then, I taſte a tricke in’t. Worthy Lady, I cannot be ſo falſe to mine owne thoughts Of your preſumed goodneſſe, to conceiue 140 This, as your rudeneſſe, which I ſee’s impos’d. Yet, ſince your cautelous Iaylor, here ſtands by you, And yo’ are deni’d the liberty o’ the houſe, Let me take warrant, Lady, from your ſilence, (Which euer is interpreted conſent) 145 To make your anſwer for you: which ſhall be To as good purpoſe, as I can imagine, And what I thinke you’ld ſpeake. Fit. No, no, no, no. Wit. I ſhall reſume, S^r. Man. Sir, what doe you meane? He ſets M^r. Manly, his friend, in her place. Wit. One interruption more, Sir, and you goe 150 Into your hoſe and doublet, nothing ſaues you. And therefore harken. This is for your wife. Man. You muſt play faire, S^r. Wit. Stand for mee, good friend. And ſpeaks for her. Troth, Sir, tis more then true, that you haue vttred Of my vnequall, and ſo ſordide match heere, 155 With all the circumſtances of my bondage. I haue a husband, and a two-legg’d one, But ſuch a moon-ling, as no wit of man Or roſes can redeeme from being an Aſſe. H’is growne too much, the ſtory of mens mouthes, 160 To ſcape his lading: ſhould I make’t my ſtudy, And lay all wayes, yea, call mankind to helpe, To take his burden off, why, this one act Of his, to let his wife out to be courted, And, at a price, proclaimes his aſinine nature 165 So lowd, as I am weary of my title to him. But Sir, you ſeeme a Gentleman of vertue, No leſſe then blood; and one that euery way Lookes as he were of too good quality, To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her: 170 Since you haue payd thus deare, Sir, for a viſit, And made ſuch venter, on your wit, and charge Meerely to ſee mee, or at moſt to ſpeake to mee, I were too ſtupid; or (what’s worſe) ingrate Not to returne your venter. Thinke, but how, 175 I may with ſafety doe it; I ſhall truſt My loue and honour to you, and preſume; You’ll euer huſband both, againſt this huſband; [109] Who, if we chance to change his liberall eares, To other enſignes, and with labour make 180 A new beaſt of him, as hee ſhall deſerue, Cannot complaine, hee is vnkindly dealth with. This day hee is to goe to a new play, Sir. From whence no feare, no, nor authority, Scarcely the Kings command, Sir, will reſtraine him, 185 Now you haue fitted him with a Stage-garment, For the meere names ſake, were there nothing elſe: And many more ſuch iourneyes, hee will make. Which, if they now, or, any time heereafter, Offer vs opportunity, you heare, Sir, 190 Who’ll be as glad, and forward to imbrace, Meete, and enioy it chearefully as you. I humbly thanke you, Lady. Hee ſhifts to his owne place againe Fit. Keepe your ground Sir. Wit. Will you be lightned? Fit. Mum. Wit. And but I am, By the ſad contract, thus to take my leaue of you 195 At this ſo enuious distance, I had taught Our lips ere this, to ſeale the happy mixture Made of our ſoules. But we muſt both, now, yeeld To the neceſſity. Doe not thinke yet, Lady, But I can kiſſe, and touch, and laugh, and whiſper, 200 And doe those crowning court-ſhips too, for which, Day, and the publike haue allow’d no name But, now, my bargaine binds me. ’Twere rude iniury, T’importune more, or vrge a noble nature, To what of it’s owne bounty it is prone to: 205 Elſe, I ſhould ſpeake—But, Lady, I loue ſo well, As I will hope, you’ll doe ſo to. I haue done, Sir. Fit. Well, then, I ha’ won? Wit. Sir, And I may win, too. Fit. O yes! no doubt on’t. I’ll take carefull order, That ſhee ſhall hang forth enſignes at the window, 210 To tell you when I am abſent. Or I’ll keepe Three or foure foote-men, ready ſtill of purpoſe, To runne and fetch you, at her longings, Sir. I’ll goe beſpeake me ſtraight a guilt caroch, For her and you to take the ayre in. Yes, 215 Into Hide-parke, and thence into Black-Fryers, Viſit the painters, where you may ſee pictures, And note the propereſt limbs, and how to make ’hem. Or what doe you ſay vnto a middling Goſſip To bring you aye together, at her lodging? 220 Vnder pretext of teaching o’ my wife Some rare receit of drawing almond milke? ha? It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b’w’you. I ha’ kept the contract, and the cloake is mine. Wit. Why, much good do’t you S^r; it may fall out, [110] 225 That you ha’ bought it deare, though I ha’ not ſold it. Fit. A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir. Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke Yo’ haue had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it. Hee turnes his wife about. Man. This is the ſtrangeſt motion I ere ſaw. 230 Fit. Now, wife, ſits this faire cloake the worſe vpon me, For my great ſufferings, or your little patience? ha? They laugh, you thinke? M^rs. Fi. Why S^r. and you might ſee’t. What thought, they haue of you, may be ſoone collected By the young Genlemans ſpeache. Fit. Youug Gentleman? 235 Death! you are in loue with him, are you? could he not Be nam’d the Gentleman, without the young? Vp to your Cabbin againe. M^rs. Fi. My cage, yo’ were beſt To call it? Fit. Yes, ſing there. You’ld faine be making Blanck Manger with him at your mothers! I know you. 240 Goe get you vp. How now! what ſay you, Diuell?

Heere is one Ingine, Sir, deſires to ſpeake with you. Fit. I thought he brought ſome newes, of a broker! Well, Let him come in, good Diuell: fetch him elſe. O, my fine Ingine! what’s th’affaire? more cheats? Ing. No Sir, the Wit, the Braine, the great Proiector, 5 I told you of, is newly come to towne. Fit. Where, Ingine? Ing. I ha’ brought him (H’is without) Ere hee pull’d off his boots, Sir, but ſo follow’d, For buſineſſes: Fit. But what is a Proiector? I would conceiue. Ing. Why, one Sir, that proiects 10 Wayes to enrich men, or to make ’hem great, By ſuites, by marriages, by vndertakings: According as he ſees they humour it. Fit. Can hee not coniure at all? Ing. I thinke he can, Sir. (To tell you true) but, you doe know, of late, 15 The State hath tane ſuch note of ’hem, and compell’d ’hem, To enter ſuch great bonds, they dare not practice. Fit. ’Tis true, and I lie fallow for’t, the while! Ing. O, Sir! you’ll grow the richer for the reſt. Fit. I hope I ſhall: but Ingine, you doe talke 20 Somewhat too much, o’ my courſes. My Cloake-cuſtomer Could tell mee ſtrange particulars. Ing. By my meanes? [111] Fit. How ſhould he haue ’hem elſe? Ing. You do not know, S^r, What he has: and by what arts! A monei’d man, Sir, And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are! 25 Fit. That Gallant? Ing. You make the other wait too long, here: And hee is extreme punctuall. Fit. Is he a gallant? Ing. Sir, you ſhall ſee: He’is in his riding ſuit, As hee comes now from Court. But heere him ſpeake: Miniſter matter to him, and then tell mee. 30

Sir, money’s a whore, a bawd, a drudge; Fit to runne out on errands: Let her goe. Via pecunia! when ſhe’s runne and gone, And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, againe, With Aqua-vitæ, out of an old Hogs-head! 5 While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beere, I’le neuer want her! Coyne her out of cobwebs, Duſt, but I’ll haue her! Raiſe wooll vpon egge-ſhells, Sir, and make graſe grow out o’ marro-bones. To make her come. (Commend mee to your Miſtreſſe, 10 To a waiter. Say, let the thouſand pound but be had ready, And it is done) I would but ſee the creature (Of fleſh, and blood) the man, the prince, indeed, That could imploy ſo many millions As I would help him to. Fit. How, talks he? millions? 15 Mer. (I’ll giue you an account of this to morrow.) Yes, I will talke no leſſe, and doe it too; To another. If they were Myriades: and without the Diuell, By direct meanes, it ſhall be good in law. Ing. Sir. [112] Mer. Tell M^r. Wood-cock, I’ll not faile to meet him 20 To a third. Vpon th’ Exchange at night. Pray him to haue The writings there, and wee’ll diſpatch it. Sir, He turnes to Fitz-dottrel. You are a Gentleman of a good preſence, A handſome man (I haue conſidered you) As a fit ſtocke to graft honours vpon: 25 I haue a proiect to make you a Duke, now. That you muſt be one, within ſo many moneths, As I ſet downe, out of true reaſon of ſtate, You ſha’ not auoyd it. But you muſt harken, then. Ing. Harken? why S^r, do you doubt his eares? Alas! 30 You doe not know Maſter Fitz-dottrel. Fit. He do’s not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine, For rectifying him. Mer. Good! Why, Ingine, then He turnes to Ingine. I’le tell it you. (I see you ha’ credit, here, And, that you can keepe counſell, I’ll not queſtion.) 35 Hee ſhall but be an vndertaker with mee, In a moſt feaſible bus’neſſe. It shall cost him Nothing. Ing. Good, S^r. Mer. Except he pleaſe, but’s count’nance; (That I will haue) t’appeare in’t, to great men, For which I’ll make him one. Hee ſhall not draw 40 A ſtring of’s purſe. I’ll driue his pattent for him. We’ll take in Cittizens, Commoners, and Aldermen, To beare the charge, and blow ’hem off againe, Like ſo many dead flyes, when ’tis carryed. The thing is for recouery of drown’d land, 45 Whereof the Crowne’s to haue his moiety, If it be owner; Elſe, the Crowne and Owners To ſhare that moyety: and the recouerers T’enioy the tother moyety, for their charge. Ing. Thorowout England? Mer. Yes, which will ariſe 50 To eyghteene millions, ſeuen the firſt yeere: I haue computed all, and made my ſuruay Vnto an acre. I’ll beginne at the Pan, Not, at the skirts: as ſome ha’ done, and loſt, All that they wrought, their timber-worke, their trench, 55 Their bankes all borne away, or elſe fill’d vp By the next winter. Tut, they neuer went The way: I’ll haue it all. Ing. A gallant tract Of land it is! Mer. ’Twill yeeld a pound an acre. Wee muſt let cheape, euer, at firſt. But Sir, 60 This lookes too large for you, I ſee. Come hither, We’ll haue a leſſe. Here’s a plain fellow, you ſee him, Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram, Wi’ not be ſold for th’Earledome of Pancridge: Draw, Gi’ me out one, by chance. Proiect. 4. Dog-skinnes? 65 Twelue thouſand pound! the very worſt, at firſt. [113] Fit. Pray, you let’s ſee’t Sir. Mer. ’Tis a toy, a trifle! Fit. Trifle! 12. thouſand pound for dogs-skins? Mer. Yes, But, by my way of dreſſing, you muſt know, Sir, And med’cining the leather, to a height 70 Of improu’d ware, like your Borachio Of Spaine, Sir. I can fetch nine thouſand for’t— Ing. Of the Kings glouer? Mer. Yes, how heard you that? Ing. Sir, I doe know you can. Mer. Within this houre: And reſerue halfe my ſecret. Pluck another; 75 See if thou haſt a happier hand: I thought ſo. Hee pluckes out the 2. Bottle-ale. The very next worſe to it! Bottle-ale. Yet, this is two and twenty thouſand! Pr’y thee Pull out another, two or three. Fit. Good, ſtay, friend, By bottle-ale, two and twenty thouſand pound? 80 Mer. Yes, Sir, it’s caſt to penny-hal’penny-farthing, O’ the back-ſide, there you may ſee it, read, I will not bate a Harrington o’ the ſumme. I’ll winne it i’ my water, and my malt, My furnaces, and hanging o’ my coppers, 85 The tonning, and the ſubtilty o’ my yeſt; And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig, Turne vp, and ſteepe, and worke, and neale, my ſelfe, To a degree of Porc’lane. You will wonder, At my proportions, what I will put vp 90 In ſeuen yeeres! for ſo long time, I aske For my inuention. I will ſaue in cork, In my mere ſtop’ling, ’boue three thouſand pound, Within that terme: by googing of ’hem out Iuſt to the ſize of my bottles, and not ſlicing, 95 There’s infinite loſſe i’ that. What haſt thou there? O’ making wine of raiſins: this is in hand, now, Hee drawes out another. Raiſines. Ing. Is not that ſtrange, S^r, to make wine of raiſins? Mer. Yes, and as true a wine, as the wines of France, Or Spaine, or Italy, Looke of what grape 100 My raiſin is, that wine I’ll render perfect, As of the muſcatell grape, I’ll render muſcatell; Of the Canary, his; the Claret, his; So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices, Of wine, throughout the kingdome, halfe in halfe. 105 Ing. But, how, S^r, if you raiſe the other commodity, Rayſins? Mer. Why, then I’ll make it out of blackberries: And it ſhall doe the ſame. ’Tis but more art, And the charge leſſe. Take out another. Fit. No, good Sir. Saue you the trouble, I’le not looke, nor heare 110 Of any, but your firſt, there; the Drown’d-land: If’t will doe, as you ſay. Mer. Sir, there’s not place, To gi’ you demonſtration of theſe things. [114] They are a little to ſubtle. But, I could ſhew you Such a neceſſity in’t, as you muſt be 115 But what you pleaſe: againſt the receiu’d hereſie, That England beares no Dukes. Keepe you the land, S^r, The greatneſſe of th’ eſtate ſhall throw’t vpon you. If you like better turning it to money, What may not you, S^r, purchaſe with that wealth? 120 Say, you ſhould part with two o’ your millions, To be the thing you would, who would not do’t? As I proteſt, I will, out of my diuident, Lay, for ſome pretty principality, In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps, 125 Fancy the ſmoake of England, rather? But— Ha’ you no priuate roome, Sir, to draw to, T’enlarge our ſelues more vpon. Fit. O yes, Diuell! Mer. Theſe, Sir, are bus’neſſes, aske to be carryed With caution, and in cloud. Fit. I apprehend, 130 They doe ſo, S^r. Diuell, which way is your Miſtreſſe? Pvg. Aboue, S^r. in her chamber. Fit. O that’s well. Then, this way, good, Sir. Mer. I ſhall follow you; Traines, Gi’ mee the bag, and goe you preſently, Commend my ſeruice to my Lady Tail-buſh. 135 Tell her I am come from Court this morning; ſay, I’haue got our bus’neſſe mou’d, and well: Intreat her, That ſhee giue you the four-ſcore Angels, and ſee ’hem Diſpos’d of to my Councel, Sir Poul Eytherſide. Sometime, to day, I’ll waite vpon her Ladiſhip, 140 With the relation. Ing. Sir, of what diſpatch, He is! Do you marke? Mer. Ingine, when did you ſee My couſin Euer-ill? keepes he ſtill your quarter? I’ the Bermudas? Ing. Yes, Sir, he was writing This morning, very hard. Mer. Be not you knowne to him, That I am come to Towne: I haue effected 146 A buſineſſe for him, but I would haue it take him, Before he thinks for’t. Ing. Is it paſt? Mer. Not yet. ’Tis well o’ the way. Ing. O Sir! your worſhip takes Infinit paines. Mer. I loue Friends, to be actiue: 150 A ſluggish nature puts off man, and kinde. Ing. And ſuch a bleſſing followes it. Mer. I thanke My fate. Pray you let’s be priuate, Sir? Fit. In, here. Mer. Where none may interrupt vs. Fit. You heare, Diuel, Lock the ſtreete-doores faſt, and let no one in 155 (Except they be this Gentlemans followers) To trouble mee. Doe you marke? Yo’ haue heard and ſeene Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather Your Miſtreſſe is a fruite, that’s worth the ſtealing And therefore worth the watching. Be you ſure, now [115] Yo’ haue all your eyes about you; and let in 161 No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-maſques, And cut-works. See you? Nor old croanes, with wafers, To conuey letters. Nor no youths, diſguis’d Like country-wiues, with creame, and marrow-puddings. 165 Much knauery may be vented in a pudding, Much bawdy intelligence: They’are ſhrewd ciphers. Nor turne the key to any neyghbours neede; Be’t but to kindle fire, or begg a little, Put it out, rather: all out, to an aſhe, 170 That they may ſee no ſmoake. Or water, ſpill it: Knock o’ the empty tubs, that by the ſound, They may be forbid entry. Say, wee are robb’d, If any come to borrow a ſpoone, or ſo. I wi’ not haue good fortune, or gods bleſſing 175 Let in, while I am buſie. Pvg. I’le take care, Sir: They ſha’ not trouble you, if they would. Fit. Well, doe ſo.

I haue no ſingular ſeruice of this, now? Nor no ſuperlatiue Maſter? I ſhall wiſh To be in hell againe, at leaſure? Bring, A Vice from thence? That had bin ſuch a ſubtilty, As to bring broad-clothes hither: or tranſport 5 Freſh oranges into Spaine. I finde it, now: My Chiefe was i’ the right. Can any feind Boaſt of a better Vice, then heere by nature, And art, th’are owners of? Hell ne’r owne mee, But I am taken! the fine tract of it 10 Pulls mee along! To heare men ſuch profeſſors Growne in our ſubtleſt Sciences! My firſt Act, now, Shall be, to make this Maſter of mine cuckold: The primitiue worke of darkneſſe, I will practiſe! I will deſerue ſo well of my faire Miſtreſſe, 15 By my diſcoueries, firſt; my counſells after; And keeping counſell, after that: as who, So euer, is one, I’le be another, ſure, I’ll ha’ my ſhare. Most delicate damn’d fleſh! Shee will be! O! that I could ſtay time, now, [116] 20 Midnight will come too faſt vpon mee, I feare, To cut my pleaſure— M^rs. Fi. Looke at the back-doore, Shee ſends Diuell out. One knocks, ſee who it is. Pvg. Dainty ſhe-Diuell! M^rs. Fi. I cannot get this venter of the cloake, Out of my fancie; nor the Gentlemans way, 25 He tooke, which though ’twere ſtrange, yet ’twas handſome, And had a grace withall, beyond the newneſſe. Sure he will thinke mee that dull ſtupid creature, Hee ſaid, and may conclude it; if I finde not Some thought to thanke th’ attemp. He did preſume, 30 By all the carriage of it, on my braine, For anſwer; and will ſweare ’tis very barren, If it can yeeld him no returne. Who is it? Diuell returnes. Pvg. Miſtreſſe, it is, but firſt, let me aſſure The excellence, of Miſtreſſes, I am, 35 Although my Maſters man, my Miſstreſſe ſlaue, The ſeruant of her ſecrets, and ſweete turnes, And know, what fitly will conduce to either. M^rs. Fi. What’s this? I pray you come to your ſelfe and thinke What your part is: to make an anſwer. Tell, 40 Who is it at the doore? Pvg. The Gentleman, M^rs, Who was at the cloake-charge to ſpeake with you, This morning, who expects onely to take Some ſmall command’ments from you, what you pleaſe, Worthy your forme, hee ſaies, and gentleſt manners. 45 M^rs. Fi. O! you’ll anon proue his hyr’d man, I feare, What has he giu’n you, for this meſſage? Sir, Bid him put off his hopes of ſtraw, and leaue To ſpread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take Maſter Fitz-dottrell, I am no ſuch foule, 50 Nor faire one, tell him, will be had with ſtalking. And wiſh him to for-beare his acting to mee, At the Gentlemans chamber-window in Lincolnes-Inne there, That opens to my gallery: elſe, I ſweare T’acquaint my huſband with his folly, and leaue him 55 To the iuſt rage of his offended iealouſie. Or if your Maſters ſenſe be not ſo quicke To right mee, tell him, I ſhall finde a friend That will repaire mee. Say, I will be quiet. In mine owne houſe? Pray you, in thoſe words giue it him. 60 Pvg. This is ſome foole turn’d! He goes out. M^rs. Fi. If he be the Maſter, Now, of that ſtate and wit, which I allow him; Sure, hee will vnderſtand mee: I durſt not Be more direct. For this officious fellow, My husbands new groome, is a ſpie vpon me, 65 I finde already. Yet, if he but tell him This in my words, hee cannot but conceiue [117] Himſelfe both apprehended, and requited. I would not haue him thinke hee met a ſtatue: Or ſpoke to one, not there, though I were ſilent. 70 How now? ha’ you told him? Pvg. Yes. M^rs. Fi. And what ſaies he? Pvg. Sayes he? That which my ſelf would ſay to you, if I durſt. That you are proude, ſweet Miſtreſſe? and with-all, A little ignorant, to entertaine The good that’s proffer’d; and (by your beauties leaue) 75 Not all ſo wiſe, as ſome true politique wife Would be: who hauing match’d with ſuch a Nupſon (I ſpeake it with my Maſters peace) whoſe face Hath left t’accuſe him, now, for’t doth confeſſe him, What you can make him; will yet (out of ſcruple, 80 And a ſpic’d conſcience) defraud the poore Gentleman, At leaſt delay him in the thing he longs for, And makes it hs whole ſtudy, how to compaſſe, Onely a title. Could but he write Cuckold, He had his ends. For, looke you— M^rs. Fi. This can be 85 None but my husbands wit. Pvg. My pretious M^rs. M. Fi. It creaks his Ingine: The groome neuer durſt Be, elſe, so ſaucy— Pvg. If it were not clearely, His worſhipfull ambition; and the top of it; The very forked top too: why ſhould hee 90 Keepe you, thus mur’d vp in a back-roome, Miſtreſſe, Allow you ne’r a caſement to the ſtreete, Feare of engendering by the eyes, with gallants, Forbid you paper, pen and inke, like Rats-bane. Search your halfe pint of muſcatell, leſt a letter 95 Be ſuncke i’ the pot: and hold your new-laid egge Againſt the fire, leſt any charme be writ there? Will you make benefit of truth, deare Miſtreſſe, If I doe tell it you: I do’t not often? I am ſet ouer you, imploy’d, indeed, 100 To watch your ſteps, your lookes, your very breathings, And to report them to him. Now, if you Will be a true, right, delicate ſweete Miſtreſſe, Why, wee will make a Cokes of this Wiſe Maſter, We will, my Miſtreſſe, an abſolute fine Cokes, 105 And mock, to ayre, all the deepe diligences Of ſuch a ſolemne, and effectuall Aſſe, An Aſſe to ſo good purpoſe, as wee’ll vſe him. I will contriue it ſo, that you ſhall goe To Playes, to Maſques, to Meetings, and to Feaſts. 110 For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Miſtris, If you neat handſome veſſells, of good ſayle, Put not forth euer, and anon, with your nets Abroad into the world. It is your fiſhing. [118] There, you ſhal chooſe your friends, your ſeruants, Lady, Your ſquires of honour; I’le conuey your letters, 116 Fetch anſwers, doe you all the offices, That can belong to your bloud, and beauty. And, For the variety, at my times, although I am not in due ſymmetrie, the man 120 Of that proportion; or in rule Of phyſicke, of the iuſt complexion: Or of that truth of Picardill, in clothes, To boaſt a ſoueraignty o’re Ladies: yet I know, to do my turnes, ſweet Miſtreſſe. Come, kiſſe— M^rs. Fi. How now! Pvg. Deare delicate Miſt. I am your ſlaue, 126 Your little worme, that loues you: your fine Monkey; Your Dogge, your Iacke, your Pug, that longs to be Stil’d, o’ your pleaſures. M^rs. Fit. Heare you all this? Sir, Pray you, Come from your ſtanding, doe, a little, ſpare 130 Shee thinkes her huſband watches. Your ſelfe, Sir, from your watch, t’applaud your Squire, That ſo well followes your inſtructions!

How now, ſweet heart? what’s the matter? M^rs. Fi. Good! You are a ſtranger to the plot! you ſet not Your fancy Diuell, here, to tempt your wife, With all the inſolent vnciuill language, Or action, he could vent? Fit. Did you so, Diuell? 5 M^rs. Fit. Not you? you were not planted i’ your hole to heare him, Vpo’ the ſtayres? or here, behinde the hangings? I doe not know your qualities? he durſt doe it, And you not giue directions? Fit. You shall ſee, wife, Whether he durſt, or no: and what it was, 10 I did direct. Her huſband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgell vpon him. Pvg. Sweet Miſtreſſe, are you mad? Fit. You moſt mere Rogue! you open manifeſt Villaine! You Feind apparant you! you declar’d Hel-hound! Pvg. Good S^r. Fit. Good Knaue, good Raſcal, and good Traitor. Now, I doe finde you parcel-Diuell, indeed. 15 Vpo’ the point of truſt? I’ your firſt charge? The very day o’ your probation? To tempt your Miſtreſſe? You doe ſee, good wedlocke, How I directed him. M^rs. Fit. Why, where S^r? were you? [119] Fit. Nay, there is one blow more, for exerciſe: 20 After a pause. He ſtrikes him againe I told you, I ſhould doe it. Pvg. Would you had done, Sir. Fit. O wife, the rareſt man! yet there’s another To put you in mind o’ the laſt, ſuch a braue man, wife! Within, he has his proiects, and do’s vent ’hem, and againe. The gallanteſt! where you tentiginous? ha? 25 Would you be acting of the Incubus? Did her ſilks ruſtling moue you? Pvg. Gentle Sir. Fit. Out of my ſight. If thy name were not Diuell, Thou ſhouldſt not ſtay a minute with me. In, Goe, yet ſtay: yet goe too. I am reſolu’d. 30 What I will doe: and you ſhall know’t afore-hand. Soone as the Gentleman is gone, doe you heare? I’ll helpe your liſping. Wife, ſuch a man, wife! Diuell goes out. He has ſuch plots! He will make mee a Duke! No leſſe, by heauen! ſix Mares, to your coach, wife! 35 That’s your proportion! And your coach-man bald! Becauſe he ſhall be bare, inough. Doe not you laugh, We are looking for a place, and all, i’ the map What to be of. Haue faith, be not an Infidell. You know, I am not eaſie to be gull’d. 40 I ſweare, when I haue my millions, elſe. I’ll make Another Dutcheſſe: if you ha’ not faith. M^rs. Fi. You’ll ha’ too much, I feare, in theſe falſe ſpirits. Fit. Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, mere wit! This man defies the Diuell, and all his works! 45 He dos’t by Ingine, and deuiſes, hee! He has his winged ploughes, that goe with ſailes, Will plough you forty acres, at once! and mills. Will ſpout you water, ten miles off! All Crowland Is ours, wife; and the fens, from vs, in Norfolke, 50 To the vtmoſt bound of Lincoln-ſhire! we haue view’d it, And meaſur’d it within all; by the ſcale! The richeſt tract of land, Loue, i’ the kingdome! There will be made ſeuenteene, or eighteene millions; Or more, as’t may be handled! wherefore, thinke, 55 Sweet heart, if th’ haſt a fancy to one place, More then another, to be Dutcheſſe of; Now, name it: I will ha’t what ere it coſt, (If’t will be had for money) either here, 59 Or’n France, or Italy. M^rs. Fi. You ha’ ſtrange phantaſies!

Where are you, Sir? Fit. I ſee thou haſt no talent [120] This way, wife. Vp to thy gallery; doe, Chuck, Leaue vs to talke of it, who vnderſtand it. Mer. I thinke we ha’ found a place to fit you, now, Sir. Gloc’ſter. Fit. O, no, I’ll none! Mer. Why, S^r? Fit. Tis fatall. 5 Mer. That you ſay right in. Spenſer, I thinke, the younger, Had his laſt honour thence. But, he was but Earle. Fit. I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodſtocke, I’m ſure, was Duke, and he was made away, At Calice; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury: 10 And Richard the third, you know what end he came too. Mer. By m’faith you are cunning i’ the Chronicle, Sir. Fit. No, I confeſſe I ha’t from the Play-bookes, And thinke they’are more authentique. Ing. That’s ſure, Sir. Mer. What ſay you (to this then) He whiſpers him of a place. Fit. No, a noble houſe. 15 Pretends to that. I will doe no man wrong. Mer. Then take one propoſition more, and heare it As paſt exception. Fit. What’s that? Mer. To be Duke of thoſe lands, you ſhall recouer; take Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drown’d lands, 20 Or Drown’d-land. Fit. Ha? that laſt has a good ſound! I like it well. The Duke of Drown’d-land? Ing. Yes; It goes like Groen-land, Sir, if you marke it. Mer. I, And drawing thus your honour from the worke, You make the reputation of that, greater; 25 And ſtay’t the longer i’ your name. Fit. ’Tis true. Drown’d-lands will liue in Drown’d-land! Mer. Yes, when you Ha’ no foote left; as that muſt be, Sir, one day. And, though it tarry in your heyres, some forty, Fifty deſcents, the longer liuer, at laſt, yet, 30 Muſt thruſt ’hem out on’t: if no quirk in law, Or odde Vice o’ their owne not do’it firſt. Wee ſee thoſe changes, daily: the faire lands, That were the Clyents, are the Lawyers, now: And thoſe rich Mannors, there, of good man Taylors, 35 Had once more wood vpon ’hem, then the yard, By which th’ were meaſur’d out for the laſt purchaſe. [121] Nature hath theſe viciſſitudes. Shee makes No man a ſtate of perpetuety, Sir. Fit. Yo’ are i’ the right. Let’s in then, and conclude. 40 Hee ſpies Diuell. I my ſight, againe? I’ll talke with you, anon.

Svre hee will geld mee, if I stay: or worſe, Pluck out my tongue, one o’ the two. This Foole, There is no truſting of him: and to quit him, Were a contempt againſt my Chiefe, paſt pardon. It was a ſhrewd diſheartning this, at firſt! 5 Who would ha’ thought a woman ſo well harneſs’d, Or rather well-capariſon’d, indeed, That weares ſuch petticoates, and lace to her ſmocks, Broad ſeaming laces (as I ſee ’hem hang there) And garters which are loſt, if ſhee can ſhew ’hem, 10 Could ha’ done this? Hell! why is ſhee ſo braue? It cannot be to pleaſe Duke Dottrel, ſure, Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery, Nor her owne deare reflection, in her glaſſe; Yet that may be: I haue knowne many of ’hem, 15 Beginne their pleaſure, but none end it, there: (That I conſider, as I goe a long with it) They may, for want of better company, Or that they thinke the better, ſpend an houre; Two, three, or foure, diſcourſing with their ſhaddow: 20 But ſure they haue a farther ſpeculation. No woman dreſt with ſo much care, and ſtudy, Doth dreſſe her ſelfe in vaine. I’ll vexe this probleme, A little more, before I leaue it, ſure.

This was a fortune, happy aboue thought, [122] That this ſhould proue thy chamber: which I fear’d Would be my greateſt trouble! this muſt be The very window, and that the roome. Man. It is. I now remember, I haue often ſeene there 5 A woman, but I neuer mark’d her much. Wit. Where was your ſoule, friend? Man. Faith, but now, and then, Awake vnto thoſe obiects. Wit. You pretend ſo. Let mee not liue, if I am not in loue More with her wit, for this direction, now, 10 Then with her forme, though I ha’ prais’d that prettily, Since I ſaw her, and you, to day. Read thoſe. Hee giues him a paper, wherein is the copy of a Song. They’ll goe vnto the ayre you loue ſo well. Try ’hem vnto the note, may be the muſique Will call her ſooner; light, ſhee’s here. Sing quickly. 15 M^rs. Fit. Either he vnderſtood him not: or elſe, The fellow was not faithfull in deliuery, Of what I bad. And, I am iuſtly pay’d, That might haue made my profit of his ſeruice, But, by miſ-taking, haue drawne on his enuy, 20 And done the worſe defeate vpon my ſelfe. Manly ſings, Pug enters perceiues it. How! Muſique? then he may be there: and is sure. Pvg. O! Is it ſo? Is there the enter-view? Haue I drawne to you, at laſt, my cunning Lady? The Diuell is an Aſſe! fool’d off! and beaten! 25 Nay, made an inſtrument! and could not ſent it! Well, ſince yo’ haue ſhowne the malice of a woman, No leſſe then her true wit, and learning, Miſtreſſe, I’ll try, if little Pug haue the malignity To recompence it, and ſo ſaue his danger. 30 ’Tis not the paine, but the diſcredite of it, The Diuell ſhould not keepe a body intire. Wit. Away, fall backe, ſhe comes. Man. I’ll leaue you, Sir, The Maſter of my chamber. I haue buſineſſe. Wit. M^rs! M^rs. Fi. You make me paint, S^r. Wit. The’are faire colours, 35 Lady, and naturall! I did receiue Some commands from you, lately, gentle Lady, [123] This Scene is acted at two windo’s as out of two contiguous buildings. But ſo perplex’d, and wrap’d in the deliuery, As I may feare t’haue miſ-interpreted: But muſt make ſuit ſtill, to be neere your grace. 40 M^rs. Fi. Who is there with you, S^r? Wit. None, but my ſelfe. It falls out. Lady, to be a deare friends lodging. Wherein there’s ſome conſpiracy of fortune With your poore ſeruants bleſ affections. M^rs. Fi. Who was it ſung? Wit. He, Lady, but hee’s gone, 45 Vpon my entreaty of him, ſeeing you Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him, If he were here. He is too much a gentleman. M^rs. Fi. Sir, if you iudge me by this ſimple action, And by the outward habite, and complexion 50 Of eaſineſſe, it hath, to your deſigne; You may with Iuſtice, ſay, I am a woman: And a ſtrange woman. But when you ſhall pleaſe, To bring but that concurrence of my fortune, To memory, which to day your ſelfe did vrge: 55 It may beget ſome fauour like excuſe, Though none like reaſon. Wit. No, my tune-full Miſtreſſe? Then, ſurely, Loue hath none: nor Beauty any; Nor Nature violenced, in both theſe: With all whoſe gentle tongues you ſpeake, at once. 60 I thought I had inough remou’d, already, That ſcruple from your breſt, and left yo’ all reaſon; When, through my mornings perſpectiue I ſhewd you A man ſo aboue excuſe, as he is the cauſe, Why any thing is to be done vpon him: 65 And nothing call’d an iniury, miſ-plac’d. I’rather, now had hope, to ſhew you how Loue By his acceſſes, growes more naturall: And, what was done, this morning, with ſuch force Was but deuis’d to ſerue the preſent, then. 70 That ſince Loue hath the honour to approach He grows more familiar in his Court-ſhip. Theſe ſiſter-ſwelling breſts; and touch this ſoft, And roſie hand; hee hath the skill to draw Their Nectar forth, with kiſſing; and could make More wanton ſalts, from this braue promontory, 75 Downe to this valley, then the nimble Roe; playes with her paps, kiſſeth her hands, &c. Could play the hopping Sparrow, ’bout theſe nets; And ſporting Squirell in theſe criſped groues; Bury himſelfe in euery Silke-wormes kell, Is here vnrauell’d; runne into the ſnare, 80 Which euery hayre is, caſt into a curle, To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himselfe In milke, and roſes, here, and dry him, there; Warme his cold hands, to play with this ſmooth, round, [124] And well torn’d chin, as with the Billyard ball; 85 Rowle on theſe lips, the banks of loue, and there At once both plant, and gather kiſſes. Lady, Shall I, with what I haue made to day here, call All ſenſe to wonder, and all faith to ſigne The myſteries reuealed in your forme? 90 And will Loue pardon mee the blasphemy I vtter’d, when I ſaid, a glaſſe could ſpeake This beauty, or that fooles had power to iudge it?

Doe but looke, on her eyes! They doe light— All that Loue’s world comprizeth! 95 Doe but looke on her hayre! it is bright, As Loue’s ſtarre, when it riſeth! Doe but marke, her fore-head’s ſmoother, Then words that ſooth her! And from her arched browes, ſuch a grace 100 Sheds it ſelfe through the face; As alone, there triumphs to the life, All the gaine, all the good, of the elements ſtrife! Haue you ſeene but a bright Lilly grow, Before rude hands haue touch’d it? 105 Haue you mark’d but the fall of the Snow, Before the ſoyle hath ſmuch’d it? Haue you felt the wooll o’ the Beuer? Or Swans downe, euer? Or, haue ſmelt o’ the bud o’ the Bryer? 110 Or the Nard i’ the fire? Or, haue taſted the bag o’ the Bee? O, ſo white! O, ſo ſoft! O, ſo ſweet is ſhee!

Her huſband appeares at her back. Is shee ſo, Sir? and, I will keepe her ſo. If I know how, or can: that wit of man Will doe’t, I’ll goe no farther. At this windo’ She ſhall no more be buz’d at. Take your leaue on’t. If you be ſweet meates, wedlock, or ſweet fleſh, 5 All’s one: I doe not loue this hum about you. A flye-blowne wife is not ſo proper, In: [125] For you, S^r, looke to heare from mee. Hee ſpeakes out of his wiues window. Wit. So, I doe, Sir. Fit. No, but in other termes. There’s no man offers This to my wife, but paies for’t. Wit. That haue I, Sir. Fit. Nay, then, I tell you, you are. Wit. What am I, Sir? 11 Fit. Why, that I’ll thinke on, when I ha’ cut your throat. Wit. Goe, you are an Aſſe. Fit. I am reſolu’d on’t, Sir. Wit. I thinke you are. Fit. To call you to a reckoning. Wit. Away, you brokers blocke, you property. 15 Fit. S’light, if you ſtrike me, I’ll ſtrike your Miſtreſſe. Hee ſtrikes his wife. Wit. O! I could ſhoote mine eyes at him, for that, now; Or leaue my teeth in’him, were they cuckolds bane, Inough to kill him. What prodigious, Blinde, and moſt wicked change of fortune’s this? 20 I ha’ no ayre of patience: an my vaines Swell, and my ſinewes ſtart at iniquity of it. I ſhall breake, breake. The Diuell ſpeakes below. Pvg. This for the malice of it, And my reuenge may paſſe! But, now, my conſcience Tells mee, I haue profited the cauſe of Hell 25 But little, in the breaking-off their loues. Which, if some other act of mine repaire not, I ſhall heare ill of in my accompt. Fitz-dottrel enters with his wife as come downe. Fit. O, Bird! Could you do this? ’gainſt me? and at this time, now? When I was ſo imploy’d, wholly for you, 30 Drown’d i’ my care (more, then the land, I ſweare, I’haue hope to win) to make you peere-leſſe? ſtudying, For footemen for you, fine pac’d huiſhers, pages, To ſerue you o’ the knee; with what Knights wife, To beare your traine, and ſit with your foure women 35 In councell, and receiue intelligences, From forraigne parts, to dreſſe you at all pieces! Y’haue (a’moſt) turn’d my good affection, to you; Sowr’d my ſweet thoughts; all my pure purpoſes: I could now finde (i’ my very heart) to make 40 Another, Lady Dutcheſſe; and depoſe you. Well, goe your waies in. Diuell, you haue redeem’d all. I doe forgiue you. And I’ll doe you good.

Why ha you theſe excurſions? where ha’ you beene, Sir? [126] Fit. Where I ha’ beene vex’d a little, with a toy! Mer. O Sir! no toyes muſt trouble your graue head, Now it is growing to be great. You muſt Be aboue all thoſe things. Fit. Nay, nay, ſo I will. 5 Mer. Now you are to’ard the Lord, you muſt put off The man, Sir. Ing. He ſaies true. Mer. You muſt do nothing As you ha’ done it heretofore; not know, Or ſalute any man. Ing. That was your bed-fellow, The other moneth. Mer. The other moneth? the weeke. 10 Thou doſt not know the priueledges, Ingine, Follow that Title; nor how ſwift: To day, When he has put on his Lords face once, then— Fit. Sir, for theſe things I ſhall doe well enough, There is no feare of me. But then, my wife is 15 Such an vntoward thing! ſhee’ll neuer learne How to comport with it. I am out of all Conceipt, on her behalfe. Mer. Beſt haue her taught, Sir. Fit. Where? Are there any Schooles for Ladies? Is there An Academy for women? I doe know, 20 For men, there was: I learn’d in it, my ſelfe, To make my legges, and doe my poſtures. Ing. Sir. Doe you remember the conceipt you had— O’ the Spaniſh gowne, at home? Ingine whiſpers Merecraft, Merecraft turnes to Fitz-dottrel. Mer. Ha! I doe thanke thee, With all my heart, deare Ingine. Sir, there is 25 A certaine Lady, here about the Towne, An Engliſh widdow, who hath lately trauell’d, But ſhee’s call’d the Spaniard; cauſe ſhe came Lateſt from thence: and keepes the Spaniſh habit. Such a rare woman! all our women heere, 30 That are of ſpirit, and faſhion flocke, vnto her, As to their Preſident; their Law; their Canon; More then they euer did, to Oracle-Foreman. Such rare receipts ſhee has, Sir, for the face; Such oyles; such tinctures; such pomatumn’s; 35 Such perfumes; med’cines; quinteſſences, &c. And ſuch a Miſtreſſe of behauiour; [127] She knowes, from the Dukes daughter, to the Doxey, What is their due iuſt: and no more! Fit. O Sir! You pleaſe me i’ this, more then mine owne greatneſſe, 40 Where is ſhee? Let vs haue her. Mer. By your patience, We muſt vſe meanes; caſt how to be acquainted— Fit. Good, S^r, about it. Mer. We muſt think how, firſt. Fit. O! I doe not loue to tarry for a thing, When I haue a mind to’t. You doe not know me. 45 If you doe offer it. Mer. Your wife muſt ſend Some pretty token to her, with a complement, And pray to be receiu’d in her good graces, All the great Ladies do’t. Fit. She ſhall, ſhe ſhall, What were it beſt to be? Mer. Some little toy, 50 I would not haue it any great matter, Sir: A Diamant ring, of forty or fifty pound, Would doe it handſomely: and be a gift Fit for your wife to ſend, and her to take. Fit. I’ll goe, and tell my wife on’t, ſtreight. 55 Fitz-dottrel goes out. Mer. Why this Is well! The clothes we’haue now: But, where’s this Lady? If we could get a witty boy, now, Ingine; That were an excellent cracke: I could inſtruct him, To the true height. For any thing takes this dottrel. Ing. Why, Sir your beſt will be one o’ the players! 60 Mer. No, there’s no truſting them. They’ll talke on’t, And tell their Poets. Ing. What if they doe? The ieſt will brooke the Stage. But, there be ſome of ’hem Are very honeſt Lads. There’s Dicke Robinſon A very pretty fellow, and comes often 65 To a Gentlemans chamber, a friends of mine. We had The merrieſt ſupper of it there, one night, The Gentlemans Land-lady invited him To’a Goſſips feaſt. Now, he Sir brought Dick Robinſon, Dreſt like a Lawyers wife, amongſt ’hem all; 70 (I lent him cloathes) but, to ſee him behaue it; And lay the law; and carue; and drinke vnto ’hem; And then talke baudy: and ſend frolicks! o! It would haue burſt your buttons, or not left you A ſeame. Mer. They ſay hee’s an ingenious youth! 75 Ing. O Sir! and dreſſes himſelfe, the beſt! beyond Forty o’ your very Ladies! did you ne’r ſee him? Mer. No, I do ſeldome ſee thoſe toyes. But thinke you, That we may haue him? Ing. Sir, the young Gentleman I tell you of, can command him. Shall I attempt it? 80 Mer. Yes, doe it. Enters againe. Fit. S’light, I cannot get my wife To part with a ring, on any termes: and yet, The ſollen Monkey has two. Mer. It were ’gainst reaſon That you ſhould vrge it; Sir, ſend to a Gold-ſmith, [128] Let not her loſe by’t. Fit. How do’s ſhe loſe by’t? 85 Is’t not for her? Mer. Make it your owne bounty, It will ha’ the better ſucceſſe; what is a matter Of fifty pound to you, S^r. Fit. I’haue but a hundred Pieces, to ſhew here; that I would not breake— Mer. You ſhall ha’ credit, Sir. I’ll ſend a ticket 90 Vnto my Gold-ſmith. Heer, my man comes too, To carry it fitly. How now, Traines? What birds? Traines enters. Tra. Your Couſin Euer-ill met me, and has beat mee, Becauſe I would not tell him where you were: I thinke he has dogd me to the houſe too. Fit. Well— 95 You ſhall goe out at the back-doore, then, Traines. You muſt get Guilt-head hither, by ſome meanes: Tra. ’Tis impoſſible! Fit. Tell him, we haue veniſon, I’ll g’ him a piece, and ſend his wife a Pheſant. Tra. A Forreſt moues not, till that forty pound, 100 Yo’ had of him, laſt, be pai’d. He keepes more ſtirre, For that ſame petty ſumme, then for your bond Of ſixe; and Statute of eight hundred! Fit. Tell him Wee’ll hedge in that. Cry vp Fitz-dottrell to him, Double his price: Make him a man of mettall. 105 Tra. That will not need, his bond is current inough.