SCENE I.

YO' have given him then his answer?

Love knows I do.

You say he is deserving in all points.

My love emboldens me to tell you he is.

Love weighes not that.

I would be playner yet; beseeching you be not thought too lose in my obedience.

Speake freely Girle.

On, on.

No, no, on still.

Shee speakes home and within me, to the purpose.

The Lady Strangelove?

How I mad?

If this be true I sinke, what is suppos'd he cause?

I obey you.

Why honor? why my Lord?

We stile you now.

As all must doe hereafter.

Or wealth joynd with desert attaine to ho [...]

So now the Game's a foot. They hunt in full c [...]

My Lord 'tis most apparant.

How you torture me!

Wee'l mak't appeare most plainly on our lives.

And credits too.

Their Lives and credits, ha, ha, ha.

Our Wives and Children.

We can ingage no more.

You have pervs'd this weighty paper here.

It weighes not all twelve graines.

Next for performance of our undertakings.

Without all grievance unto the subject.

That's no little marvaile.

There's a capitall project.

You have in that said very well Sir too.

By the pox or so.

No more of that.

I will not meddle in it.

No my good Lord.

No, nor your Perrukes neither.

What say to this my Lord of the Balconyes?

Nor that.

This then for sucking out of cornes.

Away with it.

Away.

Fy away.

Were not they gotten by Projectors think you?

My Lord your servant jeeres us.

Heaven has heard my prayers.

What out of favour?

No, out of his Reason.

The noble Cavalier sir Ferdinando.

Even he.

They shall not, never feare it.

I will not part with any money sirs.

Not a penny.

Or but a piece a Man.

Not a denier.

A dinner then my Lord, but of one piece.

My answers cannot please you. Answer 'em you.

I hope to live to see him beg of us.

To follow you in all things but in Projects.

You shall rule me cosen.

This was my feare.

Away: some body comes.

Tis Fredrick. I must see him.

You'l never see him more then. Go to your cham­ber. A little patience and he shall be yours.

Poore heart I pitty her, and will labour for her.

You may not see her.

May not see her sir?

May not! nay must not: shall not see her.

Y'are very plaine with me.

A villaine speakes it.

I have a sword speakes other language for me.

What wouldst thou say?

Is shee not here i' th' house?

Sir, dare you trust me?

SCENE I.

Or lie down if you please.

If you so, wrong not my Ladies Couch with your Spurres I pray: take heed you leave not a Rowell there.

If one should, your Lady has no Lord to call her honour to question, whose Knight-hood it belong'd unto.

You have a good countrey wit sir.

My name is Swayne-wit; and for all you twit me with the Countrey, I am a Gentleman tho'.

I honour you the more sir, for I am a Countrey Maide my selfe.

Thou art a Jackanapes of the basest tricks that ever I saw, for a halfe-penny. Shee's your choyce, is shee? Could not you let be tho'? I ha' bin acquainted with thee but two dayes, and forgi 'me for swearing, I ha' found thee beating ripe a skore o' times at least. Take heede I be­gin not now, and handsell your Ladies house, that is so much talkt on, and your Gentlewomans presence here with a fist about your eares.

Not for a thousand pound.

That's a great deale of money. I could find i'my heart to do't tho'.

Slife we are all undone then.

He sets my teeth on edge to looke upon him: He lookes so like a wilding crab, good neither for drink nor sauce.

Why would you presse him then?

Thou hast a verjuice wit.

For my poore sake forbeare sir.

Let him stand further then, and looke o' toe side.

Well sir, this is no cause nor place to fight in, when—

What sayes he?

Nothing, you heare he whistles tother way.

Tother way, what backwards?

What new guest ha' you brought here Mr. Court-wit, for my Lady to laugh at?

One for that purpose Phil, you ha' spoke the man, But what company has my Patronesse, that shee is yet busy.

I that! If shee be long busy I will not stay, and shee were ten great Ladies, or one as big as twenty, for all shee is your Patronesse, must we wait out of our wits, because Chalivere ran mad for her?

Ha' you heard o' that sir?

My Cozen Court-wit's question was who's with her?

O sweet Mr. Court-wit, when will you bring the fine civill Gentleman, that maintaines himselfe so gal­lantly by picture drawing?

Here's a new businesse! Fare yee well, pray tell your Lady I came not from Pensans to grow here.

Nay sweet sir stay, there is sir with my Lady none but the grave and witty talking Knight. Some call him the metrapolitane wit of Court; he that loves Ladyes so­ciety so much, and yet has vow'd virginity.

As much as in man lies Phil; Hee is a perpetuall vowd batchellor indeed, and as constant to his vow as to his fashion in apparrell, which is ever the same, sir Raphael Winter-plum.

That old witherd piece. I know him.

Thou wilt beare up again.

He has lick'd up a living with his tongue; makes all great tables his own; and eats for his talke. He may be conversant with women: for (they say) he guelt him­selfe [Page] beyond Sea for spight one did him; and now preaches chastity to Ladies, and love to their husbands. Hee's a Lay-gospeller among the married sort, and an especiall pedant to the youth o' Court.

Fy, thou speakst too much.

There's another humor I could beat thee for with all my heart, thou wilt speake outragiously of all men behinde their backs, and darst not answer Ba —to the face of a sheep, O I could pommell thee.

This is not yet a cause to fight for, when —

But will not that fine Gentleman Mr. Dainty come, Mr. Court-wit?

I expect him presently.

I'le see if their conference be ended, or breake it if I can, and hasten my Lady to you.

This wench has a dainty wit.

Shee may, living with the prime Lady-wit in towne.

But what Dainty is that shee talkes on so affecti­onately?

Troth a Gentleman that lives at a good rate; very civill in conversation, keepes good company; yet none of his acquaintance that I am acquainted with knowes his beginning, or his present meanes.

A Gentleman borne.

I know no more but by his port, and fashion, you saw him with me last night.

Forgi' me for swearing, Ist he?

He was at the Play with us too, doe you not re­member that?

Yes, that I was at the Play, by sure token and a sad one.

I'le shew you somewhat of him. A Gentleman borne did you aske?

Now he beares up againe.

Hee cannot be a Gentleman by birth or place. A fine-handed, and a fine headed fellow he is; and pre­tends great skill and practice too in Picture-drawing, Watch-making, and such like finger workes; which he sayes he uses as a Gentlemans exercise, not as a trade to live upon; when either he does live on't; or else hee has some more secret way, as perhaps pimping or pursing for ought I know.

There he is again! Art thou bound in conscience to wrong all men in their absence, till I beate thee into better manners?

Hold hold, I prithee hold.

Yet still the cause is insufficient, when—

Here comes the Gentleman.

Is hee come? Noble Mr. Dainty—The wel­comst in the World. I protest I suffer'd by your absence.

You do me too much honour Mr. Cit-wit.

Oh sir, your humble servant.

Ha, ha. Forgi' me for swearing, what a Spaniell's this?

Gentlemen you are well found, I was a little stayd by the way upon receipt of monies. Ha' you seene the Lady yet?

Shee's yet a little busy. We shall all instantly take the opportunity together.

But Gentlemen; you that have better knowledge of this Lady informe if you please, why are we summond hither?

Thou speakst as if thou hadst guilt upon thee; fear nothing man.

I that's the thing that I would understand too. And why me of any man? They say indeed shee is a hu­morous Lady, and loves to busy her selfe. But what are we to her? are there not greater men, and Lords enough [Page] for her to foole away the time with, but we must dance attendance on her humors?

I protest Mr. Swayn-wit, I admire your inge­nuity.

You will be medling still.

Tis to your question sir, which I will answer.

I there's another of your cockscombly tricks, to answer any question, that's ask'd another man, out with tho'.

This Lady sir, this humorous wity Lady is a wit-sponge, that suckes up wit from some, and holds as her own, untill shee squeeze it out on others. Shee will make use of ours, or any courser wits; and search 'em out to sift 'em. Shee will collect from market-folkes; and hold conferences with the poore Trades-people that cry their wares about the streets, Shee will rake wit out of a dunghill Ragwoman.

So there he is againe! darest thou abuse a noble Lady, in her owne house too? I dare not now but beat thee.

Forbeare good cosen.

Still, still, the cause is naught, when—

Ods so the Ladies comming I think.

Gentlemen, my Lady cannot yet be rid of the tedious talking Knight. But shee will cast him presently. He is now following her into this roome, pray passe into the next; my Ladies Musick roome. There you shall find a collation of good Tobacco and Sack and one to attend you, you know the fashions of the House Mr. Court-wit.

Come away Gentlemen.

I could even love and looke upon that sweete Mr. Dainty a whole houre methinks.

Goe your wayes down Mayd, and if any aske for Sir Raphael here, say that I hope hee will ha' done anon.

You would be rid of me: but pardon me Madam, I must hold your glasse to you.

That's a poore Chamber-mayds office; and ill becomes your gravity Sir Raphael.

I'le open then the booke to you of your errors.

Now you speake scholler-like, and your selfe: But have we spent all this while in by, and idle talke, and have that volume to be open'd yet? Pray read mee for the first Lesson for this Mornings Exercise, and my Edification, the last Chapter of my book of errors as you call it.

You are a mocker of instruction, and good counsell.

Begins it so? whom is that spoken to?

I speak to onely you; to conjure (if I can) that spirit of scorne out of you; which you have taken in, and long affected for a humor, your singular own humor, till it is grown so familiar, so inherent in you, that you have wonne the title of the humorous Lady by't; and drawn a scorne upon your selfe.

Why then all's paid, and wellcome good Sir Raphael.

They hit me not. I am sure I do not feele 'em.

You come too neare mee sir, cause I would have it so?

Have I done so?

If they will follow it, I cannot helpe it.

O sir Raphael—

On good Sir Raphael.

What ist in your construction?

Who I Madam!

Pray sit down by me.

Good thoughts possesse you Madam. I mus [...] hence.

I'le not be tedious to you. One word I pray sir?

Sanctity protect me.

Madam to the point.

What is our strength, and what is not our frailty?

Where is shee wandering now? Bee playner Madam.

I am no good interpreter of looks.

You must first speake it Madam.

Madam I'le pray for you.

I dare not heare you.

Leave me not so.

Who waits upon my Lady here?

But where's my favorite Court-wit, has he brought his countrey Kinsman and the rest?

I wish you mirth Madam. I come not as one o' you fooles to make you any though—

Be not so briefe with mee, let mee intreat you though.

Forgi'me for swearing doe you mock me tho'?

Mistake me not sweet sir—

Sweet with a mischiefe! How sweet am I? I come [Page] not as a suitor to your great Ladyship, I am a Gentleman of two hundred a yeare tho'.

Not as a suitor to me sir?

No you are too great for me. Nor to your Mopsey without, though shee be snout-faire, and has some wit shee's too little for me, I understand degree and quality, respect and difference; and am scholler enough to know my unde and my quare.

You ga' me his true character. You are a com­pleat Gentleman sir (if I mistake not) the Kinsman of my favorite here, who has given me an ample relation of your worth and vertue.

Yes, Patronesse, 'tis he, who though not throughly vers'd, or conversant i'th' Court or City garbe, he under­stands both Men and Manners.

Prattle for your selfe sir.

But to the businesse Gentlemen.

I that I would faine know if it be any.

You have heard I doubt not of a disastrous blot lately cast upon my fame, out of my owne free­nesse.

Concerning the Mad courtier Madam, when 'tis as likely, that his Taylor made him mad as you, for not hitting the fashion right in his last rich suit. But tis most like he fell from a reasonable man, by over-studying him­selfe what Lord he should be at the next creation, whe­ther of Gleek, or Cribbidge; In and in, or Hazard.

Hearke how this shotten headed Cocks-combe prates! And how he, that can indure beating, dares speak any thing, or abuse all men! canst not give the Lady leave to speake tho'?

Since there is an aspersion layd upon my freenesse in giving entertainment unto persons of great and noble qua [...]ity, the world deeming it to be done by me meerly [Page] for ostentation, to cry my own humor up, by drawing them into Love-knots, and then to slight or scorne them: My resolution is from henceforth, to exclude those great resorts, and friendly and freely be merry within our selfes. I have foure thousand a yeare to spend; and will be huswife good enough to keepe in compasse. I will not entertaine a servant, friend or guest above your rank or fortunes—

Why— (forgi'me for swearing) what do you think of us?

I thinke you Gentlemen of worth and quality: and therefore welcome. I thinke you able to maintaine your selfes midle-sis'd Gent.

I am Midlesex indeed; borne i' th' City.

Give the Lady leave to speake tho'.

Yes, faith a little money to; and make's your Fidlers.

Pray give the Lady leave to speak though.

Of action Madam? who do you meane? the Players?

Why not? I love their quality and them, and mean to have the use of some of 'em shortly: Besides Musiti­ans (Poets in the first place) and Painters: In which last mention'd art I heare you are excellent, though all this while so silent.

I boast no skill or practise Madam: but I have drawne some pieces that have been worth my paines in my Rewards.

I must commend their ingenuity for whom you tooke those paines. But (where I left) I must make use of wits, of arts, and actions.

Here in your house Madam, I would be glad to see the Actors but I saw 'em at their own too lately: for I lost my purse there, no matter let it go. There was 15. pound in't tho!

Sprecious! How now! my Fob has been fubd to day of six pieces, and a dozen shillings at least. No­thing but a bowd groat left as I hope for my Grannums blessing.

Sure you have been in some ill company.

Pox of ill company I say. My watch is gone out of my Pocket too o'th right side.

You rose o' the wrong side to day it seemes, were you in no crowd or quarrell?

I never was in any quarrell i'my life. I alwayes run from 'em.

I dare sweare thou dost.

I onely stood to day at the Coranto-shop to read the last great news; and I was hoop'd in I remember by some that seem'd to wonder as much as I.

Then certainly there was a cut-purse amongst 'em.

I'le go to honest Moll about it presently.

But first stay and heare my Lady tho'.

I Madam you were speaking of the use you would make of Poet, Painter, Musick, Actor and the like.

True favorite for a Masque that I intend to have shortly, you shall performe the poeticall part, your [Page] servant Citwit the Musicall. And by your skill and directi­ons the Painters office for the scenes. Dancers and spea­kers I have in store.

I must be something too tho', must I not Ma­dam?

Marry and thanke you too sir.

Now your Newes.

Sir Andrew Mendicant desires to see you Madam.

You should have told him I would not be seene by him.

I told him you were busy. But hee sayes hee is to speake with you upon a weighty businesse from the Court.

What's that sir Andrew Mendicant? doe you know him well?

Thou askest still a question like a guilty person, with a look resembling fear upon thy face.

My countenance is too blame then; not my con­science.

I'le tell you what he is.

Still answering others questions?

He is a Knight that hanckers about the Court, ambitious to make himselfe a Lord by begging. His braine is all Projects, and his soule nothing but Court-suits. He has begun more knavish suits at Court, then ever the Kings Taylor honestly finish'd, but never thriv'd by any: so that now hee's almost fallen from a Pallace B [...]gger to a spittle one. His businesse to my Lady now can be no­thing but to borrow money to buy a paire of wheeles [Page] to set some Project a going to Court for a Mo­nopoly.

Thou wert in hast eene now to looke after th [...] money; but and thy Life lay on't thou must stay to abuse a man hehinde his back, who is a noble Gentleman thou knowst, and I have heard, yet (speake in thy conscience) wouldst thou not be beaten now?

Forbeare, they come.

I must leave that to fortune Madam.

Pray of what nature are your Projects Gentlemen?

Sir my affection leanes much to Poetry, especialy the Drammatick.

Writing of strange Playes?

I am glad I speake sir, to your understanding. [Page] And my project is that no Playes may be admitted to the Stage, but of their making who Professe or indea­vour to live by the quality: That no Courtiers, Divines, Students at Law, Lawyers-clearks, Tradesmen or Pren­tises be allow'd to write 'em, nor the Works of any lay-Poet whatsoever to be receav'd to the Stage, though freely given unto the Actors, nay though any such Poet should give a summe of money with his Play, as with an Apprentice, unlesse the Author doe also become bound that it shall doe true and faithfull service for a whole Terme.

Here's a trim businesse towards, and as idle as the Players going to Law with their Poets.

I have another sir, to procure a Patent for my selfe to have the onely priviledge to give instructions to all the actors in the City, (especially the younger sort) the better to enable them to speake their parts emphatically and to the life.

You were best take heede in time then that you well preserve your own voyce, for feare you doe a spoyle among 'em in teaching 'em to utter in unsavory tunes. Doe I come hither to be mock'd?

Will you heare mine though? I am a Countrey Gentleman, young, healthfull and lusty. I heare com­plaints of barrennesse in the City; and of men that can­not get their wives with child; Get me but a Patent for't I'le undertake by my selfe and deputies (provided that the woman be sound and handsome) to make them mul­tiply, and upon reasonable conditions: we will deale with the rich for money, and the poore for cha­rity.

This is foolisher then tother. Doe you abuse me Gentlemen?

Is that a wise man's question? you cannot tell th'o.

We have our projects too Sir.

I would have yours first, you see me a civill and substantiall Gentleman.

In more private if you please Sir.

I like well his reservednesse.

Sir I am a Picture-drawer Limner, or Painter (if you please) and would gladly purchase authority, by my selfe and deputies, for the painting of all the Kings, and Q [...]enes-head signes for Tavernes, Innes, Ale houses, and all Houses and Shops of Trade throughout the King­dome upon this ground that they draw and hang up their [...]yall Images for signes in so hideous manner that men blesse themselves to see'r.

I marry this hangs upon some ground. But are you an exquisite workeman in that art sir?

I am an Artist in that mistery sir, and have drawn some of his Majesties Pictures (by coppy onely but) so to the life, that Gentlemen have kneel'd to 'em for suites, and knight-hoods.

Indeed sir!

Yes sir, and great Lords I have pictur'd so power­fully, their own followers sodainly rushing into the room have started back and solemnly stood bare to 'em as they hung o'the walls.

Ist possible!

I drew a sterne Judge, and a civill Lawyer so to the life, that after their corps were in the Grave, a man durst not looke upon their pictures without a bribe, or double fee in's hand.

I do admire you!

I ha' drawn Ladies too, with that alluring beau­ty, that men have loy'd their dead pictures, for their pain­ted lookes, more then their living persons for all their vertues.

Thou boy! introth you abuse me most merrily Gentlemen.

An excellent fellow: I like him for that fancy more then all the rest.

Pray heare my project too sir?

Yes good sir Andrew, you shall not part so ab­ruptly.

Mine is a good common wealths businesse, against the common Plague, that raignes i' th' City of Pick­pockets, and Cut-purses. I my selfe ha' bin robb'd to day, and am going to a good member that deales in private for the recoveries of such goods: One that shall under­take if you'l but get a Patent, for a Cutpurse-hall, or Office, to helpe all men to their owne againe, allowing but the Tithes of their Losses, and freeing the offending parties.

Fie, fie. Here's tithing indeed.

Provided that notice be brought to the Office within foure and twenty houres after any such losse.

Enough, enough.

Wee may by the same course secure the Coun­ [...] too, and make the hangman hang himselfe.

Let every man be wise enough to looke to his purse, and there will be no Cut-purses, nor need of your patent.

As wise a man as you may lose his purse tho', as I ha' done my selfe in a crow'd.

He puts me in mind of a crowd I was in once to day of company I lik'd not—ha—. For hea­ven 'tis gone: And I dare not discover it for being laught at.

It seemes none of your Projects will passe with you sir Andrew.

Come sir, they are but (as you said) merry with you.

Be you merry with them good Madam, you know the serious worke I came about. In which [Page] I sodainly shall presume to give you a re-visite.

Pray do sir Andrew, bring your Mad-man. My garden Lodgings shall be his bedlem. Come gentlemen tis Dinner-time.

We are your waiters Madam.

SCENE I.

Like you 'em Doctor.

Here set him downe. Unbind him, and unblind him.

Hee takes you for a Northerne Pastor Mr. Doctor.

No matter what, let him run out his fancy.

You shall have all best usage sir.

With all best care sir.

You shall have all content the countrey yeilds sir.

I shall have Oat-bread, Ale, and Bag-pipes, shall I?

If you'l be merry sir.

I'le finde you money enough.

O here's a third man, let's then to Gleeke.

Crown Gleeke sir, if you please.

Sir, you must bare mee Aces. You will play Tib and Tom.

All i' the Cards sir.

All's ready.

Now sir, doe you observe the roote of his Disease?

I guesse at it, know you the remedy?

Disease! what's that? who is diseas'd? who wants a Remedy?

Are you sir a Phisitian?

This Gentleman is, and brings you remedy, be you patient.

O you will move him.

Who's that?

Do you not know me sir?

Your Friends at Court commend them to you Sir.

What a wilde fancie's this!

Crosse it not good sir.

Pray give mee leave to touch it though, a little.

Forbeare sir, you will move him strongly else.

Pray sir your eare.

Sir, most attentively.

Your Doctrine dos not edify sir Raphael.

Guard me Divinity.

I told you what you would doe.

Patience good sir.

Patience in tortures?

Helpe here sodainly!

O doe you make me then your Knight o' th' shire A tun o' Wine for that. Shoulder your Knight, advance your Knight, beare him out.

A Ferdinand, a Ferdinand, &c.

How Madam?

Your slave, lay your commands on mee, wh [...] drudgery doe you appoint me to?

Shee's mad too.

Did not your Ladyship give way?

I was no principle in't good Madam.

Pardon mee vertuous sir, it is my love to you that tortures mee into this wild distraction. O sit Raphael.

Madam.

I must be a little serious with you, shut the dore.

Go, you are such a Lady, ha, ha, ha.

Now thou comst to me wench: hadst forgot?

You said you would be serious.

I Madam, you had never known that same else.

Yes most severely Madam on your promise—

But if he should prove valiant!

What say to Swayn-wit?

Hee's the others extreame. I might feare him but never love him.

What think you of my speciall favorite Mr. Court-wit?

What say to Dainty then the curious Limner?

I am bound from lying. Madam hee's the man.

Well i'le take thy cause in hand wench: But yet we are not merry. I am inclin'd most jovially to mirth me thinks. Pray Jove some good be towards. Laugh or i'le pinch you, till you doe.

Ha, ha, ha, ha, Madam, ha, ha, ha. O the picture drawer! ha, ha, ha.

I, come, the Picture drawer.

O, I love drawing and painting, as no Lady bet­ter, [Page] who for the most part are of their occupation that professe it. And shall I tell all Madam?

By all meanes Phil.—now shee's enter'd.

I hope I am handsome enough too. For I have heard that Limners or Picture-drawers, doe covet to have the fairest and best featur'd wives, (or if not wives, Mistresses) that they can possibly purchace, to draw naked Pictures by, as of Diana, Venus, Andromeda, Leda, or the like, either vertuous or lascivious; whom they make to sit or stand naked in all the severall postures, and to lie as many wayes to helpe their art in drawing, who knowes how I may set his fancy a worke? and with mo­desty enough. We were all naked once, and must be so againe. I could sit for the naked Shepherdesse, with one Leg over the tother Knee, picking the Thorne out of her Foote most neatly, to make the Satyre peepe under.

Well thou shalt have him.

Mistris Philomel.

Let in the Boy. Now sir your newes?

The mad Knights Doctor Madam intreats to speake with you.

Now seekes he my assistance in his cure.

And Mr. Court-wit, and the other Gentlemen are below.

Goe you and entertaine the Gentlemen, while I consult with the Doctor, let him enter.

Now Mr. Doctor! you come to aske my counsell I know for your impatient Patient. But let me tell you first, the most learned Authors, that I can turne over; as Dioscorides, Avicen, Galen, and Hyppocrates are much discrepant in their opinions concerning the remedies for his disease.

Madam—

Therefore I trust you'l pardon my weaknesse, if my opinion jumps not altogether with your judgement.

Madam, my purpose was not—

My purpose is to advise you though, that, if his Frenzie proceed from love as you conjecture, that you administer of the rootes of Hellebore, destill'd together with Salt-peter, and the flowers of blind Netles, I'le give you the proportions, and the quantity is to take.

Mistake not me good Madam—

But if his Malady grow out of ambition, and his over weening hopes of greatnesse (as I conjecture) then he may take a top of Cedar, or an Oake-apple is very soveraigne with the spirit of Hempseed.

Madam, I seeke no counsell in this case, my cun­ning is—

To let me know, that that part of my house which I allow you is too little for you.

Shee's surely mad.

But you must claime possession of the rest, You are come to warne me out on't; are you not?

Mistake not so good Madam.

Or do you call my attendance on his person, by way of a Nurse-keeper? I can do little service.

For my part Madam I am sorry we are made the trouble of your house, and rather wish me out on't then your favour. But if your Ladyship will bee pleas'd to entertaine with patience the little I have to say.

Come to it quickly then.

Come to the point, you'ld have me visit him.

My life o' that.

Come for once i'le trust you.

Come out into the Garden here; and let them talke within, I say he shall talke with her; and his belly full, and doe with her too, her belly full, for all thou: an honest discreet Gentleman, and thou a coward and a cockscombe. Besides he has an art and quality to live upon, and maintaine her Lady-like, when all thy money may be gone. And yet thou prat'st o' thy two thousand pound at use, when thou and thy money too are but an asse and's load tho'.

Well, you may speake your pleasure. This is no cause to fight for.

I'le make thee fight, or promise to fight with me, or somebody else before we part, or cut thee into pieces.

But tell me seriously dost thou love my Ladies woman so well as to marry her, and suffer the Picture-drawer now to court her privately, and perhaps to draw and carry her from thee?

Why he here will have it so you see, and pull'd mee out.

It is to doe a cure upon thee, coward.

Coward! pish! a common Name to men in buffe and feather. I scorne to answer to't.

Why dost thou weare a Sword? only to hurt mens feet that kick thee?

Nay you are too severe.

Pray hold your peace. I'le jowle your heads to­gether, and so beat ton with tother else. Why dost thou were a Sword I say?

To fight when I see cause.

Now he sayes something, yet, and may be curable.

What is a cause to fight for?

I am not to tell you that sir, It must be found out and given me before I ought to take notice.

You may safely say for Religion, King or Countrey.

Darst thou fight for Religion? say.

Who that has any Religion will fight I say?

I say thou hast none. Speake, hast thou any?

Truly, in this wavering world I know not how to answer.

La you. Hee'l say he has no King neither, rather then fight.

Why if he will not fight for him he is no Subject, and no Subject no King.

I thanke you sir, I would ha' said so.

O thou wouldst make a speciall Souldier now!

Well sir, all are not choyce doggs that run, some are taken in to make up the cry.

And for thy Countrey, I dare sweare thou wouldst rather run it then fight for't.

Run my Countrey I cannot, for I was borne i'the City. I am no clown to run my Countrey.

Darst thou tell me of clowns thou cockney chick­en-hearted whelp thou?

Forbeare good sir, there are countrey Gentlemen as well as clownes, and for the rank I honour you.

Sirrah you lie, strike me for that now; or I will beat thee abhominably.

Up to him man: wilt thou suffer all?

I would —but—

You lie I say againe.

I thinke I doe, I thinke I doe, and why should I maintaine an evill cause?

The wench thou lov'st and doatest on is a whore.

Sir, if she be 'tis not my fault, nor hers: somebody else made her so then I warrant you. But should another man tell me so!

What then?

I would say as much to him as to you. Nor in­deed is any mans report of that a sufficient cause to pro­voke mee unlesse shee her selfe confess'd it, and then it were no cause at all.

Here's a true City wit now.

I should have wit sir, and am acounted a wit within the walls, I am sure my Father was Master of his company, and of the wisest company too i'the city.

What company's that?

The Salters sir. For sal sapit omnia you know.

Your Father was a cuckold tho', and you the Son of a whore.

Fight now or you'l die infamous, was your Mo­ther a whore?

Deny't and darst, say, was she not?

Comparatively shee might be in respect of some holy woman, the Lady Ramsey, Mistris Katherine Stubbs and such, ha, ha. Is that a cause?

What! not to say your Mother was a whore?

He may say his pleasure, It hurts her not: shee is dead and gone. Besides, at the best shee was but a wo­man, and at the worst shee might have her frailties like other women. And is that a cause for mee to fight for the dead, when wee are forbidden to pray for'em?

But were your Mother living now, what would you say or doe?

Why, I would civilly ask her if she were a whore? If she confess'd it, then he were in the right, and I ought not to fight against him: for my cause were naught. If she deny'd it, then he were in an error, and his cause were naught, and I would not fight, 'twere better he should live to repent his errour.

Nay, now if I do not kill thee let me be hang'd for idlenesse.

Hold I am unprepar'd.

I care not—unlesse thou sweare presently, and without all equivocation upon this sword—

Scabberd and all I pray sir, The cover of the book is allowd in courts to sweare upon.

Well sir, now you shall sweare to challenge the next that wrongs you.

Yes, if the wrong give me sufficient cause.

Cause agen! suppose that fellow within should take your wench from you? which very likely he has done already: for I left 'em close on a couch together Kissing and —

Gi' me the booke, i'le have her from him, or him from her if he be without her belly, or Kill him if he be within her.

Tis well a cause may be found at last tho'.

I like a man, whom neither Lie, Kick, Battoune, scandall, Friends, or Parents, the wrongs of Countrey, King or Religion can move, that will, yet, fight for his [Page] wench. Thou wilt be one of the stiffe blades o' the time I see.

A wench is a moving cause:

Helpe, helpe, here helpe—ha—

Why dost not draw and run in upon 'em?

After you I will sir.

A pox upon thee art thou down agen?

No sir, I am drawn you see.

Help, help, a rape, a rape, murder, help!

Tis time to fly then.

I come my Philomel.

What's the matter Phil?

What cry was that?

Was it not you that caus'd it sir?

Was it not here?

Was it not you that cry'd?

Is there helpe, helpe, helpe?

O tis my Lady in the Madmans chamber. Is her mirth come to this?

Where, which way?

Here, here the dore's made fast.

I'le breake it open.

Help here, help the Lady; help the Lady.

Away Medusa. Hence, thou hast transformd me. Stone, stone, I am all stone. Bring morter and make a bul-wark of me.

O that's the Mad-man! How madly he talkes!

Hold me not down.

Stones to make a bul-warke quoth a! If he had [Page] but to make a brace of Demy-culvering bullets, they were thumpers I thinke.

Hold me not down, but reare me up, and make me my own statue.

Was ever such a practice?

A meere accident of madnesse.

I say it was a practise in the Doctor.

Yet he calld out for help.

You had broke up the dore first. That was but to colour his trechery.

A new way, and a very learned one I promise you; to cure madnesse with a plaister of warme Lady-gutts.

He would ha' had a mad bout with my Lady it seemes. He would ha' vented his madnes into her. And she could ha' drawn better then the Leaches.

If you believe this Madam, tho' sir Ferdinand be by his madnesse excusable in the attempt, you ought to be reveng'd upon the Doctor.

Let's cut him into pieces Madam.

I'le think upon some way to make him a dread­full example to all the Pandarean Doctors i' the Towne. Come in Gentlemen, and helpe mee with your ad­vices.

What mean you Mr. Cit-wit?

I have sworne. Therefore I say no more, but I have sworne.

SCENE I.

That madnesse is his fate; which renders him into my masters hands to restore all agen. I, note the Justice of it.

He is flown off agen.

Wherein have I fail'd sir?

Sir, in assuring joincture to her Dowry.

Nay then sir heare me.

What in private sir?

Remember, sweet, your vow.

Most constantly. And let mee conjure you by this.

And this—

That you forget not yours.

Quick, quick! i'le stand before you.

For what offence?

Madnesse at heighth.

Will you along!

Friend, has he hurt thee?

I am sure I bleed for't.

You are my noble Patron.

Sir Andrew Mendicant at home?

Not to be spoken with at this time sir.

In good time sir.

Say you so sir?

I'le tell't you as a secret. The Physitian thought to have cur'd his patient, (who has bin a notable Game­ster at In and In) between my Ladies legs. If I and two or three more (but chiefly my selfe indeed) had not rescued her, the Doctor had held the Lady-cow to the Mad-bull.

May I believe this?

He thinks I lie now. And should he gi' me the lie, the vertue of my Oath were questionable.

Is this upon your knowledge sir?

True upon my life. So farewell honest friend.

This may prove sport and businesse too.

We will do something sodainly.

This fellow will betray us.

Cupid and Mercury favour our designe.

ACT IV.SCENE II.

I'le gladly ad my paines unto your skill.

Come forth into the aire. Conduct him gently.

That's a long journey sir.

Y'are a long bearded foole.

That's best of all.

Let's have a mad catch then.

Here Madam may you see the Madmans Revels.

And after that the Doctors Tragicomedy.

Keepe him from me.

Keepe back sir.

Doctor, away with him.

What's her pleasure?

What outrage doe you intend?

Outrage! Can you thinke of an outrage above the horror you offerd to this Lady, To violate her cha­stity? her honor?

You cannot say so.

Tis said, and you are guilty. Proceed to judge­ment Madam.

I first would heare your censures.

And mine among the rest good Madam. I have taken care that a new Doctor shall be brought. Therefore in the first place my censureis, that this be presently hang'd out o' the way.

That's too high straind. What thinke you Ma­dam, if to rectify his judgement, wee pick'd all the errours of his braine; First, opening the Pericranion, then take out the cerebrum; wash it in Albo vino, till it be throughy clens'd; and then—

Pox o' your Albo vino, and his cerebrum taking out, that were a way to kill him. Wee must not be guily of the death of a Dogleach, but have him purg'd a safer way.

How? Proceed.

We will fill his belly full of Whey, or Butter-milke, put him naked into a Hogs-head, then put into [Page] the same an hundred broken Urinalls, then close up the Vessell and roll your Garden with it.

I trust they cannot meane any such mischiefe.

Hearke yee Gentlemen. Do you heare?

Yes Madam; tis a Sowgelder.

Fetch in that Minister of Justice.

Who Madam? the Sowgelder?

Wee'l make a Doctor guelder of him tho', and my Lady be so minded.

That will be sport indeed.

But will you see the execution Madam?

They dare not doe the thing they would have me feare.

You will not murder me?

I would I could pray now to any purpose.

Sing then, he shall not suffer without a Song.

What must he be stript now; or will letting down his breeches be enough?

Doctor it is decreed.

You cannot answer it.

That was not to have beene my act, nor was it done.

When this is done wee'l talke w' ye, come lay him crosse this Table. Hold each of you a Leg of him, and hold you your peace Dodipoll. And for his armes let me alone, do you work Guelder.

Hold, I have a secret to deliver to my Lady.

You shall be deliver'd of your secrets presently.

Forbeare him, let him down.

Sweet sayst? Thou art not i'le be sworne.

Well sir your weighty secret now to save your trifles.

In private I beseech you Madam: for I dare but whisper't.

You shall allow me so much warinesse as to have one at least to be my Guard, and witnesse.

This Gentleman then Madam.

We are shut out of councell.

No matter. I list not be no nearer him: no more wou'd my cozen had he my nose. But where's Mr. Dainty and your finicall Mistris Phil all this while tho'?

No matter, but I ha' sworn you know. Therefore I say no more, but I have sworn.

VVhat a strange tale is this! I can't believe it.

I doe, and did before suspect it: and fram'd this counterfet plot upon you, Doctor, to worke out the [Page] discovery: would I ha' seene you guelt dee think? That would have renderd mee more brutish then the women Barbers. Looke sir this is no Guelder, but one of my house Musick. (Goe, your part is done —

And for th' affright you gave me, Doctor, I am evenw'ye.

The Devill fright him next for a spurging, skitter-brooke. 'T were good you would call to burne some perfumes Madam.

But for the secret you have told me i'le keepe it secret yet, I will keepe you so too; and from your Patient.

There's a new Docter come already Madam to the madman.

From sir Andrew Mendicant?

His servant brought him.

I pray what Doctor is it?

ACT IV.SCENE III.

Sir though you are a Phisitian, I am no foole. [Page] Take heede what you doe. Hee's more then six of [...] hold when his hot fit's upon him. He would now teare you to pieces should you let him loose.

The danger then be mine. Let him sit up. Is not he civill now?

I, for how long? do you note that Hercules eye there?

I charge you quit the roome.

'Tis but to come agen when we are call'd.

Tis but a Doctor out o' the way; and that's no losse while there are so many, the best cannot live by the worst.

Ho! Murder, Murder, Murder.

The Battaile of Musleborough Field was a brave one.

O do you fly out agen?

This is pretty: but back from the purpose.

Will you come to the point sir?

We but lose time in this sir: Though it be good testimony of your memory in an old Song. But do you know me?

Not know my Soveraigne Lord? Curs'd be those Knees, and hearts that fall not prostrate at his Feete.

Who talkes this mortall to? I am a spirit.

Sure I shall finde you flesh, and penetrable.

Pish.

I cast that to you then. Hand it, or die a Madman.

All this sir to a Madam.

He knowes not what you tell him.

Hee's not so mad to fight yet I see that.

Yet hold. Has Mendicant beg'd me?

During your madnesse. VVhat should hinder him?

Put up thy Sword.

Upon no tearmes, and you alive.

Not to obtaine Charissa?

As you Guest sir.

That's most unquestionable.

You may: For I dare trust you while I go call the Lady.

Now are you pleas'd, or dare you now to fight sir?

I neither will nor dare fight in this cause.

Tis a faire condition.

VVell yet.

You would have ravish'd her.

True.

Suppose so.

Frederick—

O your pardon.

I am disgrac'd, undone.

Madam most readily, I have offer'd it.

I'le be directed by you.

Noblest Lady.

SCENE I.

COme Sir, must I take you in hand agen?

My Lady will convery her Madman to sir Andrew Mendicants it seemes.

Tell mee that I know not; and answer my questions.

Shee and the Doctor, and the tother Doctor's gone with him too.

Leave you by flim flams, and speake to the pur­pose.

You know I ha' sworne. Doe you not know I ha' sworne?

To live and die a beaten Asse; a coward hast thou not?

Prethee forbeare him: Hee's not worth thy anger.

Anger! Is every Schoole-master angry that gives Discipline with correction?

Would he were at Pensans agen.

Didst not thou tell my Lady that I was a coward in my own Countrey, and Kick'd out of Cornewall?

Comparatively I thinke I did in respect of Corine­us, that wrastled and threw Giant after Giant over the cliffs into the Sea.

Pox o' your comparative lies; And didst not thou say that he here was pepper'd so full o' the what­sha callums, that his spittle would poyson a Dog or a Rat?

That was comparatively too in respect of a pure Virgin; a chrisome child or so.

He never shall move me, I forgive him.

Meerly comparatively I speake it.

Forgi' mee for swearing i'le make thee speake positively, or beat thee superlatively before I ha' done with thee.

Gentlemen, my Lady—

Hold a little. Didst thou not say this child here was a Pickpocket? and that he pickt thine of thy money, and thy watch, when he was singing betweene thy Leggs to day?

Who I a Pick-pocket?

Forbeare good Lady it was comparatively.

A pick pocket?

Forbeare and hear him Hercules.

Lend me a sword i'le kill him, and heare him af­terwards.

Nay I must hold you then. How was hee comparatively your Pick-pocket?

That is as much as any man I know; That is I accuse nobody; that is all are as innocent as the child, and hee as the innocent unborne. And let that satisfy you.

Live. I am satisfied. Now Gentlemen my Lady prayes you to follow her to sir Andrew Mendi­cants.

I know the businesse, 'Tis about our Revells.

Suffer a child to beat thee!

His cause was bad you know.

Incorrigible coward! Say now; art not thou thy selfe a pick-pocket, and a cut-purse? say.

Comparatively it may be said, I am to a Church-warden, a Collector for the poore or such.

The conclusion is, that if ever I heare thou men­tionst my name agen in any sense whatsoever, i'le beat thee out of reason.

In my good wishes, and prayers I may: Heaven forbid else.

Not in your prayers sir, shall you mention me, you were better never pray.

Heaven forbid I should then!

And make thine Oath good on that slie fellow that has taine away thy wench, or—

He has not tane her yet.

You ha' not seene her or him these two houres; has not my Lady call'd too, and shee not to be found?

True, true: and if I be not reveng'd.

Do't then now, while thou art hot. Shee comes, here take, and keepe her while thou art hot and hast her.

Is she at your dispose sir?

Your Lady gave you me.

Or am in her gift?

You are in my possession, nor shall Lucifer dis­possesse me of her.

So valiant on a sodaine!

Have I not cause?

You'l have me with all faults?

Yes, and a match forever.

How meanes shee by all faults?

A word shee alwayes uses in waggery.

By all meanes take her from him. What! affraid of a coward?

You must do't or take the share, hee should ha' had a down-right beating. Forgi' me for swearing, hee's a veryer coward then tother.

Hee will serve the better to flesh him. And do but note his tiranicall rage that is the vanquisher.

You will on.

Sir shee is mine by promise.

Shee's mine by act and deed sir according to the flesh, let her deny't and she can.

That shall be try'd by Law.

By Law of armes and hands it shall, take that, and let her goe.

Beare witnesse Gentlemen he struck me.

O pittifull Picture-drawer!

Will you not draw? I will then.

What would you have sir? If shee be yours take her.

That's not enough, I will make thee fight, what blindnesse have I liv'd in! I would not but be valiant to be Cesar.

O brave Cit, O brave Cit.

Why dost not draw thou fellow thou?

Shee's his he sayes; and she denies it not, shall I fight against him for his own?

I'le make thee fight, or cut thee into pieces.

He turnes your words over to him.

VVhy dost thou weare a sword? onely to hurt mens feet that Kick thee?

Doe you observe? Nay thou art too severe.

Pray hold your peace, i'le jowle your heads together and so beat [...]on with tother else.

Forgi' me for swearing. Hee'l beat's all anon.

VVhy dost thou weare a Sword I say?

Some other time sir, and in fitter place.

Sirrah you lie, strike me for that, or I will beat thee abominably.

You see this Gentlemen.

And I see't too, was ever poor wench so couzend in a man?

The wench thou lov'st and doat'st on is a whore.

How's that?

No, no, That was not right, your father was a cuckold tho', and you the sonne of a whore.

Good, I shall love this fellow.

I can take all this upon account.

You count all this is true then. Incorrigible cow­ard! what was the last vile name you call'd mee Mr. Swain-wit? O I remember, sirrah thou art a Pick­pocket and a Cut-purse; And gi' me my money agen, and him his or I will cut thy throat.

I am discover'd.

Doe you answer nothing, doe you demurre upon't?

Hold sir I pray; Gentlemen so you will grant me pardon, and forbeare the Law i'le answer you.

Agreed, agreed.

It is confess'd; I am a Cut-purse.

Forgi' me for swearing a brave Boy.

Here is your VVatch, and Money; And here is yours. Now as you are Gentlemen use no extremity.

Beyond all expectation!

All thought.

Miraculous! O the effects of valour!

Was ever woman so mistaken o' both sides?

But dost thou thinke thou art valiant for all this tho'?

You were best try; or you, or both, or come all three.

I sweare thou shalt have it to keepe up while thou art up.

Is this your picture-drawing? are you the Kings Picture-drawer? A neat denomination for a Cut-purse, that drawes the Kings Pictures out of men Pockets.

Come sir, come in with us.

Pray use me Kindly Gentlemen.

Yes, wee will use you in your kind sir.

ACT. V.SCENE II.

Sure I am. If this be a true Coppy.

Incomparably judicious Madam.

Take all unto your selfe, I am content.

I'd faine steale in and watch th' event of things.

How! what of him?

H'has made himselfe away.

Ist possible?

(Hee has by this time, or the Priest is tongue-ty'd.)

He has left no estate worth begging, that's the worst of't.

My joyes come flowing no me —yet I would see.

The Gallants that were to day so merry with mee.

The same: but very harmelesse.

All but one sir. Did you not lose your purse to day?

What's the meaning?

Wee'l tell you Madam.

My purse? (I mist it at my Lady Strangeloves.)

This Picture-drawer drew it, and has drawne more of the Kings-pictures then all the Limners in the Towne. Restore it sirrah.

I will not take it, 'twas my nelect that lost it, not he that stole it. This is my day of fortune; it comes home to me; more then I dare receive. O my joyes, let me be able to containe you.

Ha' you another purse to lose?

I have a purse; which if I lose, i'le blame my selfe, none else.

Let him but come so neare you as to aske forgive­nesse for the last, and if he doe not take the next, though it be six fadome deepe i' your pocket i'le hang for him when his time comes.

I'le watch his fingers for that.

Observe good Madam.

Sir at your feet I beg your pardon.

It needs not, prithee rise.

In sooth thou hast it. Heaven pardon thee as I doe.

I have it sit indeed, and as your gift i'le keepe it, promising before all these witnesses, i'le never venter for another.

Fore me an expert fellow; Pitty he should be hang'd before we have more of his breed.

Did not I tell you sir? And these are but his short armes; i'le undertake, when he makes a long arme, he shall take a purse twelve skore off.

I doe not like Thieves handfell though, This may presage some greater losse at hand.

Now Gentlemen you know your taske, be expediti­ous in't.

I have cast the designe for't already Madam. My inventions are all flame and spirit. But you can expect no great matter to be done extempore or in six minutes.

What matter ist so wee skip up and downe? our friend Jack Dainty here, Mr. Cut-purse dances daintily tho'.

And Mr. Cit-wit, you have worthily wonne my woman sir.

I have her Madam, she is mine.

I'le make her worth a thousand pound to you, besides all she has of her own.

Her faults and all Madam, we are agreed o' that.

Suppose this Boy be mine.

I would he were else, that I might have him under lawfull correction, and the cause o' my side: for he beat me not long since.

And you be my father, and do not make much of me and give me fine things, i'le beat you agen so I will; and my mother shall helpe me.

Agree'd Billy, agreed Philly. Never was man so sodainly, so rich; Nay never looke Gentlemen, shee is mine, and hee's mine own, I am sure I ha' got him now; And all faults are salv'd.

Her word in waggery is made good in earnest now tho'.

To your busines Gentlemen; if you have a

short speech or two, the boy's a prety Actor; and his mother can play her part; women-Actors now grow in request. Sir Andrew! melancholly?

I was thinking on the omen of my purse.

Fear no further mishap sir; tis ominous to feare.

Pray let's go in and see how things proceed.

Into the Garden, good, let's follow him.

Tis not the repulse he gave us in the morning shall quit him of us.

No now his superintendent's turn'd away, wee'l once more fill his head with millions.

I'le make the Dance, and give you all the footing.

Stand further off o' my Pocket tho'.

No matter if we lose any thing, and he within ten miles of us i'le make him answer't.

I want a fift man, I would have an od.

The Marriage is perform'd. The Priest has done his office—

Doctor can you dance?

And sing too, I ha' forgot much else.

I'le speak the Speech: Ha' not I forgot my Actors tone tro? I shal remember't, I could have acted 'em all ore.

I can speak a Speech too Mother, must I call you Mother now?

I my Boy, now I dare vouch thee.

Umh—

Is he within sir, can you tell? He's too busie it seemes.

This is most heathenish of all.

What Woman Monster's this? Sweete young Gentleman, let me aske you a question.

Ha' you done the speeches Mr. Court wit?

And shall my wife and Billi boy speake 'em?

As i'le instruct you.

You write admirably I confesse; But you have an ill tone to instruct in; I'le read to 'em my selfe, you give your words no grace.

You have the tune right, will you instruct the Musick men?

And you all in the Dance imediately.

Perhaps the Bride can furnish us.

With some of her old Petticotes, can she?

No, no my Lady has tane care for all.

Come, come away to practise, and be ready.

Goe back and be not seene till I come to you.

Hee's come. Ha' you heard the newes sir Andrew?

What sir Raphael?

That Ferdinand's restor'd to's wits.

I am glad on't.

I hope you thinke mee a Christian sir, but how should he arrive at such a sodaine knowledge of it, if it be so? I will pretend tis true, yes sir, he is in's wits.

Has made himselfe away, I heard o' that too.

Not dangerously I hope.

Flatter not so your selfe; Hee's on the point of dying.

How!

Ha!

No, he lives.

Do you practise on me? Madam where are

She here! i'm then agen confounded.

Nay sir Raphael, I potest we will be friends notwithstanding I have outstript you in your plot of matching your Nephew Frederick, here to his love Charissa.

But is it so?—

I beg your pardon, and your blessing sir.

And is it so with you sir Ferdinand?

It is, and sir in testimony of my recovery, I make demand of my estate: of which you thought your selfe possest.

What hopes am I fallen from? and what misery fallen into; when the little I have is beg'd for Man-slaughter!

I quit you of that sir.

How couldst thou deale so with me?

Dreames, dreames, All these are waking Dreames.

All reall truth sir, whither flie you from us?

You mistake strangely.

Harke! the Revellers.

Let him goe and weare out his fit by him­selfe.

There's an Actor now!

How doubtfull of himselfe; and yet how perfect he was!

A selfe mistrust is a sure step to Knowledge.

Sententious sir Raphel.

Quarrells are ended Madam.

Come hither Cupid.

What black Tragedian's this?

Some Nuntius sent from Hell.

One of my Masters Minions, a Projector.

Hee's mad; is he?

Mad, and has hang'd himselfe—

Alas my Father.

How! hang'd himselfe?

Here's a brave shew, and out-shines our de­vise.

This is a Patent for the taking of poor John and Barrell-cod alive, and so to preserve 'em in salt-water for the benefit of the Fishmongers.

There's salt in this.

I this has some savour in't.

This is a fresh one sir, For the catching, preser­vation, and transportation of Butter-flies: whereby they may become a native commodity.

That's a subtle one.

This is for profits out of all the Common-Cryes i' th' City, As of—Oysters—Codlings—wood to cleave, Kitching stuffe, and the thousand more, even [...]o the Matches for your Tinder-box, and all Forrainers [...]o pay double; And a Fee out of the Link-boyes profits. [...]t no cries to escape. Tis for a peace.

What if some should cry Murder, murder?

Or Theeves, theeves?

Or Fire, fire?

Or women cry out five Loves a penny?

What dos he take us for?

Powers, Powers; A lower house at least.

And all my patents to be conceal'd.

Our Projects would not take with you, wee'l take yours tho'.

He shall dance out of 'em: Musick! Play out our Dance, we will disrobe you presently.

Yes, and dismantle his Projectors too.

An excellent Morrall! The Projects are all can­cel'd, and the Projectors turnd out o' dores.

This Bride, Dame Venus here, cooles all this while tho'.

By Mr: Bride-groomes leave, i'le stirre her blood a little for the good meaning shee had towards me.

'Tis well: And all are friends.

Upon those honourable tearmes sir Ferdinando I will be yours.

Sheel' have him, it seemes at last.

Shee's a wise widdow by't: for sure enough, she saw something in his mad naked fit, when hee put her to't, to choose a husband by, wo' not out of her thought yet.

What is there more to say now Madam?

You question well.

But to Supper and to bed?

You consider well.

We have had other pastime enough.