Chapter III: Part 3

_Ros._ She does give up her self,
Her power and joys, and all, to you,
To be discharged of 'em as too burthensom;
Welcome in any shape.

_Seb._ Sir, in your looks,
I read your sute of my _Clarinda_: she is yours:
And Lady, if it be in me to confirm
Your hopes in this brave Gentleman,
Presume I am your servant.

_Alb._ We thank you Sir.

_Amin._ Oh happy hour!

_Alb._ O my dear _Aminta_;
Now all our fears are ended.

_Tib._ Here I fix: she's mettle,
Steel to the back: and will cut my leaden dagger,
If not us'd with discretion.

_Cro._ You are still no changling.

_Sebast._ Nay,
All look chearfully, for none shall be
Deny'd their lawful wishes; when a while
We have here refresh'd our selves; we'll return
To our several homes; and well that voyage ends,
That makes of deadly enemies, faithful friends. [_Exeunt._

Wit at several weapons.

A COMEDY.

The Persons represented in the Play.

Sir Perfidious Oldcraft, _an old Knight, a great admirer of Wit_.
Witty-pate Oldcraft, _his Fathers own Son_.
Sir Gregory Fopp, _a witless Lord of Land_.
Cunningham, _a discreet Gen. Sir_ Gregories _comrade and supplanter_.
Sir Ruinous Gentry, _a decayed Knight_, } _Two sharking_
Priscian, _a poor Scholar_, } _companions_.
Pompey Doodle, _a clown_, Sir Gregories _man, a piece of
puff-paste, like his Master_.
Mr. Credulous, _Nephew to Sir_ Perfidio[u]s, _a shallow-brain'd Scholar_.

WOMEN.

Neece _to Sir_ Perfidious, _a rich and witty Heir_.
Lady Ruinous, _Wife to_ Sir Ruinous.
Guardianess, _to_ Sir Perfidious _his Neece, an old doting Crone_.
Mirabell, _the Guardianesses Neece_.

The Scene, London.

_Actus Primus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Sir_ Perfidious Oldcraft _an old Knight, and_
Witty-pate _his Son_.

_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.

_Enter Sir_ Gregory Fop, _and_ Cuningham.

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.

_Sir Greg._ Why what do you take me to be, old Fatheri'Law
that shall be, do you think I'll have any of the _Wits_ hang
upon me, after I am married once? none of my kindred ever had
before me; but where's this Neece? is't a fashion in _London_,
to marry a woman and never see her?

_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.

_Enter Neece and Guardianess._

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.

_Enter_ Sir Gregory.

_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._

_Enter_ Sir Ruinous Gentry, Witty-pate, _and_ Priscian.

_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._

_Witty._ And what president's this for me? because your _Hic
& hac_, _Turpis_ and _Qui mihi discipulus_ brains (that never
got any thing but by accidence and uncertainty) did allow
it, therefore I must, that have grounded conclusions of wit,
hereditary rules from my Father to get by--

_Ruin._ Sir, be compendious, either take or refuse, I
will 'bate no token of my wives share, make even the last
reckonings, and either so unite, or here divide company.

_Pris._ A good resolution, _profecto_, let every man beg his
own way, and happy man be his dole.

_Witty._ Well, here's your double share, and single brains
_Pol, oedipol_, here's toward, a _Castor ecastor_ for you,
I will endure it a fortnight longer, but by these just five
ends.--

_Pris._ Take heed, five's odd, put both hands together, or
severally, they are all odd unjust ends.

_Witty. Medius fi[d]ius_, hold your tongue, I depose you from
half a share presently else, I will make you a participle, and
decline you, now you understand me, be you a quiet Conjunction
amongst the undeclined; you and your _Latine_ ends shall go
shift, _Solus cum solo_ together else, and then if ever they
get ends of Gold and Silver, enough to serve that Gerundine
maw of yours, that without _Do_ will end in _Di_ and _Dum_
instantly.

_Enter Old Knight and_ Sir Gregory.

_Ruin._ Enough, enough, here comes company, we lose five shares
in wrangling about one.

_Witty._ My Father, put on _Priscian_, he has _Latine_
fragments too, but I fear him not, I'll case my face with a
little more hair and relieve.

_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.

_Sir Gr._ No other that I can perceive i'faith, Sir, for I put
her to't, and felt her as far as I could, and the strongest
repulse was, she said, she would have a little Soldier in me,
that (if need were) should defend her reputation.

_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._ And I allow their requests i'faith, as well as any
womans heart can desire, if I knew where to get valour, I would
as willingly entertain it as any man that blows.

_Old K._ Breaths, breaths Sir, that's the sweeter phrase.

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

_Old K._ For a Soldier, I grant it.

_Sir Gr._ 'Slid, I'll swallow some bullets, and good round ones
too, but I'll have a little Soldier in me.

_Ruin._ Will you on and beg, or steal and be hang'd.

_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._

_Pris._ Hem, hem.

_Witty._ He's dry he hems, on quickly.

_Ruin._ Courteous Gentlemen, if the brow of a Military face may
not be offensive to your generous eye-balls, let his wounds
speak better than his words, for some branch or small sprig of
charity to be planted upon this poor barren soil of a Soldier.

_Old K._ How now, what Arms and Arts both go a begging?

_Ruin._ Such is the Post-progress of cold charity now a-days,
who (for heat to her frigid Limbs) passes in so swift a motion,
that two at the least had need be to stay her.

_Sir G._ Sir, lets reward um I pray you, and be gone. If any
quarrel should arise amongst us, I am able to answer neither
of them, his Iron and Steel tongue is as hard as the t'others
_Latine_ one.

_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?

_Pris. Conjunctis manibus, profecto, Domine._

_Ruin._ With equal fortunes, equal distribution, there's not
the breadth of a swords point uneven in our division.

_Sir Gr._ What two qualities are here cast away upon two poor
fellows, if a man had um that could maintain um? what a double
man were that, if these two fellows might be bought and sodden,
and boil'd to a jelly, and eaten fasting every morning, I do
not think but a man should find strange things in his stomach.

_Old K._ Come Sir, joyn your charity with mine, and we'll make
up a couple of pence bewixt us.

_Sir Gr._ If a man could have a pennyworth for his penny, I
would bestow more money with 'em.

_Witty._ Save you Gentlemen, how now? what are you encount'red
here? what fellows are these?

_Old K._ Faith Sir, here's _Mars_ and _Mercury_, a pair of poor
Planets it seems, that _Jupiter_ has turn'd out to live by
their wits, and we are e'en about a little spark of charity to
kindle um a new fire.

_Witty._ Stay, pray you stay Sir, you may abuse your charity,
nay, make that goodness in you no better than a vice; so many
deceivers walk in these shadows now a days; that certainly your
bounties were better spilt than reserv'd to so lewd and vicious
uses; which is he that professes the Soldier?

_Ruin._ He that professes his own profession, Sir, and the
dangerous life he hath led in it, this pair of half score years.

_Witty._ In what services have you been, Sir?

_Ruin._ The first that flesht me a Soldier, Sir, was that great
battel at _Alcazar_ in _Barbary_, where the noble _English_
_Stukely_ fell, and where that royal _Portugal Sebastian_ ended
his untimely days.

_Witty._ Are you sure _Sebastian_ died there?

_Ruin._ Faith Sir, there was some other rumour hop't amongst
us, that he, wounded, escap'd, and toucht on his Native shore
agen, where finding his Countrey at home more distrest by the
invasion of the _Spaniard_, than his loss abroad, forsook it,
still supporting a miserable and unfortunate life, which (where
he ended) is yet uncertain.

_Witty._ By my faith Sir, he speaks the nearest fame of truth
in this.

_Ruin._ Since Sir, I serv'd in _France_, the _Low Countreys_,
Lastly, at that memorable skirmish at _Newport_, where the
forward and bold _Scot_ there spent his life so freely, that
from every single heart that there fell, came home from his
resolution, a double honor to his Countrey.

_Witty._ This should be no counterfeit, Sir.

_Old K._ I do not think he is, Sir.

_Witty._ But Sir, me thinks you do not shew the marks of a
Soldier, could you so freely scape, that you brought home no
scarrs to be your chronicle?

_Ruin._ Sir, I have wounds, and many, but in those parts where
nature and humanity bids me shame to publish.

_Witty._ A good Soldier cannot want those badges.

_Sir Greg._ Now am not I of your mind in that, for I hold him
the best soldier that scapes best, alwaies at a Cock-fencing I
give him the best that has the fewest knocks.

_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.

_Sir Greg._ I do wonder how the _Trojans_ could hold out
ten years siege (as 'tis reported) against the _Greeks_, if
_Achilles_ spoke but this tongue? I do not think but he might
have shaken down the Walls in a seven-night, and ne'er troubled
the wooden horse.

_Witty._ I will try him so far as I can in the _Syriack_.
_Kircom bragmen, shag a dou ma dell mathou._

_Pris. Hashagath rabgabosh shobos onoriadka._

_Witty. Colpack Rubasca, gnawerthem shig shag._

[_Pris._] _Napshamothem Ribs[h]e bongomosh lashemech nagothi._

_Witty._ Gentlemen I have done, any man that can, go farther, I
confess my self at a _Nonplus_.

_Sir Greg._ Faith not I, Sir, I was at my farthest in my
natural language, I was never double-tongu'd, I thank my hard
fortune.

_Witty._ Well Gentlemen, 'tis pity, (walk farther off a
little my friends) I say, 'tis pity such fellows so endow'd,
so qualified with the gifts of Nature and Arts, yet should
have such a scarcity of fortune's benefits, we must blame our
Ironhearted age for it.

_Old K._ 'Tis pity indeed, and our pity shall speak a little,
for 'em; Come Sir, here's my groat.

_Witty._ A Groat Sir? oh fie, give nothing rather, 'twere
better you rail'd on 'em for begging, and so quit your self, I
am a poor Gentleman, that have but little but my wits to live
on.

_Old K._ Troth and I love you the better, Sir.

_Witty._ Yet I'll begin a better example than so, here fellows,
there's between you, take Purse and all, and I would it were
here heavier for your sakes, there's a pair of Angels to guide
you to your lodgings, a poor Gentleman's good Will.

_Pris. Gratias, maximas gratias, benignissime Domine._

_Old K._ This is an ill example for us, Sir, I would this
bountiful Gentleman had not come this way to day.

_Sir Gr._ Pox, we must not shame our selves now, Sir, I'll give
as much as that Gentleman, though I never be Soldier or Scholar
while I live; here friends, there's a piece, that if he were
divided, would make a pair of Angels for me too, in the love I
bear to the Sword and the Tongues.

_Old K._ My largess shall be equal too, and much good do you,
this bounty is a little abatement of my wit, though I feel that.

_Ruin._ May soldiers ever defend such charities.

_Pris._ And Scholars pray for their increase.

_Old K._ Fare you well, Sir, these fellows may pray for you,
you have made the Scholars Commons exceed to day, and a word
with you, Sir, you said you liv'd by your wits, if you use this
bounty, you'll begger your wits, believe it.

_Witty._ Oh Sir, I hope to encrease 'em by it, this seed never
wants his harvest, fare you well, Sir. [_Exit._

_Sir Gr._ I think a man were as good meet with a reasonable
Thief, as an unreasonable Begger sometimes, I could find in my
heart to beg half mine back agen, can you change my piece my
friends?

_Pris. Tempora mutantur, & nos mutamur in illis._

_Sir Gr._ My Gold is turn'd into _Latine_.

_Enter_ Witty-pate.

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

_Old K._ Sir, away, we shall be drawn farther into damage else.

_Sir Gr._ A pox of the Fool, he live by his wits? if his wits
leave him any money, but what he begs or steals very shortly,
I'll be hang'd for him. [_Exeunt the two Knights._

_Ruin._ This breakfast parcel was well fetcht off i'faith.

_Witty._ Tush, a by-blow for mirth, we must have better
purchase, we want a fourth for another project that I have
ripen'd.

_Ruin._ My wife she shares, and can deserve it.

_Witty._ She can change her shape, and be masculine.

_Ruin._ 'Tis one of the free'st conditions, she fears not the
crack of a Pistol, she dares say Stand to a Grazier.

_Pris. Probatum fuit, profecto Domine._

_Witty._ Good, then you Sir _Bacchus_, _Apollo_ shall be
dispatcht with her share, and some contents to meet us to
morrow (at a certain place and time appointed) in the Masculine
Gender, my Father has a Nephew, and I an own Cosin coming up
from the University, whom he loves most indulgently, easie
Master _Credulous Oldcraft_, (for you know what your meer
Academique is) your Carrier never misses his hour, he must not
be rob'd (because he has but little to lose) but he must joyn
with us in a devise that I have, that shall rob my Father of a
hundred pieces, and thank me to be rid on't, for there's the
ambition of my wit, to live upon his profest wit, that has
turn'd me out to live by my wits.

_Pris. Cum hirundinis alis tibi regratulor._

_Witty._ A male habit, a bag of an hunder'd weight, though it
be Counters (for my _Alchimy_ shall turn 'em into Gold of my
Fathers) the hour, the place, the action shall be at large set
down, and Father, you shall know, that I put my portion to use,
that you have given me to live by;

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

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Lady and Servants._

_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,

_Enter_ Priscian.

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._

_Enter_ Cuningam.

_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.

_Enter Guardianess._

_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.

_Enter Neece and Clown._

_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?

_Clow._ I think he had two conceits in it forsooth, too high
too Low, Ruff high, because as the Ruff does embrace your neck
all day, so does he desire to throw his Knightly Arms.

_Nee._ But then I leave him off a-nights.

_Clow._ Why then he is ruffe low, a ruffian, a bold adventurous
errand to do any rough service for his Lady.

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

_Clow._ To tell [you] truth, Lady, his conceit was far better
than I have blaz'd it yet.

_Nee._ Do you think so, Sir?

_Clow._ Nay, I know it forsooth, for it was two days, e'r he
compass'd it, to find a fitting present for your Ladyship, he
was sending once a very fine Puppy to you.

_Nee._ And that he would have brought himself.

_Clow._ So he would indeed, but then he alter'd his device,
and sent this Ruffe; requesting withall, that whensoever it is
foul, you (with your own hands) would bestow the starching of
it.

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

_Clow._ There lies his main conceit, Lady, for says he, In
so doing she cannot chuse but in the starching, to clap it
often between her hands, and so she gives a great liking and
applause to my Present, whereas, if I should send a Puppy, she
ever calls it to her with hist, hiss, hiss, which is a fearful
disgrace, he drew the device from a Play, at the _Bull_ tother
day.

_Nee._ I marry Sir, this was a rich conceit indeed.

_Clow._ And far fetch'd, therefore good for you, Lady.

_Guard._ How now? which way look you, Bird?

_Cun._ At the Fool Bird, shall I not look at the Fool?

_Guard._ At the Fool and I here? what need that? pray look this
way.

_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.

_Clow._ His own I assure you, Madam.

_Nee._ Nay, you must not lye.

_Clow._ Not with a Lady, I'd rather lye with you, than lie with
my Master, by your leave in such a case as this.

_Guard._ Yet agen your eye?

_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.

_Clow._ If you had seen me swim t'other day on my back, you
would have sed you had seen, there was two Chambermaids that
saw me, and my legs by chance were tangled in the flags, and
when they saw how I was hang'd, they cryed out, Oh help the man
for fear he be drown'd.

_Neec._ They could do no less in pity, come thine arm, we'll
walk together.

_Cun._ Blindness of Love and Women, why she dotes upon the fool.

_Guard._ What's that to you, mind her not.

_Cun._ Away you Burr.

_Guard._ How's that?

_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?

_Clow._ By my troth I laugh at him too, faith sirrah, he's but
a fool to say the truth, though I say't, that should not say't.

_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.

_Enter Clown._

_Clow._ Dost thou hear Lady, sweet-heart, I had forgot to tell
thee, if you will, I will come back in the evening.

_Neece._ By no means, come not till I send for you.

_Clow._ If there be any need, you may think of things when I
am gone, I may be convey'd into your chamber, I'll lye under
the bed while midnight, or so, or you shall put me up in one of
your little boxes, I can creep in at a small hole.

_Neece._ These are things I dare not venture, I charge you on
my love, never come till I send for you.

_Clow. Verbum insapienti_, 'tis enough to the wise, nor I
think it is not fit the Knight should know any thing yet.

_Neece._ By no means, pray you go now, we are suspected.

_Clow._ For the things that are past, let us use our secrets.

_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;

_Enter_ Mirabel.

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?

_Guard._ No, nor sick, nor mad, nor in my wits, nor sleeping,
nor waking, nor nothing, nor any thing; I know not what I am,
nor what I am not.

_Mir._ Mercy cover us, what do you mean, Aunt?

_Guard._ I mean to be reveng'd.

_Mir._ On whom?

_Guard._ On thee Baggage.

_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._

_Enter_ Sir Gregory, _and Clown_.

_Sir Greg._ Why _Pompey_, thou art not stark mad, art thou?
Wilt thou not tell me how my Lady does?

_Clow._ Your Lady?

_Sir Greg._ Did she receive the thing that I sent her kindly,
or no:

_Clow._ The thing that you sent her, Knight, by the thing that
you sent, was for the things sake that was sent to carry the
thing that you sent, very kindly receiv'd; first, there is
your Indenture, now go seek you a servant: secondly, you are a
Knight: thirdly and lastly, I am mine own man: and fourthly,
fare you well.

_Sir Greg._ Why _Pompey_? prethee let me speak with thee, I'll
lay my life some hare has crost him.