[...]twelvemoneth, thou hast lost thy comple­xion, by too much study. Why thou shale bee an heire and rule the roaste of halfe a shire, if thy Father would but dye once, come to the Assises with a band of Ianisaries to equall the grand Signior, all thy tennants shall at their owne charge make them selfes fine & march, like Cavaliers with tyltinge feathers gaudy as Agamemnons in the playe after whom thou like a St George on horse back, or the high Sheriffe, shalt make the Country people fall downe in Adoration of thy crupper & silver sturrup, my right wor­shipfull. A pox on buckoram and the lug­gage in it, papers defild with court hand and long dashes or secretary lines, that straddle, more then Frenchmen, and lesse wholsome to the client! Is thy head to bee fild with P [...]olamations Rejoyndere & hard words beyond the Alkemist? Be ruld, and live like a fine Gentleman, that may have hawkes, and hounds, and whores; and horses, and then thou art fit Companie.

You talke wildly; I would you saw your error; that plaee all your happinesse upon such course delights I should degene­rate, and too much forfeift my education.

Education? hee has gott a tune; I doe not thinke but thou wilt leave thy law, And exercise thy talent in compassing some Treatises against long-hayre & drinkinge that most unchristian weede, yclept Tobacco: preach to the Punies of the Inne sobrietie & abstinence from shaving of leawd Bailiffes [Page 23] that wil com shortly to your chamber doores & there with reverence intreate your wor­ships come forth and bee arrested: pretious tad-poles: I would not willingly dispaire of thee; for thy Lands sake and cause I am thy Countryman: one generous vagary, if thou wert w [...]se, would breake som bodies heard, within a seaven night, & then thou art lord of all; have but the grace to dine with me at the Taverne, and I'le tell thy Freinds, there is some hope.

My Freinds.

Thy Father is in Essex, if hee live, hee will, purchas Rumford if he dye sooner, then the Town's our owne, Spend but an acre a day and thou maiest live till all the world bee weary of thee; betweene, us too, what thinke you of a wench?

Nothinge.

You meane, one wench betweene us too is nothing; I know a hundred Leverett [...]; things that will bound like a dancer on the rope, and kisse thee in thy naturall Com­plexion; a sinner that will climbe thee like a squirrell.

And crack me as a nutt; I have no kirnell to spare for her sweete tooth.

That was a metaphor; he is not de­sqerate.

Buy' my deere Captaine.

Why farewell Countryman. I may live to see thy conversion.

How does my Vncle.

He desires presently to speake with you at his lodging.

I'le attend him.

And hast thou been carefull of all those thinges I gave in charge to bee provided?

There is a noate of the particulars.

Tis very well done, Thomas, let mee see, Inprimis.

The Captaine will not faileto bee with you Sir, hee was not at his lodging, and en­quiring at the horne Taverne, I heard hee had bin there with two or three cittizens that owed him monie.

That hee owed monie too.

Tis all one I thinke; Sir; for when Captaines have not pay, Creditors may pay themselves, here they said, he did mollifie the heart of the habberdasher, & dranke him­selfe a little mellow ere they parted which gave me some hope I might finde him ere night, at the devill, where indeede I fetch'd him out of the fire, and gave him your letter.

And the gold too.

That was the first word Hee read, if you had writte it in text, hee could not have fownd it out soe soone, his eye was no sooner on the inside, but his arme flew out with an open month, and his very fingers ends cry'd give me the gold which pre­suming to bee weight he put into his hocus [...]ocus a little dormer under his right skirt, [Page 25] and soe taking his word to come downe and turninge over your horse to him, with some caution, not to be drunke and forget your, worship, I tooke my leave and went about my Inventory.

These thinges are very right Thomas, let me see now the bookes of Martiall disci­pline.

I bought up all that seeme to have re­lation to warr and fighting.

That was well done; well done; Item the Sword-salve.

Sir if you bee hurt you neede goe no further then the blade for A surgeon.

The Buckler of faith.

You had the sworde before, Sir.

A booke of Mortification.

I Sir, that is A kinde of killing, which I thought very necessary for A Captaine.

Item the Booke of Cannons; Shakspeares workes. Why Shakspeares workes?

I had nothing for the Pike men be­fore.

They are playes.

Are not all your musteringes in the Country soe, Sir? pray readon.

Bellarmines Controversies, in Sixe Tomes.

That I tooke upon the stationers word, who had been Apretty scholler at Paules; for the word Bellarmine, he said, did comprehend warr, weapons & words of defiance [...] words provoake men to draw their swords and fightinge makes an end of the businesse [Page 26] and all this is controversies, pray goe on Sir.

Two payre of Tables; Tables? for what?

Oh Sir for Ticktack; you know it was in my note, which though I doubted at first yet consideringe you were newly made A Captaine I conceave it was fitt you should learne to sett & order your men.

Tackticks man; thou didst mistake: they are bookes of warr.

You cannot know these from bookes as they are painted I warrant you.

Why doest thou thinke these will make A Soldier.

Not of them selves, Sir, and there­fore I provided; please you reade on Sir.

P [...]rsons resolutions; & Felthams Re­solves.

All is nothing, I know Sir without resolution.

Somma totalis 23. 19. and 7. thou hast undon me.

If you doe not like the penny worthes; Tis but the charges of my selfe and a horse againe to London: I will loose but the three odd pownds nynteene shillings & seaven­pence. It may bee you doe not understand these Authors; when the Captaine comes, hee will expounde them to you.

What a Coxcombe have I to my man? but I dare not bee angry with him, well, carry them into my study; Thoma [...].

My most honored Captaine.

My compleate Monsieur Device: This is a grace to us; you come to visite your Mistresse my couzen:

And see as if by instinct, shee had knowledge of your approach, shee is come to meet you: shall I never gett opportunitie with that shee waiter. If I gett her with child my man Thomas shall marry her.

Sir the Captaine is newly alighted.

Get a botle of sack up to my chamber presently.

You are a Gentleman of your word.

And such a Gentleman is to be trusted:

Hee is an Infidell Madam, that will breake his word with A Lady.

I suspect servant you have many Mi­stresses.

Nor by this white hand, I must ac­knowledge there are some Ladyes in the court in whose eyes & opinions I am favor'd; I cannot obscure my selfe from their observa­tions: but my heart with contempt of all other indeerements, is only devoted to your service.

Is it not a charge to dresse your selfe in such varieties of Ribbands every day?

Is that your scruple? tis the mode to expresse our fancy upon every occasion; to shew the turne, or present state of our hopes or feares in our affections. Your colours, to an understandinge lover, carry the inter­pretation of the heart, as plainly as wee ex­presse our meaninge one to an other in Cha­racters. Shall I decypher my colours to you now; heere is Azure & peach. Azure is con­stant, and peach is love; which signifies my constant affection.

A prettie Morall.

It saves the trouble of writinge, where the Mistresse and servant are learned in this Amorous Blazon, yesterday I wore fuille­mote; greedeline; and Isabella; fuille-mote is withered, greedeline is absent, and Isa­bella is beauty: which put together ex­prest'd, I did wither or languish for your ab­sent beautie.

But is thereany reason for their di­stinctions?

Yes Lady for example, your fuille­mote is a withered leafe; which does mor­rallize decay; your yellow is joy, be­cause:—

Why yeallow Sir is jealous.

Noe it is your lemon colour, a pale kinde of yeallow is jealous; your yeallow is perfect joye: your white is death, your milke white Innocent, your Black moorninge, your orange spightfull, your flesh colour [...]asci­vious, your maid-blush envie, your red is defiance, your gold avaritious, your straw, [Page 29] plentie, your grasse greene, hope; your sea greene Innocent, your violett, religious; your willow, forsaken.

Wee may then committ a solecisme & be strangely interpreted by some curious ex­pounders in the rash election and wearinge of our colours, I perceave.

Tis pittie but there should bee some bookes written for our instructions in this Art.

Your Hieroglyphick was th' Aegip­tian wisdome. Hebrewes had their Caball; the Romans had their symbolle▪ and Im­prese, & Embleme, but these are absolute. Your moderne Invention of Character, an Alphabeticall key trite and conspicuous your motto or rebus, too open, and demonstrative but the science and curiositie of your Rib­bands, is not only instructive but an orna­ment, and the neerest comentator of love, for as love is entertain'd first by the eye, or, to speake more plaine, as the object affected is tooke in first by these opticks, which re­ceave the species of things coloured & beau­tified, soe it is answerable to nature that in the progresse of our passion wee should di­stingvish by our eye the change or constan­cie of our affections, in Apt, and significant colours.

You have taken paines, to study this learned Blazon.

It is the only gentile knowledge; or Phylosophy in the world: I willundertake to open any man or womans heart:—

Heaven for bidd.

Tell the most secrett imaginations & designes, conclude every passion and scruple if they be but carefull to observe the Artifi­ciall Method of their Colours.

Why this may bee a way of fortune [...]llinge too.

You saie right Lady. Physiognomy & Chiromancy are but meere tri [...]es your geo­mancy meere conjecturall, the erection of your scheme circumstantiall, and fallible: but your queint a la Mode weare of your fancy, more then Astrologicall.

Tis a kinde of divinitie.

You saie true Madam, & comes neere to propheticall, if the mindes of Ladyes and Gentlemen were elevated to the sublime consideration.

What paines hee takes to bee ridi­culous?

This Gentleman has a notable fancy, and talkes Poetically.

Yes; yes; hee can make Verses.

Well I have red Authors in my dayes and knew the length of the Poets in my time too which was an Hexameter, and which A Pentameter, but the witts are not, as they have been, right and straight.

Why D [...]rothey.

Why because winde is the cause of many things, now if the winde bee not in the right corner, it is, the ill winde, the proverbe spea­kes of, which blowes no body good; for whē vapors and winde flye up into the head it [Page 31] cannot bee in two places at one time and that is the reason your men of most witt doe seldome love A woman. But heere coms my Master and Sir Francis.

This is a double honnor to us Sir Francis; I shall want Langvage, but not A frendly heart, to entertaine you and your noble Kinsman. What my exquisite Cavaliere Device? Tis to no purpose. I see, to remoue into the Country, to save charges and bee quiet, the whole Cittie will come hither, if I stay: I have no stomack to my court knight.

I hope Madam, you will bee no Ene­mie to my Kinsman.

Sister I present this Gentleman; ob­serve & cherish him; hee has bin in the uni­versitie.

Any degree Sir?

Only batchelour, forsooth.

If he winn you to mariage; Lady Quickfillver.

Hee will bee Master of his Arte.

My vote is for him.

I like not the induction of this Rivall.

Hee studies the law: and that is the next high way to preferment, Sister.

Indeede it is the high way in which some deliver up their purses: he may clymbe to searlett, but that hee has to good a face:

Sir, I hope—

Troth doe not Sir; I meane trouble your selfe, he is to bashfull to prevaile upon your spirited Mistresse. let's leave them.

Sir Richard.

More Customers; Master Engine, welcome. your presence was expected in the Country.

Twas my Ambition with some intents to serve you, Sir, please you vouch safe your privacie, I bringe affaires worth your enter­tainement; I have rid hard.

What Cavaliere is this unkle?

Hee is the inventor of new projectes [...]ouzen, they saye, and pattents; one that liues like a moth upon the comon wealth.

He lookes like one.

You will excuse me gentlemen. Make much of Sir Francis Madame.

Wee'le leave my Nephew and your Sister Madame: And take A turne in the garden.

You may bee confident.

I doe not like the fancy in his hat: that Gules is warr and will bee ominous.

I must seeme a modest coxcombe now to preserve my uncles Character.

The Gentleman is turn'd Statue, blesse me how he stares upon me, and takes roote? I thinke it moves, and now to earth is fix'd againe; oh how it walkes and sadly marches [Page 33] this way? Is't not a ghost? hee'le fright me; oh; sweet Sir, speake if you can and saie who murdered you: it pointes at me: my eyes, ungentle eyes to kill soe at first sight, I'le have my lookes Arraign'd for't & small cupid shall bee judge who for your sake will make me blinde, as hee is.

Lady

The man is a live againe and has A tounge, discretion guide it; hee but sent his soule forth of an Errant; tis return'd; now wee shall have some sentences.

Such, are the strange varieties of loue, Such heates, such desperate colds—

No more winter if you loue me; un­lesse you can command the coale pitts; wee have had a hard time of it already, for want of fuell

And some times sower;

These wordes would goe well to a Tune, pray let's heare you singe: I doe not thinke but you can make; mee A Jointure of foure Nobles a yeare in ballads, in lamentable bal­lads, for your witt lyes Tragicall, did not you make the Ladyes downfall? you expresse [Page 34] a passion rarely, but pray leave your coup­pletts, and say somthinge in blanke verse before you goe.

Before I goe; breath not that kil­linge Langvage;

There is no Sun but in your eyes: and when I once take leave of those Celestiall beames Tis darknesse through the world.

Oh; pittifull; if I were a widdow then youl'd keepe me waking for feare I shut my eyes, and your discretion loose the way home.

This must bee lamentable musique sure.

One rithme more and you undoe my loue for ever, out upon it; Peddlers French is a Christian language to this. I had rather you should put me a case out of Littleton: they saye you are a prettie lawyer.

Tennant par la curtesy d'Angliterre, est son home prent samme selfe en see simple est fee taile generall en selfe comme heire de la taile especial & ad Issu per la mesme fe­me male ou female [...]pes on nife soit Issue apres mort ou en diu de la feme debie la baron tiendra la terra durant sa vie per le ley d'Angliterre.

Nay heere is enough in conscience: what a noyse this confusion of Languages makes; this is almost as good as A beare baytinge, harke you Sir, you are never like to recover me by law.

You are not the first sweete Lady [...]; has ben overcome in common law.

Not by ten thowsand, Sir: Confessed, but I have no minde to come to Issue with A lawyer: when hee should consider my case at [Page 36] home, hee'le be at West minster teaching men theire statutes! no; no; I will not marry a Judge.

Why Lady.

They are casuall thinges and men that hold such strange opinions, they are not safe; no, not in their owne lambskins.

Lady you may bee misinform'd; Astraea hath not quite left the earth and the Abuses of some, which shame the callinge, are but like patches of beautie on the face of law to sett the Native whitenesse off.

Farewell; Sir; you are in loue with a bar'd Gowne, not beauty; if you will follow my learn'd counsell, leave it. This younge thinge is a foole or a fine fellow.

Shee kicks and stinges out like a colt unwayd. Her witt's a better portion then her monie I would not love her, yet, if I could helpe it. (My Vnkle and his Mistresse) I'le not hinder them.

It is no honour, Sir, if Arm'd with so much eloquence, you overcome A wo­man; I blush to say I loue you now too much. I wish you would release what your Sweete charmes wonn from my toungue: I shall repent my promise.

Make me not miserable after soe much blessinge. Why, Madame, it is upon honorable tearmes since not upō the first at­tempt, but, after a tedious seige to your faire loue, you give up what shall enrich us both: [Page 37] It were A sinn to feare you can retract what both our lipps have seald, and loose a hap­pinesse so neere & so secure; your husband holds his pleasure of early huntinge constant, and when hee persues his timorous hart to morrow morninge, Cupid will wayte, to bringe me to Elizium, your bedd, where every kisse will new create us.

You must bee wise in your excuse to quitt his importunitie.

Leave that to me. I were not worth the name of him that serv'd you to lose my glorious hope for want of such a thin Device; In your thought wish mee prosperous & I am fortified against the power of fate to separate us; and when thou art with in the Amorous Circle of myne Armes, wee will make lawes to love, teach time new Actions, or chaine him with the cordadge of his haire; like a tame thing to wake and watch our pillow; and bee our pleasures centenell.

I see my husband, tis not safe hee should observe us. Bee wise & constant.

All thats sweete attend thee. Soe; I am saylinge now to my owne Indies: and see the happie coast too; how my winges doe spread to catch the winde which coms to cover them. And the greene sea enamord on my barke, doth leape to see how cupid sits, at the helme & steeres my soule to his new world.

A monopoly, say you, for periwiggs?

Bin visitinge your grounds?

My hounds rather, Sir Francis, and some horses, that takes up my Country re­creations; tis Supper time.

Ist not a rare designe? and by such Art and reasons I can name most beneficiall to the common wealth, preventing the diseases which some unwholesome haire breedes in mens heads. It will bee worth our agitation Sir, & you after the rate of every thowsand per Annum milkt out of the common purse into your owne, may easily defalke to me a hundred for my first projection; did I not love you, Sir, I could make coine of other Abell men that would bee glad to multiply their mony.

Sir I thanke you, but have no mind to thriue upon abuse of my princes favour, nor the Peoples curse. Heere is a Gentleman; Sir Francis Courtwell, perhaps, will undertake it.

What; Sir Richard?

A monopoly for composing and sellinge of periwiggs.

Excuse me Sir, I dare not deale in them; doe not you heare things of this na­ture questioned?

How Sir questioned?

There's one among the rest, I cannot hitt upon his name in faire election to be hanged, one Engine.

Oh Sir.

What ayle you Sir?

A meagrim in my head.

Who's there? looke to Master En­gine here, hee faints, & send to your Lady for some cordiall waters presently.

There is a soveraine well hard by, has done strange cures, please you; I'le throw him into that.

Though I distaste his businesse, I would not hee should miscarry heere, you frighted him. Tis supper time, I shall expect your company in the morninge, Sir Francis: I have a pack of doggs will make the forrest ringe.

I'le carefully attend Sir: as early as you please I love the sport too.

I wish wee had all pleasures to delight you; but nothing wants in my true love to serve you.

Yet I must cuckold him, I cannot helpe it.

Actus tertius. Scaena prima.

Sir.

Who is that? Thomas?

The Sunn is up before you Sir, heere [Page 40] bee your bootes.

That's well.

Prithee doe not rise, it is hardly day, Sirra, who bid you call him soe early? Sir Richard will not rise yet.

I cannot help it, tis none of my fault.

Where is Dorothy.

Heere, Madame; what make you up soe soone, Thomas.

Oh Mistris Dorothy tis even longe of you for beetweene sleepe and wake your re­membrance came to me this morninge, and Thomas was up presently.

You must excuse me; I meane to kill a brace of hares before you thinke tis day. Come, on with my bootes. Thomas; And Dor thy goe you to Sir Francis chamber tell him the day growes old & I am ready: our horses & our merry houndes expect us.

Any excuse to leave me.

You may take your ease in bedd still Madam, I'le not loose one morninge, that invites soe pleasantly, to heare my Doggs, for a new mayden-head. Twas for these sportes and my excesse of charge I left the Towne; besides the Cittie foggs and steame of brickhills almost stifled me. This Aire is pure, and all myne owne.

My Lady meanes shee would have you gett an other Heire Sir for your land, though, it bee against my Master the younge Captaine yet shee speakes but reason and now, I talke of the Captaine, Sir. would you had given him councell.

To what.

Before hee tooke this huffinge trade upon him to have been a man of peace, I meane, a Justice, nature has made him fits for both a like; hee is now at charge to keepe a Captaine Schoolemaster: he might have sav'd the Quarteridge of his Tutor if I had been his clarke, and then the in come that broaken heads bring in; and New yeares giftes from soadred virgins and their shee Provincialls whose warren must bee licenc'd from our Office.—

Away you pratinge knaue; what is hee ready?

Alas hee's almost dead.

How dead?

Hee has bin troubled with a fitt of the stone Sir, all this night poore Gentleman, hee groanes & sweates & cannot:—

What?

Make vrine Sir.

I heard my Lady has an excellent re­ceipt to cure the stone. Shee is a peece of a rare surgeon.

Well-away and gett the horses ready; sirra; or I shall ride you and your witt together.

Alas any foole may ride mee, but I would faine see any man ride Mistris Do­rothy.

How Sirra.

I am sorry I must leave such a com­panion but more lament the cause, I wish [Page 42] him health: my presence cannot serve him, morrow wife, I will not lose my sport.

Nor shee; when you are gone; my Lady does expect an other bunts upp

Now I must trust thy service.

You shall not doubt me; Madam; and to assure you my faith, I have a suite to your [...]adiship, whose grant, were there noe other bonds upon me, would tye me to ever­lastinge silence.

What is't; but name it and I shall soone consirme thee

Our Captaine of the traine band has bin offeringe to chaffer Mayden-heads with me; I must confesse I can affect the foole. upon good tearmes, & could devise to nooze my Amorous woodcock if you assist mee pri­vatly, and dare trust mee with some Jewell of price, that is not knowne, which shall bee faithfully restored, Madame.

I that dare trust my honnour with thee, shall not suspect thy faith in any trea­sure else, chuse from my cabbinets, but, prithee, draw the curtaines while I expect this freind, I needs must hide my blushes thou maist discover from my gallery win­dow when they are horsed, I tremble, to consider what I have promised.

Tremble to meete a ghost; you are more fearefull then a Virgin; Madame; why this setts me a longinge, but I'le watch: this is the timorous world of flesh & blood.

Alas what doe you meane? re­tire for heavens sake: my husband is not gone, I heard his voice yet, this rash­nesse will undoe my fame for ever, should hee returne.

Howe's this? retire for heavens sake, my husband is not gone, I heard his voice this will undoe my same. It was my wife and this is sure my bed chamber.

I have undone my selfe, it is my husband.

My forehead sweates; where are you; Madame; whom did you talke too; or take me for? Ha; a sleepe already; or doe I dreame; I am all wonder; Madame.

Nay; nay kill him; if it please you; sweete heart, I cannot abyde a blacke­moore

How's, this? wife.

Helpe, helpe, deare husband strangle him with one of my lute strings; doe, doe, doe.

If shee bee a sleep: shee was nor wont to talke thus, She has had some hideous dreame, shee spake to me, too. Who should I strangle sweete hart, with a lute stringe?

The kinge of Moroco I thinke.

It is soe, shee dreames, what strange chymaeras wee fancy in our sleepe: I were best wake her, Madame, Madame.

Oh Murder, Murder.

Sweete harte, Madame, wake.

What's that?

Tis I.

Sir Richard? ôh, you have delivered mee from such a dreame I quake to thinke upon it.

I must confesse you frighted mee at first.

My Master come back? if hee had founde the sick Sir Francis heere.

How, now, art thou frighted, too.

Frighted quoth a; ô Madame; the key of the closett, quickly, I must have some cordiall water for Sir Francis I feare this [...] will kill him.

Alasse good Gentleman make hast.

His appearance would betray all Thus prevented.

Nay sweete heart, you shall not leave me till I told what a cruell dreame I had, me thought a kinge of blackamoores was in love with me, and havinge, by flatteringe courtship drawne me to his bed chamber, by my consent, or force, swore to en [...]oy me. I knew not by what reasons to dive [...]t the Rauisher; but told him that I hearde thy voice, I bid him if hee lou'd his life retire, for thou wouldst, (deare,) revenge my honnour, but hee persuinge mee, I cryd out murther and having nere a sword, I councelld thee to strangle him with a lute stringe; for which cruelty of myne me thought hee threw an Arrowe at mee, which [Page 45] if thou hadst not wak'd mee as thou didst would, as I slept; with my strong feares have killed me.

This was the kinge of Moroco; well, I am glad I came to take away thy fright.

But, sweete, you left me, with a reso­lution to hunt this morninge, have you done already?

The theeves prevented me, my stable has bin robd to night, two geldings & my Roane n [...]gg are vanished.

How?

Nay doe not thou vex, I have sent Hue and cry that may overtake them; but come I'le leave thee to thy glasse, and visit Sir Francis, now shee is return'd. How does your Noble guest?

Hee is pretty well, Sir Hee has voided one stone since and now findes ease.

Tis well, attend your Mistris.

Oh wench, I had almost undone my selfe, come on the other side, reach me that petticote. I le tell thee the story as I make me ready.

Is it possible you can talke thus, and bee no Scholler?

I have travell'd in my fancy: tooke the Aire about the world with the muses, and doe for my recreation of witt, compose some wonders in Verse, Poeticall Essa [...]es: as one upon report of a heate that was in Aegipt.

Let's heare them.

Most excellent.

I have seene Larkes in that motion at fire with an Engine of packthred perpen­dicular.

What would they have given for a shower in those Countreys.

Now you talke of a shower, you shall heare another Coppy of Verses that I made of a mightie raine which fell once in the Indies.

That you made? if you will venture your lungs let me heare some more impos­sible stories to passe away the time.

And that sinn would puzzell all the civill lawyers in the Kingdome. Sins of the flesh they are perfect in, they know well enough what belongs to Adultery & simple fornication: but you would much improue and oblidge the practice of the court if you could bringe this sinn of fish under their co­mission. But now I hope the rayne is over; and wee shall have faire weather.

Now can I tell you Lady, what a. strange frost was in one part of the world

I shall cry out fire if you doe: I'ld rather have some discourse to keepe me warme.

Or how the whole world was trou­bled with the wind collick.

No more Earth quakes I beseech you: some frends of myne lost a great deale of Land the last tearme & for ought I know, tis never to bee recoverd. Why all these Verses you have honored me to heare, were translated out of French.

You say very trew Lady.

Noe, noe; they are out of Spanish as I remember.

I thinke it bee out of Spanish indeede.

Or else out of the Italian.

Troath Madame; I know not which very well.

And yet you made them: some Gent­lemen have the facultie to make Verses, and [Page 49] forgett what Language, was the Originall. [...]is a la Mode, I confesse, Sir.

There is the mischeefe in Poetry; A man might have told a hundred lyes in prose upon his owne name and never miscar­ry, but leavinge these lewd Rymes, Lady, how doe you like the Novice that Sir Richard comended.

Master Courtwell?

Is he not a pretty Chrysome; I could not Choose but laugh to observe in what rurall deportment he came to salute you that should have made his addresse in these postures:—

It is enough, Sir, I apprehend what you would doe: the truth is, touching that thinge in black; I doe not love him.

I know tis impossible.

Why is it impossible? The man is a prettie indifferent meaninge man but I must have one of a more Active spiritt: noe, noe; the man is a coward.

Hee lookes like one.

I put him to it, hee dares not fight, and hee that expects my favor to soe high a degree as Marriage, must bee none of my Lord Mayors whiffelers; he must be valiant in Armes; I am not taken with a ringe or a Carkenett as some avaricious Ladyes: hee that presents me with the sword of his rivall, is more welcome then all the silken soft na­tur'd 600. a yeare widgeons that will bee baffl'd in their best cloathes; and goe downe into the Country every vacation, like At­torneys [Page 50] to bee beaten against the next tear [...] me, & get damages by it. But I forget some affaires that concernes me, & take my leave: your desertes upon mee are eminent and many; and for all your noble services, I will promise you nothing, you apprehend me.—

Tis too much, sweete Lady.

I am so weary I can stay no longer with you.

You make me over happie, soe; soe; the matters done. I may visite my freinds; hum! well thought upon, I shall leaveher Joyes with out any bound to entertaine me, if I first beate this foolish rivall of mine, and present her with his sword; shee assures me hee dares not fight: it shall bee soe, thus with one baffeling and disarminge him I shall secure my Mistresse; and get the reputation of a fighting Cavalier, which may save me many knocks heere after, among men of stronge faith, that shall hea [...]e how much honour I have else where taken up upon the Tickett.

Stand right to your files,—Make even your rankes,—Silence—Front to the right hand,—As you were,—To the right hand about,—By the left hand, as you were,—Rankes—To the right, double—Rankes as you were,—Rankes to the left double,—Middle men to the right hand double the front,—Middle men to the [Page 51] right intire, double the front—Files to the right,—To the left,—To the right hand—Counter march to the right—To the left—Wheele about.—

Rantan! enough, you must not, waste your lunges at once; march faire and make a Captaine. When these wordes of command are rotten, wee will sow some other mili­tary seedes; you beare a braine and me­mory.

I hope soe.

And now you are chosen a Captaine for the Country, you must give good exam­ple to your souldiers, and cherish nature: after excercise you must drinke sack; sack is a fortifier. Come wee'le to the Towne.

With all my heart;

Heere is one Master Courtwell let us take him with us.

My costiue Countryman; he's an Anabaptist, hee will not drinke, and yet hee kist the cupp oft; last night, me thought, when his mistris dranke to him. Wee'le try; how is't, my man of morall breedinge?

My man of warr, Tresbone; your servant, Captaine.

Why this was spoake like one of us, can'st doe't againe? thy voice is more Au­thentick, sownds as I have heard a Cavalier in a Taverne; or like the merry Master of the dragon. Smale Neptune, that comptroules the rich Canaries when hee commands the Tritons of his celler; scud and bringe wine you varletts, with a flavour for my Nobil­litie; [Page 28] [...] [Page 29] [...] [Page 30] [...] [Page 31] [...] [Page 32] [...] [Page 33] [...] [Page 34] [...] [Page 35] [...] [Page 36] [...] [Page 37] [...] [Page 38] [...] [Page 39] [...] [Page 40] [...] [Page 41] [...] [Page 42] [...] [Page 43] [...] [Page 44] [...] [Page 45] [...] [Page 46] [...] [Page 47] [...] [Page 48] [...] [Page 49] [...] [Page 50] [...] [Page 51] [...] [Page 52] wee were conspiringe to goe to the Taverne.

I'le make one Gentlemen; to wast away some melancholly.

Spoake boldly like an Argonaut.

I am not now in London; upon a hall day marchinge with the Puinees Twenty of us in a Teeme, to Westminster in our torne gownes embrodered with strand dirt, to heare the law.

Is not thy Father dead? thou talke'st soe well? how I was couzend' in thee; come a way.

Heere's my man Thomas.

Now the newes, Sir Tristram?

Oh; the Gentleman is mad.

What Gentleman?

Why Master Engine, that did faint last night.

With feare of being hang'd for his projections.

My Vncle told me of him.

Send him to Bedlam then; what makes hee heere? cleane straw & a good whipp are held restoratives.

Hee walkes and talkes the madliest, twenty midwifes are nothinge to him, hee drownes all their noyce his tonge is twenty ringes of bells; and yet hee seemes soe merry.

Save you Gentlemen; Gallants; Ca­valeires; how far travell you? me thinkes [Page 53] you are finely accomodated: are you a doctor Sir?

No; but I can tell you; how to purge if it please you.

You say very well; troth Gentlemen you must pardon me; cry you mercy: your name is Captaine Vnderwi [...].

Yes, Sir: but my Mother came of the Overmuches by the Peake: she broake my Fa­thers heart, and Sir Richard buried her. Thinges must bee as please the Starrs.

What thinke you; of the Blazinge Start in Germany accordinge to Ptolomy? tis very strainge; does the race hold at Newmarkett for the cupp? when is the coo­kinge, Gentleman there are a parcell of rich jewells to bee sould now if a man had [...]: I doe meane to builde a very fine howse next sommer, and fish ponds. What did you heare of the new play? I am affrayed the witts are broaken, there bee men will make affidavit, they have not hearde a good iest since Ta [...]leton died: pray may I craue your name Sir?

My name is Courtwell Sir.

In your eare, I have a cast of the best Marlens in England: but I am resolve'd to goe no more by water, but in my coach: did you ever see the great Shipp?

I have been one of the twentie that have din'd in her Lanthorne.

It may bee soe, shee is a good sailer; but, I'le tell you one thinge, I meane to have the best pack of hounds in Europe, Sir Richard [Page 54] loves the sport well, and then if I can but finde out the reason of the loade stone, I were happie and would write non ultra.

The Philosophers stone were better in my opinion: have you no proiect to gett that?

That has startled him; I doubt this fellow does but counterfeit.

What thinke you of the Dromedary, that was to bee seene on the back side of the Bell?

I have seene a stranger beast.

Soe have I; I have seene you before now, Sir.

Why then I'le tell you; the straingest beast that ever I saw was an Ostriche that eate up the Iron-mines: but, now you talke of birdes, I sawe an Eliphant beat a tailor in the fencing schole, at his owne weapon.

The Spanish needle?

Hee did out eate him in bread, and that was miraculous, I have seene a catta­mountaine once, but all was nothing, to the Lady, that turnd rounde & threaded needles.

Troth Sir I thinke you have turn'd round too, and are not setteled yet.

Now you talke of settelinge I knew a Gentleman, that was borne to a great for­tune, sould all his land, went to sea in a Hol­lander, was taken by a Dunckercke, at 7. yeares and stole away in a English bottome after that, saw both the Indies, for all this, was taken by a Turkish man of warr put into the Gallies, and, for ought I heare by cre­dible [Page 55] report, is not settled yet.

Sure hee is a great Scholler; a man cannot understand him.

His braines are out of tune.

Now you talke of musick; there is noe man in the world loues musick better then I: I'le give you the reason: I have ben deafe almost this halfe yeare; it came with a cold sitting up at Primero.

Now you talke of a cold, it puts me in mind of the new Device of fire, for brewing & baking: had you no hand in that project?

Againe hee is startled: come hee shall to the Taverne with us and confesse all; if hee does not stripp his soule starke naked to us; say I am no fortune teller.

What thinke you of a cupp of medium wine?

That will spoile all: please you to honnour our society? wee are goeing to Indulge at the Taverne.

Oh the neates tongues & Asparagus that I have eaten at the Stillyarde! But of all thinges in the world I doe not loue a black catt, next a brewers cart, there is nothing will stay a man soe much in the night as a Con­stable; one worde before you goe and I beseech you give mee your opinion clearely; was not the Morocco Embassador, a very fine Gentleman for a Pagan?

Yes sure; and the Lead mines in Darby­sheire hold still. Marry for the Allome businesses—But come, will you walke?

I doe use to goe a foote some times, but [Page 56] when I ride; and then I must confesse ther's noe striving with the streame: you were in London lately they say the people are more affected to Bearebaytinge then in former time.

There are some of late are drawen like beares to a stake but for your owne part the goute and the grand pox are all one to you: what price beares meate in the shambles?

Flesh rises and fales; as it uses to doe; Sir: But a Country life is the best when all is done: are wee all of one religion? what thinke you of a bridge from Lyon Key to Flandres, you may guesse I talke at randome, Gentlemen, but you must not interpret all foolish discourse a distemper of the braine; Lords would take it for a scandalum magna­tum, and your Ladyes would bee Angry too; now you talke of Ladyes.

By noe meanes Master Engine: that Gentleman loues you not. Come, I le bringe up the Reare, where is Thomas?

I'le follow Sir; I would give my 4. markes a yeare that I could talke like that mad Gentleman; hee's heere, and there, and every where: how will his tongue runn when his Coggs are oyled? they'le drench him.

Although I miss'd a happines, [...]ap­plaude your nimble witt that secur'd both our honours: you have an excellent instru­ment to your Gentlewomen.

Oh shee deliver'd so toth' life, how you were troubled with the stone, at first I did be­leive't my selfe, and think of the sad consequence: but time is precious now; although our starrs have not been yet propitious to our meeting, I'le try my Art to night to make them shine with happie influence on our loves.

Most excellent, Madam; how?

I'le not engage your visit to my chamber, since the first prov'd so unfortunate, but come to yours.

This night? wo'not your husband be at home?

Yes.

You enjoy but one Bed?

Without witchcraft Sir. I have a strata­gem to delude my husband and all his jealous wa­king eyes: A plot that cannot faile, if you dare but expect me.

I grow immortall with my hopes, and fancy more than the worlds most glorious Empire, in my first embrace, I should run back into an in­fant once againe, and by degrees and time, grow up to meet so vast a happinesse: Ages in expecta­tion spent were poore and easie sufferings weigh'd against this triumph. Me thinks I am not man, but something of a more exalted essence, humane Nature hath not Capacitie to understand and owne these pretious blessings.

No more rapture, but with the confidence of a lover, spread your equall thoughts, and in your heart and Armes Prepare an entertainment for that guest that hath no life nor name but what you give. A kisse, and leave our soules to thinke [Page 58] upon the joyes this night attends us.

Actus quartus Scaena prima.

They are all drunke already, and such a confusion in their heads and tongues: my Master kisses the next man and calls him Mistris Dorothy, Master Courtwell possest with the spirit of defi­ance to Cupid is ready to beate him for being in [Page 59] love. My Projector's dead drunk in archaire, and the Captaine peeping into his mouth like a tooth­drawer and powring down Sack, which he feeles not, but his chapps shut againe like a spring-lock, till he returne with a key to open his teeth to poure in the next health.

My Cloake and Sword Drawer.

Tis here sir.

Thou art a pretty fellow; there's halfe a crowne, say I am gone Thomas.

You are a petty well.

What shalls doe with him? this Engine burnes like Etna.

Throw him into the River.

Hee's able to mull the Thames. VVell for mine owne part, would Mistris Dorothy were here to open her files.

May not a man talke of sack?

Sack is a soveraigne medicine.

Oh very soveraigne.

It is hic & hac sack, both for he and she. Stay, is my Countryman gone? come my Apollos, my Orpheus's, or my Bachus his Minstrells; which to leave poeticall expressions, in broader phrase, is Taverne fidlers, some of your Tunes my masters, doe you heare?

Doe you meane Master Adsons new ayres si [...]?

I sir. But they are such phantasticall ayres as it puts a Poet out of his witts to ryme to them but let me heare—

—

No I doe not like that?—

—

Nor that: no, no, no, neither:

An't please your worship Master Captain our boyes can sing songs to these.

No, no, saving your presence, your boyes have nothing surreverence but love songs, and I hate those things monstrously to make things ap­peare better than they are, and that is but Decep­tio visus, which after some embracing, the par­ties see presently what it is.

—

I, I, this thumping tune I like a lise; a Song, a song to it.

But harke you child, you say in your song the Devills white, you have been ill catechiz'd boy, for a white Devill is but a Poeticall fiction, for the devill blesse us child is black.

No Captaine, I say white wine at the De­vill.

Thats true, thats a good boy indeed—Vnderwit, lend me a peece, lend me a peece to give these harmonious men—The [...]e,—and now be gone my masters; without noyse, for I will have no more fidle fadles for my money; no tunes of superrogation after the musicall bill is paid,—

Come hither Thomas, do you thinke I am drunke?

Truely Captaine, I cannot tell.

You cannot tell, there's your ignorance, drinke is a vice I am as little given to as another, for I do abhorre it in my selfe, I do wonder how any reasonable man can be drunk, &c—man can be drunke, therefore every wise man take counsell and example by me, and he may see very plaine­ly what an odious thing it is, for you must follow your Leader, and Vertue which is an ancient—

Vertue an Ancient?

I, an ancient old Gentlewoman, that is growne very poore, and no body knowes where she dwells, very hard to finde her out, especially for a Captaine, you will finde it very difficult for a Lieutenant, but we wil endeavour the best we can. You see my courses, I have travell'd to finde her out, and I could never yet see her at a baudihouse?

He talkes of vertue sir.

Vertue? she never comes there, why doe you thinke she should be there Captaine?

Why? because she is an old Gentlewoman, and might keepe the house.

Alas Captaine Mistris Vertue is poore and leane.

Nay then she is not fit to be a Baud; but tell me, did you ever see her, or if so, did you ever—

No, but 'twas none of my fault. I know not what I may doe in time, when she understands the words of command.

He does not meane Mistris Dorothy; but Captaine, I would [...]aine know the reason why your Bauds are so fatt still?

A plaine case, they lye fallow and get hart, then they keepe themselves so in health, and so soluble with stewd prumes, and then sipping of sack is a great matter to fatten them. But they are as good people as a man can keepe company withall, and bring up the young gen­tlewomen so vertuously; I came into one of their houses tother day for a carreere, and I found the Baud very sicke upon her deathbed, very reli­gious, and much given to repentance, for those poore sinnes she had committed; when shee had taken order for her soule, she told me the young Gentlewoman I look'd for was in the next roome, & desiring her upon her blesting to give me con­tent, she turnes her to the wall, and gives up the Ghost very privately, because she was loath to trouble us.

By your relation Captaine, these ap­peere [Page 63] to bee very good people what if wee went to visitt one of these Matrones? I have a greate minde to exercise

Why you speake like an understan­dinge Soldier & one that may come to som­thinge in the end, therefore let us march on.

March on to venus warrs.

For you know, Thomas that the spi­der & the Bee doe somthinge, but I have for­gett what it is.

Tis no matter, come let us goe.

Goe? no more but goe, though I bee a Captaine if I have not commission in this imploiment,—

What then Captaine?

Why then I cannot goe.

Very right.

Doe you heare Captaine? for all this; I have a great minde to a wench, and a wench I must have, if there bee one aboue grounde; ôh, ôh; London; London. Thou art full of franke tennants, give me London shall wee wheele about thither, yett?

Give you London? will not cheapside serve your turne or the Exchainge?

Oh Gentlemen, Master Engine is truly bewitch'd.

Why, what's the matter?

Bringe the witch and Master Engine before us.

Hee does vomitt the straingest thinges yonder.—

Did not I saie, murther will out?

I thinke hee has eaten and drunken nothinge but monopolyes: and, being too hard to bee disgested they all come up againe, I must hold his head.

Oh

Did not I tell you somthinge would come out?

Pins; Pins; they lay crosse his throat, I told you hee was bewitch'd? Hey day cards and dice, and with them the devill is a gamester. And payes the box soundly, now; now; now:

Oh.

What's that.

Tis somethinge clammy; ôh tis Soape.

Soape? give a man leave to wash his mouth.

Does not the lime burne his throat Thomas?

Alas poore Gentleman, somethinge now againe is ready to strangle him, I thinke they are Hides, & the hornes stuck in his gul­lett, well straind! what a fowle stomack hee has:

Oh.

Open his mouth, thrust downe a pottle pott.

I have Sir; and it is come up full of medium wine. If you have any charity come and healpe to hold his head: now againe.

Oh; Oh; Oh:

Tis very strainge Captaine; the man is certainely inchanted.

Oh; Oh.

Master Master; hey! will you take Tobacco in the Rowle? heere is a whole shipladinge, varietie of Bermoda's and one [Page 63] little two penny paper of Verina's, with a super subscription, to my very Frends of the cu­stome howse.

Put up that for a relique, Thomas: and open it upon high dayes to cleare the fore eyes of your Spanish Marchants, Thomas; noe more, but call the Drawer, an understan­ding Drawer and one writes Orthogra­phy & doe you pay the Reckoninge.

Sirra I charge you set A padlock on the chamber doore: there is a dangerous fellow must be bronght to his purgation and looke all the goods that he hath vomited bee forth cominge. While wee discreetely goe and in­forme the Magistrates: at your perill Sirra, at your perill: Seale up the dore and doe you pay the Reckoninge.

Sir Richard is a Justice; there's your monie, and yet wee neede not pay; the Gentleman hath left enough for the Recko­ninge in the next roome.

I have made him fast; y'are very welcome Gentlemen: all is paid in the Por't cullis.

I'le walke no further; if you have a Secret to impart, you neede not feare this place. The trees, and hedges will not listen, what is the busines? I hope your phlegmaticall stock of verse is spent.

Why then in prose the worst that I can speake; I doe not love you Lady.

How? you have not traind me thus farr to tell me that?

You are.—

You doe not meane to quarrell, now you have betray'd me to the feild, and beate me, Sir?

What is there in your face more, to attract me, then that red cowes complēxion? why the devill doe you thinke, I should doate upon your person? that thinge when shee is stroak'd gives milke.

By that I understand, all this is in re­venge, because you thinke I did neglect you: pray, Sir, tell me, and tell me seriously; put the case that I should love you: could you love againe?

In troth, I thinke I could not.

Doe you but thinke:

I will binde it with an oath before the parrish.

What reasons?

I shall bee loath to say your eyes are twinckelinge starrs againe your lipps twyn cherries, and out blu [...]h the rubies; your Azure vaines vie beautie with the Saphire: or that your swellinge brest are hills of [...]vo­rie pillowes for Joue to rest his Amorous head. When my owne conscience tell me that Bunn—hill is worth a hundred of them, and but High gate compared with them is a para­dice, noe I thanke you.

But how come you so cur [...]d? you weere a passionate, I may saie, foole, in hope you will deserve it: what phisick tooke you, that hath thus restor'd you?

A little sack had power to cure this madnesse.

I hope you are not sober yet; the hu­mour may chainge when you have slept.

I'le rather stich my eye lids up with Sisters-threed, and stareperpetually.

When you may see me againe.

I thinke I shall not, unlesse it bee to wonder when you are in that [...]vie bush; that face cutt upon taffata, that creame & prunes soe many plumbes in white broath, that Scut­cheon of pretence. powderd with Ermines. How sell you grapes? your haire does curle in bunches: your lipps looke like the Par­sons gleabe; full of redd, blue, and yellow flowers; how they are chapp'd and looke like trenches made to draine the medowes?

This rudenesse is beyond the manner of a Gentleman.

I cannot help it and I hope you thinke soe.

But if your passion have not drowned all reason; I pray let us part civilly.

With all my hart, I dare then take my leave too.

Whoe is that.

Where.

Behinde that tree.

You have no plot t'accuse me for a rape? t'was at the worst, but fellony with cherryes, that looke as if they had bin a fort night gathered:

I know you'le bringe mee home in curtesie.

Not I; I will not trust my selfe and you: fare well Lady: doe you see that bull?

Yes Sir.

That is a happie beast.

Why happie Sir?

Hee writes noe verses to his Mist­resse, is not cozened nor forsworne: to get her favor, bestowes no rings, nor empties his exchequer to appeere still in new rich suites but lives free upon the stock of nature, yet loues none. Like the great Turke, hee walkes in his Seraglio and doth command which Concubine best pleases, when hee has done, hee falles to graze or sleepe, and wakes, as hee had never knowne the dun, white, redd, or brended Cow.

You are unmanly.

Nay, I know you will raile now: I shall like it: call me a skirvy fellowe, proud, and sawcy, and ill bred crooked clowne, I'le heare. This, rather then liue upon your pittie, and yet doe not: For if you raile too men that know you can dissemble, may beleive you loue me, and tis not my Aime.

You are a fine man

I am in my best cloathes.

I perceive tis true now, what the world sayes of you, and yet tis strainge.

Tis strainge it should bee otherwise.

You give your tongue a licence, nor will I hope your mallice should spare me a broad, that have soe prodigally abused a Ladyes fame that deserves nobly from you; but you men care not whose name you blast [Page 67] with a loose Character, soe you maintaine your pride of Talke.

How is this? it is confessed I have talked in my time and talked too much, but not too much of you; for I but seldome thought of such a woman, or any other.

Nay Sir I am satisfied, you can talke your pleasure.

Have I not done it, too?

Yes by your owne report, and with a Lady soe much in vertue & in birth aboue you? & therefore I expect not your modest language of me.

Stay. This moves me; I never tooke a pleasure yet to lye with Ladyes fames: or ever thought that sport lye in the tongue; such humors are for men: that live by Bro­thell offices, let mee but know who hath traduc'd me to you thus, hee shall bee known noe more.

I'le not bee guilty Sir: of any murther; when wee meete againe and you in better humour I may tell you: so farewell Gon­dari [...]o, nothinge's lost when you turne wo­man hater.

She has vex'd me, if wee two make a matrimony after this rate, the divell is like to dance at our Wedding.

Hee's heere, a lone too, and the place most opportune! how shall I begin. Master Courtwell, doe you loue any friend of mine?

Not to my knowledge, Sir, I should bee sorry.

Doe you not loue a Gentlewoman, Sir?

If shee bee a frend of yours, I'le take the first occasion to neglect her, for your sake.

It will become your wisdome, and your safetie.

What mischeefe have you done to your face?

My face?

You looke soe scurvily, come hither thou new monster, with more feete then a caterpiller what time of the day is it? you that move upon soe many wheeles, say Mon­sieur, are you not a walkinge clock; I have a mighty minde to see you tooke in peeces.

I doe not like this: you cannot put me, Sir, together againe.

I will not take the paines, why doe you smile now?

At your conceit, to thinke I was a clock I am a watch; I never strike, Hee's valiant.

You have prettie colours theire are these your Mistresses.

If you did know the mistery you would applaud them: you have read Lievre de B'azon [...], what meane you?

I will bestow them upon some fore­horse; they will become a Country [...]eeme rarely.

Morr▪d [...]e [...]! why you dare fight it seemes, and I was told, you were no Cava­lier: A very dreame, a wedge for men to breake their swords upon, I shall never trust fame againe for your sake.

Thou never did [...]st couzen me.—

I was never soe Illitterate in a man.

For [...] did ever thinke thou durst not fence but at a cōplexion, aglisteringe vapour: a thinge of cloathes, and fitt for Chamber­maydes to whett their witts upon: but now resolve either to have your skine flead off; or fight with me for troublinge my present me­ditations.

Why Sir if you bee serious I shall quitt that prejudice you have upon my valour looke you Sir I can draw, & thus provoke'd I dare chastise you, too cause I was merry I am not bound to feede your spleane eter­nally with laughter, yet I am not Ignorant what an advantage, Sir, your weapon gives you in length.

Wee'le change why this is honnour in thee.

Now, Sir, keep of.

Sure thou art not so base.

I never cozend you, doe you remem­ber? these two will guide me on the rope.

You meane to daunce then.

Yes but with quicker time then you I hope can follow. Thus I begin; fa la, la.

What a heathen coward is this? how the rogue tripps like a fayrie: to the towne with them, he has bin a footman sure I have not breath enough to overtake him, & t'will be darke presently if I loose the sight of him; I'le search the Towne and if I finde him not there, persue him with hue and cry, and after hange him.

The sun, whose busie eye is still Employed a spie upon our Actions, tire'd with waytinge is drowsy gon to bed, about whose pillow night hath hunge all her winges, & set up Tapers as if the day were timorous like a child and must have light to sleepe by, welcome all the howres that go­verne pleasure, but bee slow when you have blessed mee with my wishes, time and loue shall dwell like twinnes, make this your bower and charme the aire to sweetenesse, and to silence: favour me now, and you shall chainge your states: Time shall bee old no more, I will contract with destiny, if hee will spare his winges, to give him youth and beautie, that wee may finde every minute a fresh childe of pleasure: loue shall bee proud to bee no more a boy but grow to per­fect strength and hold consistance: for when two active lovers meete soe happie as wee whose equall flames doe light Embraces twill bee noe weight to number many yeares in our delights and thinke all age a blessing: but language is too narrow to expresse what I expect, tis fit my soule retire till shee pre­sent her selfe, and if it can measure my hop'd-for Joyes with thoughts prepare to entertaine the happinesse.

I have sett already my designe a [Page 71] moveing to take my Captaine, Vnderwit, who in wine was late more feirce uppon me; in the meane time I cannot choose but laugh at the Device wee hope to cheate my Master with sure the devill is agreat freind to womē that loue men! Hee doth so furnish us with quainte inventions: presently after supper, shee began her sit of tooth atch, and did coun­terfet so naturally; but since shee went to bed she almost rau'd by turnes; I heard her at it.

Oh oh; whose there.

Tis I for sooth, I heard you groane and I have not the heart to sleepe, shall I watch by you?

Oh no! get you to bedd, make fast the chamber: I cannot endure.—

Deare heart, bee patient.

I, you have your homilyes of pa­tience, but if you had my paine, it would make you mad, oh; oh.

I'le send for the french tooth drawer in the morninge.

There is no rack nor torture like it, oh; what shall I doe; I shall never sleepe againe.

Which tooth is it.

The sweete one you may bee sure troubles her

This, this; oh that there.—

They are happie that are old and have no teeth.

Oh take heede; now it shoots up to my head.

Thou makest my headāke with thy noise.

If you knew what I suffer, your head would ake, in deede, I must rise and walke in the chamber, there's no remedy.

You'le catch more cold.

Oh noe; deere life doe not crosse me; if you weere in my torment, you would rise; and try any thinge, for a little ease It cannot bee worse the paine sure came with a cold and who knowes but an other cold may cure me.

I prithee come to bedd againe.

Soe, soe doe not trouble me. I am now in some little ease it is a heavenly thing to bee goeing.

Doest thou heare?

Your noise will bringe my paine back againe, if you knew what a vexation it is for me to speake you would not put me to it soe, if you doe talke I will not answere a word more.

Well! by this noe light I'le to London to morrow. I see tis possible a wo­mans Tooth may bee as trouble so me, as her tongue

Oh; oh.

I cannot chuse but pitty her: that any woman should hold soe much paine in a hollow Tooth!

If my Master touch'd with soe much compassion should rise and force me to bedd [Page 73] to him, I must not cry out a rape. Tis at the worst on my syde, but fornication in my owne defence.

Prithee come to bed.

Oh; oh; oh:

The musick at a convocation of catts, at a witches upsittinge is the spheares to this catterwawlinge. I will thrust my head into the pillow, as Diana did, in the bush when the beare was cominge, and then I shall not heare her.

Oh! this is a kinde of purgatory for the sines of the flesh: if she should fall a sleepe with the other knight; it is not possible I should hold out till morninge that which would fright away an ague hath put mee into a feauer: I shall have the tooth atch in deede with counterfeitinge. I have knowen some men taught the Stammers so, my gumes doe murmur, there is feare all over my flesh shee will stay too long, and then,—

Vh; uh:

Oh; oh; I'le shift places to shew more distraction at the worst my noyse shalbee within his reach it may give her warninge to returne too.

I am full of feares and my owne motion frights: me this furious love is a strange Pilott: Sir where are you, ha; a sleepe? can any dulnesse that is not death possesse a Gentleman so valiant in desires, when hee [Page 74] expects to meete his Mistresse? how I blush to rayse him? was I not worth thy wakinge expectation, farewell: yet somethinge like a chaine that's fasten'd to my poore heart re­straines me, inke and paper:

I'le leave him a short monument of his shame & my neglected love. Hee knowes my hand, farewell forgetfull lover.

What? have I slept? some witch­craft did betray my eyes to so much dark­nesse, yet my dreame was full of rapture such as I with all my wakinge sence would sly to meete; me thought I saw a thousand cupids slyde from heaven and landinge heere made this there scene of Reuells clappinge their goulden feathers, which kept time while their owne feete struck musick to their dance as they had trod and touched so may Lutes: This done with in a cloude form'd like A throne, she to whome love had con­secrate this night my Mistresse, did descend, and cominge towards me my soule that ever wakes, angry to see my body made a pri­soner, & so mock'd, shooke of the chaines of sleepe, least I should loose essentiall pleasures for a dreame. Tis happie: I will not trust my selfe with ease and silence. But walke and wayte her comming that must blesse me. For­give me you bright Starrs, and doe not frowne that I have not attended as became one that must live by your kind Influence. Not yet appeere? shee did command I should with confidence expect her; Ha! what's heere? this Character was not visible before;

Tis hers. I know shee has ben heere; Oh fatall! and findinge me a sleepe scorn'd to uncharme my dull and cursed silence, this distracts mee. Have I so long, with so much Art and Study labourd this hower and ob­tain'd, what my ambition look'd at, her con­sent, and when the tree itselfe bow'd downe Its goulden fruit and tempted me to gather, must I make my selfe uncapable & bee guiltie of so black so base a forfeite? I could teare my eye lidds off, that durst let in a mist so darke and so destroyinge: must I sleepe at such a time? that the devill must bee over watch'd too? this howre hath blasted such a hope as the Earth never teem'd with nor the springe gave up in smiling blossoms to the breath of those sweete winds that whisper from the west, a tale of triumph to the yeare, I could dissolve, with cursinge of my Le [...]hargie. How shall I looke upon her face, whose love and bold adventure I have thus rewarded? but passion will not cure my wounde which must bleede till I see her, and then either ceasse blessed by her pardon; or dismisse a life though just, too poore a sacri­fice to her Anger. Where shall I hide my selfe and shame for ever?

Actus quintus. Scaena prima.

I cannot forgett my carelesse Gentle­man; his neglect & reproches have wrought strangly upon me; hee's heere.

Is there not a weazle crept in to your chamber, Lady.

A weazle Sir?

Yes, a Monsieur suckegg.

Doe you take my chamber for a hens nest, Sir?

Ther's a Thinge that calls him selfe Device, one that will break the heart of a post-horse to continue a hand gallop with him, your a la mode, your fightinge fayrie, fethered footed servant, when saw you him?

My fightinge servant, has hee beaten you Sir? perhapps hee thought you were his rivall: surely I saw him not since yesterday.

Be'e Lady how many mile is it to the next Cutler? the rogue has pawnd or sold my sworde.

Doe you heare Sir? I can tell you now what Lady; it was you did abuse so

I abuse a Lady? Tell me the slave re­ported it; I hope it will prove this Monsieur if ere wee meete againe;—Who was it?

Vpon condition Sir you will requite [Page 77] me but with one Gentle favour.

Any thinge.

You must sit downe and heare me then, while lat a distance, thus deliver.

Tis more state.

I am most unfortunate.

For what deare Damosell?

And wrong d by a Gentleman I lou'd.

Can hee bee a Gentleman that dares wronge so much love and beautie? what s the offence?

He will not love againe.

And you would have the stubborne man corrected?

I would bee revenged, if I know how, and honour him, should doe me [...]ustice.

Name the man: I'le doe it.

I cannot.

How.

Yet turne your face: alas! it is your selfe: I have your word to punish him.

Sweete Lady I am well acquainted wi [...]h the worthy Gentleman, but will not kill nor strike him: for I know hee has just reason not to love you, you, of all your sexe; hee told mee so.

His reason?

Was in these words, suppose you heare him speake it. Now doe you sit; Lady; when I consider you to a perfect forme of what we can call hands [...]me with all your at­tributes of soule and body where no Addi­tion or detraction can by cupids, [...]icer critticks finde a fault, or Mercury with your [Page 78] eternall frame & then consider what a thinge I am to this high Character of you; so low so lost to noble merits, I dispaire to love a Mistresse cannot love againe.

This is as much dissembled modesty.

No let it all alone, I have other rea­sons, Lady, among my papers, to love, or to bee in loue is to bee gull'd, that's the plaine English of cupids latine besides, all reverence to the calling, I have vowed never to marry: and you know, loue may bringe a man to▪t at last and therefore my fine gewgaw, doe not abuse me.

How can I when you will neither loue me nor marry mee?

I was not made for a husband.

But I would make you.

I know what you would make me.

Monsieur Device if you bee alone would present his service to you.

Is hee come?

Doe me but one favour, I'le recant my loue, I will not have so much as one good thought of you, I will neglect you, Sir, but for three minutes.

I'le have patience so long.

Admit him. I will bee revenged on somebody? now Sir:

I'have broug'ht you a weapon Lady.

Me, what to doe Sir.

Tis justice I present it to your feete, whose love Arm'd me to vindicate your honour.

My honour?

This is but the first of my valour in your cause; if you affect these monuments, I'le make you up an Armory: meane time receive my service with this sword; if hee provoake me to fight with him againe; I'le cut his hand off and bringe it with me, to present the next.

Whose hand deare Servant?

Hee is not worth the naminge, alas; this does not deserve your knowledge; only thinke what I dare doe, when your bright name is questioned: and I in time may mer­rit to bee call'd the darlinge of your Virgin thoughts.

Pray stay; my name traduc'd? who was so impudent? doe me the grace to let me know on whome your valour has bin exer­cis'd.

Why upon the formall thinge, call'd Courtwell, I would call him Gentleman, but that I have baffled him; you neede noe other witnesse then his sword:

With the fine holliday hilt.

Looke you Sir I have made fast the doore because I meane before you goe, to have a satisfaction for the base Injury you have done me.

I done you Injury?

Not that I value Courtwell whome you would pretend has bin too saucy with my honour, but cause I scorne to owne a good­nesse should depend upon your sword or vin­dication: I'le fight with thee my selfe in this [Page 80] smale volume against your bulke in folio.

Excellent wench.

I was your champion, Lady.

I had rather have no fame then have thee name it; thou fight for a Ladyes honour, and disarme a Gentleman? thou fence before the Pageants & make roome for the porters, when like Elephants they carry once a yeare the Cyttie Castles: or goe a feastinge with the drum or schole boyes to the banke syde & save the beares a whippinge that day: come Sir I meane to have about with you.

At what weapon?

This, and none other, Sir.

I'le rather bleede to death then lift a sworde in my defence▪ whose inconside­rate brightnesse may fright the roses from your Cheekes, & leave the lyllyes to Lament the rude divorce: but were a man to dare me, and your enemie, my rage more nimble then the M [...]dian shaft should flye into his bosome, and your eye change Anger into smiles, to see me fight and cut him into a rag­ged staffe.

I cannot hold no longer; you have got a stomack Sir with running, I'le try how you can eate a Sword.

Have you an ambush Lady; I'le cry out murther, tis two to one. Faire play!

Let me but cut one legg off to marre his running.

Hold: let me speake.

What canst thou saie for thy base­nesse?

Some men love witt, and can without dishonour endure a Ieast; Why? doe you thinke I knew not you were heere & but ob­serv'd to see my humour? I came to wayte upon you with your sword.

How came you by it? Confesse be­fore this Lady.

Doest thinke her witt's so lymber to beleive I could compell it from thee, twas a trick, a meere conceipt of mirth, thou shalt have myne: Doest thinke I stand upon a sword? I'le give thee a case of pistolls, when wee come to London; and shoote mee when I love thee not: pox on it, thou apprehendest me well enough.

But I am not satisfied, doe you loue this Gentlewoman?

Hum;

You will resolve Sir.

As may become a stranger; I will not lose thy friendshipp for all woman kinde.

Hee dares, not owne you.

I easily forgive him: I should hate my selfe if I depended on his pitty.

Thou art a noble wench: shall wee leave of these Jiggs, and speake our minds in earnest by these twyn lipps, I loue thee extreamly.

Sweare by your owne.

They shall bee myne: Monsieur, for your pennance you shall a long & witnesse.

What I pray.

The priest shall tell you, come, wee have both dissembled, wee doe loue one an other.

Tis not possible.

Vnlesse you will denie me in the church. I have vowed to lye with you this night: Device, amble before, and finde the Parson out; wee will bee frends, and thou shalt bee her Father.

I must mayntayne my honour, or be beaten.

Com we'le have no more acquaintance.

Very pretty! I may deceave you yet for all your confidence.

If the skye falle, wee'le have the darkes to supper.

It was a strange neglect, Sir.

I confesse it, and not deserve to live for it, yet if you but knew my sufferings.

Let her bee Judge.

By no meanes Madame.

You may trust her knowledge.

This is worse then a whippinge now, these Ladyes have no mercy on a delinquent; I must stand to it; there is no tyrant to a chambermayde, made judge in such a case; I'le give a limbe to bee quitt now; but if shee chuse, I am a criple for this world.

Is it possible? A man and such a beast?

Soe: I must to the shambles.

What punishment can bee equall to the offence?

Hee lookes with some compunction for his fault, troth, Madame, such an other [Page 83] night: and trye whether hee'le sleepe againe.

Mercifull wench; if wee piece againe; it shall bee a good turne in thy way.

My husband is resolu'd this day for London. It is his humour, or else worse, suspition: there's noe pretence for him to stay behinde.

You have made ill use of your time Sir Francis; I know not how to helpe you; seauen yeares hence you may have such an other opportunitie.

Watch if my husband come not this way, Dorothy, well Sir, though your trans­gression deserve no pardon, yet I am chari­table upon condition.

Any thinge, Madame: this shewes ex­cellent in you. No pennance shall displease, so you absolue me. Bid me to clyme some rocke or piramide, upon whose narrow speare you have advanc'd my peace, and I will reach it, or else fall lost to the world in my contempt.

You speake gloriously, the condition that assures your pardon, is only this, that you conclude, here, all your loose desires, with a resolve never to prosecute or hope to enjoye me:

Call you this charitie, let me rather loose your pardon, then ever bee thus Di­vorc'd: binde me never to see you, (and yet that were cruelty) then, charme me to forget that I am man, or have a heart, and you a beautie which your absence can as well make nothinge, as divide from my adoreing [Page 84] It is not cure but killing to prescribe I never must enioye you, if you have resolu'd death upon me, let it bee when wee like lovers have embrac'd.

It is not possible.

nothing in loue can bee impossible to willing mynds. I'le tell you, Madame, Sure the devill has forsworne the flesh, there may bee a plott, I have it. An excellent rare Do­vice, if you but favour it: your husband is immediately for London I must in modesty ride with him; you are left behinde.

How can that proffit you?

What a deale of submission these foolish men trouble us women with, that are more forward to bee frends againe, then they?

I will counterfeit a fall.

A fall?

I, from my horse, observe me then.

My confederate I hope by this time is at the gate enquiringe for Sir Richard very formally from the old Knight his Master & good Lady: the follow has witt to mannage it.

My F [...]o man shall pretend himselfe the surgeon to attend me; I'st not rare? stand but to it fate in this and if I faile I will sit downe a convert and renownce all wanton hope hereafter. Deerest Madame if you did meane this honour to me before let not your louinge thoughts freeze in a minute; my genius is a prophet.

Sir Richard, Madame, is cominge this way.

Shall I hope againe

I will not say you shall dispayre.

You blesse me.

My businesse is on foote, your Jewell Madame will credit much the cause.

Wee will with draw; and let me know how you, have cast the plott.

From thy Master? his name?

Sir William Litleland.

I doe not know him.

His name is well known in Lincol­neshire neere the Fenns; there were of his family Ancient Gentlemen before the con­quest, some say, ever since the flood,

Little Land?

But hee has now more land then 3. of the best of the sheere, thank the dutch men that have drunke up al the water.

They water—drinkers?

Why not, as well as eate dry land? they are lyn'd with butter; Sir; they feare noe dropsies.

My maid Dorothy A knights daughter & heire? doe you know your younge Mistrisse?

I shall bee happie to see her, with a Letter and token from her Lady Mother.

I pray trust me to deliver it.

I, With all my heart, Sir; you may command.

T [...]omas, pray entertaine this Foot­man in the buttery: let him drinke & refresh him selfe and set the cold chine of beefe be­fore him hee has runn hard.

That will stay his stomack indeede; but claret is his only binder.

Sack while you liue after a heate, Sir.

Pease you, I'le shew you the way to be drunke.

To my lovinge daughter? may not this bee a trick?

By your favour Madame; Captaine, gather you the sence of that Letter, while I peruse this, you know Mistris Dor [...]thy?

I have had a greate desire to know her, [Page 87] I confesse, but shee is still like the bottom of the mapp, Terra incognita, I have ben a long time hoveringe about the Magellan straytes but have made no new discoveryes.

Ha! This is no counterfeit; I dare trust my owne Judgment; tis a very rich one I am confirm'd, and I will seale them up againe. My Ladyes Woman Sir William Littelands daughter and heyre? what say you now of Mistresse Dorothy?

A great deale better then I did, and yet I have loud her this halfe yeare in a kinde of way, of my conscence, why may not I marry her?

This Jewell was sent by her Mother to her.

Deare Vncle conceale it till I have talke with her, oh for some witchcraft to make all sure.

I like this well: shee's here.

I vow, Mistresse Dorothy; if I were immodest, it was the meere impudence of my sack, and not my owne disposition but if you please to accept my loue now by the way of marriage I'le make you satisfaction, like a Gentleman in the point of honour.

your birth and estate is to high and unequall for me, Sir.

What care I for portion or a face, shee that has good eyes, has good—Give me vertue.

You are pleas'd to make your mirth of me.

By this ruby nay; you shall weare it in the broad eye of the world; doest thinke I jest?

Sir Richard:—

If hee were ten Sir Richards, I am out of my wardship

How hee flutters in the lyme-bush: it takes rarely.

What a necessary thinge were a hous­hold chapline?

So; so; the wench inclynes, I will hasten my jornie that I may appeare with more excuse, when they are married in my absence.

Come wee are fast enough, and now I have thee, I'le tell the all the fault I finde, thou hast a little two much wit, to bee a wife: it could not bee too nimble for a Mistresse. There is a part of your pennance still behind Device; you would pretend to bee a poet, I'le not disgrace the name to call thee one, but let me have times against wee goe to bed, Two Anagrames that weigh an ownce with coment, and after that, in verse your affida­vitt that you doe wish us joye, and I'le dis­charge you.

Tis time I were at study then.

About them, your double congie, and depart with silence: now prithee tell me who reported I had wrong'd a Lady? Was it [Page 89] not thy revenge to make me Angry?

It was indeed Now tell me; why at the first approach seem'd you so modest? you have confidence to spare, now.

Troth I came not with any wooinge purpose: only to please my Vnkle, and try thy witt and that converted me.

Did you see my Master Captaine Vn­derwit?

Yes he's talkinge with a priest and Mistresse Dorothy.

Her Fathers Footeman is heere, shee is a Knights daughter and heyre, but shee doth not know it.

I thinke soe?

Where's my Vnkle?

A myle on his way to London, by this time with Sir Richard, I longe to see my Master.

Wee shall want Companie to dance.

My Sister.

If you please Madame, you may call me, Brother, wee have ben at, I Iohn take thee Elisabeth, a possett and foure naked thighes in a bed to night, wee'le bid faire earnest for a boy too.

Tis even so Madame; the Priest has done it

Nay then all joyes attend you; if this had bin knowen, it might have, stay'd Sir Richard, and your Vnkle one day more.

Roome for an other couple.

In hell, my Master is maried.

My husband left some letters, and a token was sent you Mistris Dorothy, you did Ill to obscure your selfe so much, you shall not want hereafter all respects that may be­come you.

Madame I know not what you meane.

Shee will not take it upon her, yet.

There is the sport

Oh Madame, newes; Ill newes; an Accident which will blast all your mirth, Sir Francis;—

What of him.

Has broake;—

His neck?

You guesse very neere it, tis but, his shoulder has sav'd that Joynt; a fall from his horse they saye hath much endangerd him.

My Vnckle hurt?

Hee has kept his word; now if hee counterfeyte handsomely.

Monsieur Device, I must entreat a cour­tesie: you have wit and I will have a Masque to entertaine my new Father in Law Sir William Littleland; Mistris Dorothy now my wife is his only daughter & heyre

Who has gull'd you thus? I am no Knights daughter.

Give you Joy Captaine

Shee is still loath to confesse it.

If you loue charitie; a bone setter.

Hee counterfeites rarely, where is Sir Richard.

Hee rid before, but I sent my Foote­man, to tell him my misfortune; oh; Ma­dame.

This is better then the tooth atch; he carries it excellently.

Aske me no torturinge questions, I desire Madame a little conference with you, I'le thanke the rest if they will with draw.

Lett's leaue him.

Wee'le to my chamber, Captaine.

You have a minde to examine the bu­sinesse privatly.

No, good Captaine you may bee pre­sent, come; Thomas, thou shalt bee wittnesse too.

They are gone, you faine most Arti­ficially, let me embrace you.

Oh take heede.

What's the matter.

Tis noe dissembling, Madame; I have had a fall indeede: a dreadfull fall, I feele it, I thinke my horse sawe the devill in some hedge, ere I had rid three furlongs: gaue a start, pitch'd me off his back like a barre and broake a flynt with my shoulder, I thinke; which strooke fire too there was somethinge like it in my eyes; I am punished.

But is this serious, are you hurt in­deede?

Hurt? I have broake my shoulder, feelingly, and I am of opinion when I doe enjoy you, Madame, I shall breake my neck: that will bee the next; I'le take this for a [Page 92] warninge and will leaue of in time.

It makes me tremble.

I will bee honest now, and so forgive me, is not the surgeon come yet?

Heaven hath cur'd us both.

I am not cur'd yet, oh for the bone setter, if ever I counterfeit againe.

There is a blessing falne upon my bloud: your only thoughts charme had power to make my thoughts wicked, and your con­version disenchants me: may both our liues be such as heaven may not greeve, to have shewed this bountie.

Sir Richard; Madame:

You may enter now, Sir.

I doe not like this Stratagem, Sir Francis must not heere practice his court tricks, I will not trust my wifes surgery:

Hee's come;

How is it noble Sir Francis; best with draw, I'le see him drest my selfe.

Madame and Gentleman; Mistrisse D [...]rothy will not acknowledge she is a Knights daughter she sweares she knowes no Little­land.

Till it appeare to whome, this [...]emm was meant, deafe Madame, bee you treasurer, I confesse I have wealth enough in such a noble husband.

It shall belonge to thee; be honest Dorothy, and use him well.

With my best study [...], Madame;

Where is this Foo [...]man you talke of?

He p [...]etended letters to carry two myles off to a Kinsmans of his Masters and returne presently: hee drunke 3. or 4. beere glasses of Sack and hee rune away so lightly.

His reward shall overtake him.

Will you have her; shee'le doe you service, Captaine at a low Country leager or thou Thomas I le give thee a coppihold.

You have one life to come in that lease yet, I thanke you I am free, and that is Inheritance. For ought I know shee may serve us both.

Come you may persuade her to take it upon her for your creditt, the gullery is yet with in these walls let your shames goe noe further, the wench may prove right; shee may.

What newes from Sir Francis.

Wife I hartily aske thy forgive­nesse: I had jealous thoughts, but all is right againe.

I will deserve your confidence.

No greate danger, his blade bone dislocated: the man has put every thinge in his right place

Doe you heare Sir Richard, wee are married.

Tis well done t'is to my mynd, send you Joy;

Come hither Dorothy.

My Mother dyed, I have it by tradi­tion, soe, as soone as I was borne my Father but no Knight, is now in the Indies a poore Marchant that broake for 20000.

The ships may come home, ha;

You had best use me well now wee are married, I will bee sworne you forc'd me to the church and thrise compeld me there to said, I Dorothy—The Parsons oath and mine, for ought I know may make it halfe a rape.

There is no remedy wee can proue no conspiracy; and because I have bin gull'd my selfe, gett her with childe; my Doe is barren, at birth of hir first baby I'le give thee a hundred peeces.

That's somewhat yet: when charge coms on, thy hand, a wife can bee but a wife: it shall cost me 500. but I'le make thee a Laay in earnest.

How is it Sir Francis.

My Surgeon sayes no danger: when you please I may venture Sir to London.

Noe hast now.

Not to night, Sir, wee must have revells, and you salute my bride.

And myne.

A Knights daughter and heyre.

May all Joyes thriue upon your Ioues; then you are cozen'd of your Mist­resse Monsieur, but your nephew knowes [Page 95] I have met with my match if not put to the worst.

Come wee loose time.

Preserve your Marriage faith: a full increase of what you wish confirme your hap­pinesse.

Act I. Scaene I.

I Ack Manly, well met.

Noble Sir William the hum­blest of your servants.

Come, thou shalt along with me.

Whither?

To see my Mistris.

May you thrive in your courtship to her: at this time I am engag'd to other business.

Can any thing concerne a Gentleman equall with a handsome Lady?

Yes, the receiving of money is more considerable with me at this time, than all the women in the world. But who is your Mistris Knight?

I dare tell thee, Madam Beaufield, the [Page 2] Lady of spirit, and entertainment, the only Mag­netick widdow i'th Town.

They talk her a wit, and a most supersti­tious observer of persons, and their garbes; I ne­ver had the happiness to kiss her hand, or be known to her, but I converse with some who are very high and loud in her character; another time

Ile wait upon you. Who are these?

In what grott hast thou spent thy time, that thou art ignorant of these people? These two are held the wits; That is the remarkable Jeerer of the Town, and 'has purchas'd to himself the title of a Jeere Major.

Why, Is there a Regiment of Jeerers?

You shall pardon me, there are sets of them, as there are of Fidlers; there is first a set of Court Jeerers, spruce half-witted men, con­fident, and fierce in their opinions; these are men that make themselves musick, and their cloths make roome for their wic; and go before in all compa­nies: Then there is the town Jeerers, like Ho­boyes or Waites of the City, that think they are wise when they are loud, and make a noise when they come to Plaies, to distract the next mans understanding. There are Jeerers at time of the yeer that go down into the Countrey, and in­fect Wakes, and Faires, and the Sizes, with their impudence, with which they save charges, and are never without the name of a great Lord, to whom they are cosin Germane.

But what has he deserved to be called [...] Jeere Major, and to beare such a title? I have seen the Rooke.

An excellent ill nature has preferd him to opinion: the other has merited but the name of a Jeere minor; yet they can see me pleasant in their reproaches, and laugh in their own defence, which many times keeps off the cudgell.

Nay, Jeering is a blessing that every man may have if he give his mind to it: but wit (if I remember what I was taught) happens not to one amongst five hundred on 'em. But I forget my affaire.

Shall's meet and be merry this Evening.

Theres no musick in me without my sing­ing birds about me, then I am a Lord, and when I put on my habit of Leister, I am his own excel­lence.

Dost thou preserve that him or still?

I may chance by the false light of the Evening march to thy Lodging.

Dost know where tis? I am remov'd.

So, no discoveries what Prince I am.

A match: that shape will beget us some mirch.

Your most humble servant.

My Mistris is somewhat melancholy, if he come in that phantasticall habit, we shall have rare sport beyond his expectation, to have the La­dies laugh at him.

This is very fine wit ysaith, and soone learnd I thinke; a little more on't sweet Gentle­men.

Suppose you were foxd last night; thus I come to you, and accost; Save you Sir; you must [Page 4] know I must laugh all the while; how fare you Sir? Do not some fumigations remaine, some va­pours not dissipated, a kind of Vertigo, a weak­ning of the Nerves, or so? Ha, ha, ha, what thinks your Worship of milke now, thin broth, or a Julip of pitifull Six for a penance to settle you, or a haire of the same whelp? Ha, ha, ha, there's wit for you.

There's no harme in the world in it, nor no exceptions if you laugh in the right place.

Now imagine you met an honourable Gentleman that had got a hurt in the groine; thus I invade you; but the laugh must hold me too.

By any meanes, I cannot choose but laugh my self.

There is no safe jeering without it.

Sir, you have been at push of pike and received a hurt, upon some unslaught in some fe­male service, Ha, ha, ha; your breath is Aroma­tick since you kiss'd your Mistris, and your water out-smells the violet, ha, ha, ha; by the powerfull—yclipped Turpentine, tis true; what pitty tis you went without a charme, or had no acquaintance with a Laplander, to make you Venus-shot-free? Ha, ha, ha; and how many french tennistalls have you in your flanke now? ha, ha, ha.

You sate up at play all night, and lost your money; another now.

Not I a penny, I sent a buffe Gentleman that lookt big upon me, after an ill hand, twenty peeces upon halfe a dozen oaths.

A good pawne, keep his oaths, if he do not pay your money, take the forfeit, and if he be [Page 5] a Gamester he'll be undone for want of swearing.

Suppose it lost?

Me thinks Cavallier you looke pale since you came from the charnelhouse, did the bones affright you? you are a most religious Gentleman when you are at dice, and do so pray for 3 fives 3 foures at in and in: with what devoti­on you look on the seven of Spades and eight of Diamonds at cribbish? ha, ha; how zealouly you invoke the Saints to fit you with cards at picket, or lebet.

I invoke the Saints?

I speake to the catholicke gamester, that understands all games.

By the way though, doe you think there are any gamesters in heaven?

It is to be feared, they may lose so much upon earth, they will hardly purchase a place there, or if any get thither, (which must be excellent throwing) he would be more call'd upon, and perhaps puld downe agen, upon every dispute at play to be Groome porter.

How like you these?

You shall both with me to my Mistris, and help to Jeere my rivalls.

Your Mistris?

I Mistris Luoy, Lady Beaufeilds daugh­ter, my Landlady Mistris Ʋoluble has commend­ed me to her, and I hope to carry her, if one Gentl. that she loves better do not get her away?

Wee'l jeere him to death.

That were an excellent way, I thinke there is no statute against that, I care not what becomes on him, he put bitter jests upon me to­ther [Page 6] day before the Ladies, and I making use of your wit Gentlemen, he told me to my face, that I talk'd nothing but clinches; as I am a Gentleman he did.

Oh barbarous!

You shall wound him with his owne weapon, and by a direction we can give you, you shall so jeere him, that he shall offer boote to change understandings with you.

Wee'l make him so ridiculous, he shal laugh at himselfe.

That will be rare; I have sent for my Mother to towne to be acquainted with La­dies, and learn dressing; my Landlady, hath pro­mised to commend a Gentlewoman to waite upon her, and teach her the art of painting, and all the postures of a great woman; I do meane she shall marry some Knight or other, and be Ladified.

It wil be necessary.

Though I say it, the woman is flexible, and has been in her daies—My Father might have been a Knight, and he had not been an Asse, and lov'd his mony; but we lose time, let's to my Mistres Gentlemen.

We attend sir.

The same day, a Dolphin taken in a net at Woolidge, and ten live Pilchards in a Salmons belly—strange things! the 13. of July, the Caramountaine kittend in the Tower: an Eele­ship spring a leak shooting the Bridge,—heere are prodigious things.

Mr. Newman.

Mr. Usher, how does your Lady?

She is in health.

And Mistris Lucy?

Both in the Garden. Sir you have good intelligence, what newes abroad? a touch to your servant.

Alas you are acquainted with the state mysteries.

Troth Sir, I know little, or if I did, I would be loath to speake it, but to a friend, the times are dangerous.

Y'are right Mr. Formall, but be not nice, I know you are furnish'd with newes, as well as some that give pensions, though 'twere to a Cap­taine in these warlike-times, to have it made for 'em; you being a quotidian ambler upon imperti­nent visits, must needs gleane the secrets of the court and state.

Sir I dare trust you with any thing, but pray do not speak on't; there is a great man in the world—

Think you so?

That—

What has he done?

You shall excuse me; but—

VVhat his name?

You shall excuse me for that too; a word to the wise; you can guesse what I meane, and let that passe; and now we talke of state af­faires, there is a packet come out of the North, and abox—in your eare sir.

What is said to be in that packet?

Ther's the businesse, but that no body knowes.

Is't possible?

Tak't upon my word; you are a friend, I heare further at Mr. Secretaries, but you must say nothing of it, you undoe me if you doe, the King goes to Hampton Court next weeke, but how long he stayes is uncertaine. Sir, you see I put my selfe into your hands.

But is this done like a wiseman to reveale these mysteries, to trust these secrets to one you have not known above 7 Yeare, if I should inform what will become of you, and your estate? oh you must be cautious, though for my part—

Oh Sir! I know to whom I speak, and will tell you more, for I dare trust you with my soule; they say the Northerne progresse holds this yeare, and that the Elke is dead in the new great parke

I hope not.

Tis as I tell you, by the fall of a tree, doe not you remember a tempest foure nights agoe? then 'twas, blustring times Mr. Newman.

That makes Ʋan Trumpe so troubled with the winde colicke, but now the Hollanders, as they report, have many Engineers and Ma­thematitians set a work, how to keep and vent it at their pleasure, and so to serve in Navigation for their ships, that there may be ventus liber, as well as ventus clausus, answerable to the two Seas.

Ha, ha! that's newes indeed, alas mine is but domestick, but what do you heare of London Bridge? it is whisper'd by some it will, and some againe point blank say it will not be repaired; but make not me the Authour.

And I do heare the Camells decay at [Page 9] Tiballs: but pray no more of it from me.

You shall not doubt me Sir, you do not heare of the Dolphin—

Of France?

Taken as Woolidge in a net.

Of Italian cutworke.

The newes is not common of the Pil­chards, the Catamountaine, nor the Eeleship?

Not a word.

You shall heare more; I am your servant. Here is Mistris Lucy Sir, and Mistris Ʋoluble.

I confesse he has no overcharge of wit, that will be your happinesse, he has a good estate, and you may live with more delight than a court Lady, he is a handsome man too, I am bound to give you my advise, for your mothers sake, whose servant I am by many obligations, she has been my customer for face-water, and pomatum these many yeares.

But if you be so skilfull, as you are profest, and read in the secrets of nature, you can tell by your art where I shall fixe my affection, doe not you know Mr. Newman.

I never see the Gentleman, but I am not ignorant that he matches in the Vanne, and leades the file of your amorous servants, but—

But what?

If you love your selfe.—

He is a well-bred Gentleman, and one deserves my good opinion, hee's here.

They observe me—

I kisse your hand faire Mistris Lucy: whats she that lookes so like one of the Sibills?

Is this the Gentleman you declare so civill, and well-bred, Lady? If I have any skill take heed on him, he has an unlucky countenance.

This Gypsey will but cozen you.

She is excellent cunning, and has foretold str ange things, beleeve it.

If my Mistris have an opinion of her Art, she may do me a displeasure; I have heard much talk of this woman, some say she is a Witch too, and weares the Devill in her thumbe Ring, I would not anger one of her Familiars. Take no of­fence Mistris at the rudenesse of my Language, this Lady shall give a very faire pawne, the word of a Gentlewoman, that I shall be of good beha­viour, if you please not to interpret me too ha­stily.

There is some texs in your forehead Sir that wants a comment, but Ile not so much study your satisfaction.

Nay, thou shalt not be displeased with him.

Alas, I am not angry; heres my Lady and Sir William.

You are Master of an excellent language Sir.

You honour me too much, it is because you are the excellent Subject Madam, and being the perfection of your Sexe, an argument to create Eloquence in every tongue.

Then I must think you flatter; these prai­ses are misplac'd. I shall suspect you love me not, or are not wise.

Why Madam?

You take such paines, and make a pilgri­mage to thats within your reach; I must confess I like Discourse, but think not all my soule plac'd in my eare; although I love a Lute well, it fol­lows not I should dote upon a Cimball.

A Cimball?

And dance as I were stong with a Taran­tula, when you are at it, rosting of a Galliard? You overdo this instrument, give me your courtship in a phrase is fit to own and understand.

Your pardon Madam; I affect not bold and over-rack'd Hyperboles, although I might in­sist upon the wealth and fulness of your merits, to which, all praise, that can flow from me, is Ju­stice, such command you have upon your humble Servant, I rather wish my tongue a forfeit to per­petuall silence, then with one harsh sound offend your eare; you'l give me leave I hope to say I love you.

This is English Sir, and some do call it sence; 'tis faire, and fit, when any Lady's private with her Servant; 'tis what I learn'd a child, I have not yet outgrown the knowledge.

Did you love so young?

I understand the meaning of your lan­guage, 'tis not perplext, and you may love me too, and tell me so, and I may understand you; what need compartments here, freeses, and words of Architecture, that will make things hard to the un­derstanding? As you could not build a sence in love without 'em? Yet I bar not the freedom of Dis­course, and use of Metaphors: And you may praise us too in Verse, or Prose, to shew the exal­tation of your wit in company, but 'tis the worst [Page 12] discourse when we are private.

If I had confidence she would direct me—action I beleeve when opportunity In­vites—

To what good Knight? be not mistaken, I commend courtship in words, that are made round like pills fit to be swallowed, and not rag­ged bullets.

'Tis a strange Lady, I know not how to take her.

My Lady? Madam—

Art thou come?

Is it your Ladiships pleasure I shall read to day?

By any meanes, the Ladies will not faile, we should forget our Academy: Sir William we must entreat your patience, and Ma­ster Newman.

Madam, the Ladies.

Say I wait upon 'em.

Ile take my opportunity.

You will engage him to credulity, and prepare some mirth.

Mounsier Galliard the Dancer attends Madam.

He must give way to another exercise; Sir William you shall do us a favour if you please to entertaine a little time with him in the next Chamber, our Lecture will not be long, and sweet Mr Newman the French-man will delight you with his discourses, he has a tongue as confident as his feet, if you can but humour him.

You shall command us Madam.

That Done wee'l joine societies and mirth. Come Mrs Voluble.

I hope you will excuse my imperfecti­ons.

Act II. Scaene I.

IT is an infinite favour, (most excellent Ladies) and must needs speak the sweet­ness of your nature and dispositions, that y'are pleas'd to hear me, so weak and un­worthy of the Chaire, rather deserving to be in the number of Disciples, than a professor in any of the female sciences; but as your ver­tues are more exemplary, in this honour to me, the humblest of your Servants, it will become me, in the gratitude to so noble a bounty, not to waste time, but succinctly to deliver, what I could not finish without trespasse on your patience; at my last reading I did conclude with old Ladies, that will cozen Nature, and Time, and abuse the men they love best; to these I only add, it is not Mercu­ry to change their skins like Snakes, but they must fill up wrinckles as well as hide gray haires: your red leather is for Countrey Wenches, your white wash, or Spanish Fucus is the best, but a tire wo­man, [Page 14] or coverer of time or nakedness must be kept in pension: sor it is now fashionable to buy one of her apprencice Girles out of her time, as Lords and Gentlemen do Barbers boyes. Amongst other ornaments, Ribbands challenge no meane place, the variety, and blason of these, I have elsewhere examined. For your finest Laces, the Angel in Cheape, but they must be dearer then o­thers, because they come in Coaches, for pride or stateliness in any thing adds charges. Touching Gloves, might I advise, I would have a few select­ed Ladies, to procure some ingenious Gentleman at a reasonable pension to lye Lerger for them at Rome for Frangepane Gloves, and such other cor­respondent things as may be of moment and great consequence to your Ladyships: But then I must advertise, and most seriously, that he may be a man of parts, and somewhat smelling toward the Roman Wash, that he may give you intelli­gence of that State, and humours of the Gardi­nals, or those that pretend to it, be they little or great, for this concernes the state Ladies here: For your swarfie Mountebanke Italian, he utters sophisticated Holborne Gloves for Frangepane, Esse [...] Cheese for Parmesan, rotten post for sweet powder, pickled white Leather for Mushromes, and cozens more with his broken English, then the wits can get honesily with their best language.

The Merchant of Italian Saulsages, A meet Quack.

But then I would advise your Ladiships to have another Gentleman sent into Spaine for perfumes, pocket Fannes, orange flower water, Orange flower butter beauty, Aqua de Chedrey, [Page 15] and many provocatives, as Contra yerua, and Joco lata.

It is a very learned Gentlewoman.

For Holland, 'tis too deare in Spaine, there­fore for a conscionable cozenage over and above, here are honest Dutchmen will serve you most faithfully. For Jewels, you may buy them at what rates you please, they add lustre to a Lady, and you may sell them at a fift or sift part, which is very well for a great Madam, if you would put them off at the best rate, you must get some Do­ctor of Phisick, or broking Apocriphall Captain, to shew them (as if there were fornication in it) behind the doore, hanging or curtaine, which makes his fingers like Jewellers cardes to set rings on, for there are bawdes for rings and Jewels, as well as for other commodities.

What do you think of this caution Ma­dam?

For your Linnen, it must be fine, and fresh every day, therein consists humane delight. For linnen breeches, though some think them cleanly, in my opinion they imitate a Dutch Stove too much. For Aprons, plaine Holland is most be­comming, starch'd Lawne was in Queen Elizabeths time, and will not endure rumpling, every thing must be squar'd by use and elegance; but for your white Shoes, rich Roses, light-coloured silk Stock­ings, and such variety below staires, they are great Inducers, as a learned man told me, (I will not say a Divine) for Love, most excellent Ladies, doth sometimes ascend, as well as descend.

But still remember Ladies, that your Fanne be so little, as not to lose the least smirke, or grace [Page 16] of your countenance for it, for then being so small, when you put it to your face, some Courtiers may take it for a black patch. Then for your oaths, I protest is out of fashion, I professe for a Justice of Peaces Wise, I vow too masculine, yfaith for a Chambermaid, Introth for a Landerer, As you hope to live, too like a Prayer; Never stir, would disadvantage a Lady many waies, besides visits; For the active wenches of the time, May they be damn'd eternally, and lose all their designs if it be not so; Upon my honour sounds well, which in a great Lady can never be forfeited if she be in love, for great women have their privilege of Nobility, and can never be forsworn like the Com­mon people.

Is Perjury in women no breach of Laws?

You have the Doctors opinion.

One touch, if you grow old, which I omit­ted formerly, When time, which is the moath of beauty, creeps upon you, you must be sure to have so many leaves and curtaines before your windows, that you may shew your selves at more varions lights than the most cozening Mercer his faded and deceitfull Wares, for the youth of your white Satin will be then but pearle colour at the best, it may be but ash-colour, and therefore re­fuse no advantage to give it gloss, according to the conclusion of a moderne Poet, which at this pre­sent shall be mine.

You have done us a great honour, and Ladies you shall not deny me this favour to taste of a small banquet that waites upon you in the [Page 17] next roome, shall I shew the way.

Me be content to have de litell patience, and be my trot, me tell you, vat me have seene a to day, de fine sport in devarle, me come into de great man to day, me make de reverence Ala­mode, come ill faut, and he make me de estrange a Sir reverence de tird time, dat ever you saw.

That was not civill.

Oh Monsieur, every man has not the activity of your feet.

By my fat, 'tis very estrange a ding, dat dey will suffer a des men to be neere a de King, a de Queene, de Prince, or de Princesse, dey vil marra de understanding very mush.

Why Mounsieur that lyes at the o­ther end.

Begar you shall excuse a me, for de Courtier Alamode, dere de vit lie in de foot, begar dere is nobodie can be viseman, dat does no make a de most excellent reverence, dat is most certaine, dat is the best ting in de hole varle.

I am cleare of his opinion.

But do you think Caesar Sir, or most of the Emperors or worthies of the world, studied the liberall science of the foot, or puissant toe?

No, but begar dat make dem dye all un­fortunate, for if dey had tinke of noting but de reverence, dey might ha live a great a while.

Excellent well argued, and very cleare in my understanding.

I confesse the wisedome of it Sir, but [Page 18] for the wit do you thinke that lyes there?

Dat be de best vit can be possible, for your vit, vat is your vit? your vit is to breake a de jeast, vel, looke you now a me, me vil breake a de jeast, dat is like dat a me lor, dat is like dat of de Knight, dat is like dat of de Ientilman, ha, ha, ha! dere is now one, two, tre very good jeasts, by my trot dey are so very good jeast, dat make a me sicke wide laugh, and begar me vil make a de page, de lacquey, & all de foole in de court, breake a des very good jeast, very quickly, dat is a noting.

To any purpose?

What doe you thinke of the grave Aldermen? they are wise, and yet they doe not trouble themselves much about legs.

Be my trot, me speake a to de King, and to de Queene, to give me a patten, dat none shall teach a de Aldermen to make a de reverence but my selfe, and me vil undertake dat vid in one 12 a mont, but den dey must doe nothing else, dey shall make a de reverence, vid de Aldermen in de paris, and dance a Coran, a Cereban, a Moun­tague, and dat vil be very brave.

VVhat faculties some men have?

But what shall businesse do in the meane time Mounsieur?

Is not dis very great a businesse? may be­gar, me vil undertake to de King and to de Queen to make a my Lor Mayre de Sheriff and de Al­dermen very fine a mask.

And to write it Mounsieur?

Aw, de write? dat is noting alamode, your speesh two, tre, yard long, pshaw? give a me de quick a spirit, de fancie, de brave scene, [Page 19] de varietie of de Antimasque, de nimble a foot, no matre de sence, begar it vole be de braveting in de christian varle.

There is no question to be made.

And be my trot if me have a noder patten for de counsell learned in the law, for to teach dem de reverence, dat vil be very great varke, but my diligence, and skill in dat matre, have no despaire, to effect in time dis great benefit, and dat vil make a de law flourish; and Englan a brave Englan, begar.

I won't doubt your abilityes, but I feare the capacity of the Gentlemen you undertake.

But what will you look for now, for your paines Mounsieur? that is considerable.

Begar me looke for very mush, for tis mush paine, and tis brave ting, beside me looke for a statur of de brasse, in de pallace yard, ven me goe out of dis varle.

You will deserve it as a rare patriot; but what manner of reverence would you have the grave lawyers to Imitate, you must consider their robes:

Observe a me.

Such a reverence under your favour, would not become men of their gravity, one al­wayes lookes for a Coranto after it, and provokes a man to whistle, or fing when he sees it, and makes one thinke still, what you would have a moneth, a little too much of the activity.

Begar you no understand de matre, vere is your breine? dere is noting in de varle like a dat motion, for de Ientillman, and for de Ientilvoman.

Yes by your leave sir there is some­thing [Page 20] else that is as good for them.

I vil tell you now, begar, here is a de kinsman dat is a me, and he live here very much time, before he come, dey vent in vid deir toes, and hold der cloke just a dere, and de hat so, fie, le diable! and now dey valk vid deir toes out for brave genty, you call dat a de splay foot, but me vonder dat de Lady no come, begar me no use to dis patience, and de vaite, pray tell you Madam dat me have autre busines vid de Lor, and de autre Lady have de use of my foot begar.

Oh Monsieur by no means.

Let us prevaile.

Tis no good you hold a me, begar, me no stay two minute to save a your soule, dat is de re­solution of de Cavalier de France.—

Would any man beleeve there should be so much folly in this Cubit square?

Do you think he is a French Dancer? let that answer you, and wonder he has no more Caprichios. But these Ladies are very tedious, we must have this Lecture put down.

They are more like to purchase Gresham Colledg, and enlarge it for publick Professors, you may live to see another University built, and only women commence Doctors.

But now we talk of learned women, you have been acquainted with Mistris Voluble, has she the abilities the women talk of? they say she is a Fortune-teller.

She is for more then Artificiall VVhite and Red, some think her guilty of the Black-Art, she has foretold so many strange things; she has had two Husbands, and prophesied long before, how, [Page 21] and when they should give up the Ghost, if she be not a Witch she has the more wrong, for she is be­leev'd a devillish cunning woman.

Possible!

There's no [...] a Lady with child but con­sults her Astrology, whether it shall be male or female; and the waiting women how long they shall keep their maidenheads, and who shall fa­ther the first borne, the Master or the servingman; she is held a Sibill in the City, and tells oracu­lously whether the Husband or the VVife shall die first, how, when, and where, and all this some­time by observation of the hand, or forehead; she can see a maid through a maske, and is excel­lent at stolne goods, for she can see a theefe through a millstone as well as a conjuring glasse; in brief, she is held prodigious at Divination, and most specially seldome failes in her Judgment of the two destinies, Matrimony, and Hanging, this I have heard Sir.

Sr William Your Servant, Master Newman? that's he.

Jeere him soundly.

VVhat Gentlemen are these?

He has betraid his ignorance already, he does not know us.

VVhat, not the Major, and the Minor?

Not the Major, nor the Minor.

Cede majori Sir, Cede majori.

Parce minori Sir, Parce minori.

Here will be a fine conclusion from these premises, and they were worth considering.

These two are wits.

Are they your wits? Pray heaven you may not lose 'em.

If you love wit observe a little, and if I do not make you laugh, never laugh while you live.

I thank you Sir.

You shall here how I will jeere Newman, my Rivall now; such wit, wit of the last Edition: Let me have faire play, and these most ingenious friends of mine shall be judges.

I think so, 'twill passe time till the La­dies come.

Mr Newman, you are a pretty Scholler, pray what is wit?

A thing you want.

A very pretty Probleme.

VVill you or these Gentlemen be bound to understand me?

Ha, ha, ha, that's a clinch, to under­stand me.

A clinch?

I understand none.

Oh sir, a palpable clinch; Ha, ha, ha, aske my friend.

Is that your opinion?

Theres another clinch yfaith, ha, ha, ha.

Pray sir, what is't a clock?

The mystery of this?

VVhat is a clinch sir, do you know what 'tis?

I neither know, nor care what 'tis, so I laugh, and sweare 'tis a clinch, that's disgrace and reproach enough to any man. With what ease can we cry up our own wit and anothers down, only by [Page 23] saying that's a clinch. I think I ha jeerd him.

Oh the waies to wit are much shortned in these latter times, 'tis a picant age.

They have a gunpowder-plot to blow up sence; pray Gentlemen take truce with your spleenes, and the wisest of you three informe me what is wit; you have; no patience to heare me; or if you will not define it, speake something that is witty, and in fashion.

Ile tell you then:

You speak English to be understood, O base!

VVhat language is your wit?

English, but elaborate, for example—now beat up your kettle drums.

Sir, if my opticks faile not, I have read

Each mystick line within your brow, my Genius

Is much exalted at your gaudy Phisnomy;

Shal's to the house of mighty noise and surfets,

There tinctiour souls with bloud of purple grape?

VVhat's all this?

Ha, ha, I thought you were ignorant.

Give him the Paraphrase.

All this is, he remembers perfectly he has seene you before.

And desires you but to go to the Tavern, and drink a pint of wine; here's language!

Is't possible?

VVhat a deale of Embroydery is spent upon I am glad to see you well; How long has this been a vulgar language? You would court a Mistris rarely in this Cabale.

But how shall a man beget such high conceits?

Have you a desire to know Sir William? shall I tell him?

If he will make it a secret.

Why, turne your selfe round as fast as you can, and the first things you speak, your head being dissie, will be these.

What a beavy of Buffoons have we here?

VVe are at your mercy Gentlemen; but you that had a patience to expect so long, cannot want vertue to forgive, since we had no intent to make so great a trespasse; where's Monsieur Gal­liard?

Madam, he's gone, something displeas'd you had no more regard to a Gentleman of his quality; his time was pretious, and some other Lords and Ladies expected him.

His absence will admit of easie pardon, 'tis a most superstitious foole; what Gent. are these?

They are things were meant by nature, Madam, a cure for melancholly, we have had such sport and non-sence with 'em

VVe shall lose time upon 'em, please you, wee'l take a turne i'th Gallery.

Mistris Lucy be tender-hearted to these Gentlemen.

They are only fit for your compassion.

They are worth your acquaintance, Ma­ster Newman knows 'em; have not their wits a pretty edge?

Dismisse your Beagles I shall beat you all three else, and monstrously, indeed I shall; be rul'd, and keep your wits warme, I shall sling out like winter.

I thank you sir and you be in earnest; I

protest Major, and Minor, the man's in wrath, away.

How now Iames.

I am glad I ha found you sir, your mother's come to town, she rode behind me.

Not too loud, where is she? I would not have it known till she have other cloaths, and bet­ter breeding.

She's at your Lodging sir.

Mistris Ʋoluble, my mother's come by directions, mum, and make haste; sweet Mistris Lucy, I beseech you take it not unkindly if I de­part.

By no means noble sir.

This is my man that has brought me newes out of the Country forsooth.

None of your Tenants dead I hope?

Some are Coppyholders, and I hope you wish me no harme, but I vow 'tis not my fault that I must take my leave so abruptly.

You have a cheerefull licence sir.

As I hope to make new Leases, and sell a hundred Acres of wood this Terme, I am very sorry, but I will waite upon you in the Evening. Noble Mr. New.

Ha, ha, that's a clinch.

I am your humble Servant.

Another Clinch I protest.

Now we have opportunity I preethee Mrs Voluble for my sake tell him his Fortune; I have been a s [...]tor to know your destiny.

It will be a favour, it was in my ambition to desire it.

My Lady desires your presence in the gallery.

I must observe her command, but you may satisfie the Gentleman in my absence, and Mr: Newman when you know how the starres have determined of you, make not me a more stranger.

I shal be onely fortunate to be yours.

Now Mistris Ʋoluble, if you be acquainted with my starres, and know what fortune they de­cree me, I stand full prepared; what lines are in my forehead, you observe so?

Pray let me see your hand.

Freely command it.

Some that doe make a trade of fortune­telling (which is beneath my practise) flatter mea for their base end of profit, Ile be plaine.

Truth loves no other habit, you pre­pare me to give you the more faith.

Tis very strange, but this is most pro­pheticall, you are—

VVhat?

In love.

'Tis very likely.

It may not prove so lucky, love is a malanchoy businesse.

I thinke it be. Is this all you can tell by your art?

You would know your destiny.

VVhat please my starres and you?

Take this for oracle then, you will do something in a melancholy humour will enda [...] ger your neck.

My necke? shall I be hang'd? better the witch were burn'd.

Fare you well Sir.

A pox a your prognostick, she has put me

Into a sweat, and I doe more than halfe

Beleeve she is a witch, or worse, in a melan­choly humour; must I doe something to endanger my necke? unth? I shall put my selfe into a des­perate melancholy with thinking on't; I will be mercy, 'tis time to laugh and sing, thoughts doe not vex me to a new tune, ther's no way but to a Taverne, Ile seeke out company.

Act. III. Scaena. I.

I Have obeyed you sonne, but I shall never sadge with these things you talke of.

Then y'are an asse, every childe can doe it.

I, if I had been a Gentlewoman of a child, much might ha been done.

Alas after a little time, you wil take pride every day of your selfe; I wonder this wench [Page 28] comes not! what? your sonne has a care of you, and 'tis never too late to learne to be a Lady; this maide I commend to you, is a very rare dresser to a pinne, and will keepe your linnen with all variety of sweet bagges and powders, that can be imagined; and for your rich gownes, she will preserve 'em with the new fashion-sereclothes, and make them outlast Egyptian bodyes.

But must my old Mistris be a Lady? that will be fine ifaith.

The Taylour has taken measure for a Lady I am sure, and three or foure yards of Sat­tin, more than will serve for a Gentlewoman.

Then she mun be kirstned, and call'd Madam.

Peace and harken to my Landlady.

Besides she has the rarest receits to de­stroy moathes, and such a soveraigne medicine a­gainst fleas, that your maides need never to squeak as if they were ravish'd, peeping into their smocks before they go to bed.

That will be fine.

The weneh I tell you on, knowes how to consume Cornes too, and for fidelity about your box of teeth, false haire, your glasse eye.—

My Mother has two eyes of her owne, but that one squints.

Then for all manner of Caudles, Aleber­ries, Possets, and preserves in all kinds, and should you lye in this maid will be the most diligent creature about warming of cloaths, and for brothes and gellies most excellent, and for all strengthners of nature; then if any of your wo­men be to apt to conceive any thing that is ill, [Page 29] she hath her drinkes of retention, and expulsi­on—but Madam

She is no Lady yet.!

Sir I speake what I foresee, and there­fore among our selves, Madam agen, this maid is very discreet, you will know what that meanes, not troublesom when your Ladiship would be private, nor suffer any else to trouble you, and beside she will never be in love, which is no small matter for a waiting woman; she is here already—

Mrs. Nice you are fortunate to be recom­mended, to attend this, (but a Gentlewoman yet.).

She is too fine.

Hold your prating, and heare my Land­lady, have not you clothes to come home?

I shall think my starres have been care­full of me, if I may have the happinesse to shew my duty to so noble a Lady.

She calls me Lady too.

They know what will become on you.

Oh that I could speake so gainely; I am but new come out of the Country, but if you please to be as good as your word, I will doe the best I can, to be thankfull, as they say.

My mothers very raw, you must coddle her, you will have but a foule hand with her, doe you thinke she will ever come to any good? the truth is, I am asham'd on her, and therefore be not a knowne that she is my mother, till you ha' disciplin'd her, she must live very privately.

How shall her name, person and estate be publish'd? do not you meane to have her a La­dy?

By any meanes sir, and let me be one of her Gentlemen.

I have it; do you observe the maid I commended to her? She is a Gentlewoman al­waies bred among Ladies, and knows how to talk, and carry her self, before any Knight or Lord in the Court: What, if for the more expedite way to your mothers instructions this wench should take upon her sometime to be her Mistris, and in her name, before strangers, exercise some pride and courtship? 'tis a neerer way by example than precept to arive at any thing; and by observing her Fashion, Garbe, and Language, your mother may be sooner ripe for a Ladiship by at least two months, beside all the rules she may receive from us in private.

Admirable! My mother is a towardly old woman.

Old? you do not know how painting may transforme Age; and the wench is not so young as she seems; howsoever this will be only to stran­gers, and you may with more reputation own her for your mother among Gallants, 'tis but saying she was married at twelve, and you pop'd into the world before thirteen.

I will leave her to your tuition, and this Gentlewomans education.

Then 'tis thus Madam, come hither Nice.

Iames, thou shalt wait upon me to my Mistris when thou hast better cloaths.

I have a new suite coming up from top to toe.

Ile never live in the Country agen, such another clod was I when I came to London; mo­ther [Page 31] you must be dutifull, 'tis for your own good; but do you heare Landlady, have you spoke the powerfull word to my Mistris? Shall I have her from Newman?

I have read his destiny, and if things hit with his credulous nature, he will make himself uncapable of her affection; you are the next in preferment, never feare it, and leave your mother to our method and government, we will both edi­fie, and Ladifie her.

With all my heart: buoy Lady mother.

If please you wee'l withdraw; you must be secret Iames.

What have we here?

The Ghost of Leister?

A proper fellow?

It is not dark enough; how they gape at me?

Let's make sport with him, he shews admirably by twilight, he has not travelled far sure; such a shape would get money in Barthol­mew Faire.

Are you a high German sir?

Yes, 'tis a Fencer; did you not heare of a Swisse that came over to be beaten at eight severall weapons?

By your favor sir, no, 'tis no high Ger­man, those breeches are not worne in Switzer­land, [Page 32] there is something of the codpiece—

'Tis not His Majesties Operatour for the Teeth, that hangs about Fleet-bridge.

He's not so hansome.

Were not you one of the brothers that guarded the Dyall at Bow Church, and us'd to put Cheapside in mind of their quarters?

No, he wants a Pollaxe; do you think he came not off some Conduit?

I am sure he came not off o'th' saltseller, He is a size too tall.

These rogues will draw a Regiment of Prentices about me presently, and then shall I be apprehended for some sea monster, and thrown into the Thames at the next Staires, to shew their worships how well I can swim—have you any thing to say to me?

'Tis English that he speaks, he is one of us.

I am one that will venture to beat you both in the same language, if you leave me not the sooner.

'Tis some that skulkes in this disguise for debt; we'l say we are Officers, and pretend to arrest him.

Nay then have at you bandogs—

A reskue?

Hold.

Down with the Bayliffes, arrest a Gentle­man in the Kings high way—

So, so, he is escap'd.

You cursed tadpoles, cannot a Gentle­man [Page 33] walk i'th' streets, but such Tenterhookes must catch him by the cloak?

Noble Master Newman, we are your servants; do not you know us? we are no offi­cers.

Have our skins cut into measures.

To the Taverne with me.

With all our hearts.

We will be drunke together.

You shall command us..

At my new Taverne where the wine shal flow as at a Coronation; fifty Fiddles, and a noise of Trumpets come along with me; you two shall send your tickets out for wenches.

Of all complexions, and degrees, from the Madam Alamode, to the humble Wastco­teere.

I beseech you Mrs Lucy make not me the Author, I affect Mr Newman, but this I receiv'd from good intelligence.

I am miserable; I did not think his nature could degenerate into so wild a change, it is some witchcraft, I must grieve for him though I dare not shew it.

Ther is a report, I would be loath you should name me in't, but they confidently say; I dare not justifie upon my knowledge, that he has kild—

Good heaven defend; then I am more un­done.

Nay, these are the fruits of wine and sur­fets; I did not see him bleed, but I heard it from a man of quality, and one that had been Colle­ctor in the Parish, who told me for certaine that Mr Newman did kill him.

Whom? my afflicted heart.

It was an Ossicer that was slaine.

The more unpardonable.—VVhere?

In the Parish of Alhallowes Barking, the Bell man never dawnd since, comming drunk out of a Taverne at twelve—he made no more adoe—there was not such another dog within the VVals; it waited upon the foresaid Bell-man a nights in His Majesties service, to waken the Pa­rish, and all day was hir'd out by a Blind-man, that beg'd, with a Bell about his neck.

Is that all the murder he has committed?

All? you do not consider the blind Begger that's undon by't, or who shall carry the Lanthorne at midnight, to light Gentlemen to the best Ale, and a Bawdy-house; but for my part Ile be no evidence, if the City will suffer such an in­justice within their VValls I can be silent, and think.

VVould this were all the danger, but I seare since he took up this rudeness and strange carriage he may deserve more sorrow.

I love not to meddle in other mens affairs, but I know something.

I prethee tell me all.

The Taverne he frequents he has made his Pheater at his own charge to act intempe­rance; o're the great Roome be uses to be drunk in, they say, he has built a heaven, a Players hea­ven, [Page 35] and thence a Throne's let down, in which, well heated, successively they are drawn up to the clouds to drink their Mistris health, while the mad mortals adore their God of Grape, and gaping look like earth that's chap'd with heat, although before within three minutes they were drench'd.

Dost know that place?

You shall excuse me, I know nothing.

Prethee be not so cautious, I am his friend, and pity him; if for my sake thou woo't but find him out, and tell him I desire to change but a few words, trust me, I may amply requite this service.

You must then keep secret what I un­dertake, Ile do't. Be cautious to whom you speake, we must be circumspect. I will go off invisible.

Monsieur Galliard, my Lady expects you.

Begar me no like a dat reverence, me vil change a dat:

'Tis the French fashion as you taught Me Monsieur.

Ouy, tis de French fashion, but de French fashion is alwaies to change, and dis reverence displease a me very mush, because you go back, back vid your buttock, as if some vod take you by dat, to vat me vil give a no name.

Monsieur Galliard my Ladie will be here presentlie.

Sweet Mrs Lucie.

Dat de reverence is no good of de man, me must change dat too; by me trot me doubt dat dis great business vil almost break a my braine, [Page 36] dis great varke, and before a maske of de King and de Queene, me can eate a no meate, no drinke, no sleepe, and me growe so very a leane, vid de contemplation, a so much, by my trot de privy counsell is no so much troubled as me be vid dis, oh, le Diable! deirs is noting, dey sit all the vile dey doe deir busines, me bissey bo'te head, and de foot cap a pie, in de french tune, and dat is great matre begar.

You esteeme it highly Mounsieur.

Me tell you, and me tell you no tale, tis great matre to make a de Lor, to make a de Lady, to make a de Gentleman, to make a de Gentil­voman, and de autre man to dance, and to make a de good reverence, for begar dat vil make a de King, de great kin in de varle.

How can that be Sir?

Me tell you, ven dey are so bissey, to learne a de dance, dey vil never tinke of de Re­bellion, and den de reverence is obedience to Monarchy, and begar obedience is ale de ting in de varke.

I'le sweare your state affaires ly in your foot, and you are wifer there, than some heads are, and may be a president for after ages; but what musick would you governe the people by?

Begar by de best french fidles can be got?

What thinke you of an Irish harpe, a state organ, or a pastionate voyce to a lovers lute?

Des dull tings make a de men melancho­lique, and den dey tinke on de Devill, and de [Page 37] treason, and do any ting dat is no good, but be­gar des french fidles doe fidle all deis tings out of deir head, vid such a Jearke, as ma foy make a dem so phantasticall, and make a dem as good subject, as any is in de France begar.

I must waite upon my Mother.

She will be here immmediately.—

She is not right yet.

Here be one of my coliers, Mounsieur Sim­platon, say you no dat de french fidle make a de brave government in de varle?

I say any thing becomes a Gentleman.

Observe you dat? he have been but two are mont and he say any thing, dat is very brave? he have de grand understanding in de foot; tell a me, ven you heare a de little fidell, vat is your tinke? is your head no free from de treason, and plot of de rebell, as your leg? begar you no stand upon de ground for Joy of de Coran, de Cerebran, de Marquiss, de Mountague, ha!

My Lady.

Me be your humble servant Madam, and stay one two tre houre.

I am now ready for you Mounsieur, come Lucy the practise of the last he taught us.

The Gentleman you expect Sir VVilliam is come.

Madam prepare your selfe for mirth, 'twill be a sight beyond the pageants.

Wee'l not be seen at first, Lucy with­draw.—

What meanes this flourish? have you a play in hand?

Ha!

Vat Antick be dis?

One of the supporters of the Brewers Armes.

Ha, ha, ha, does he take upon him to be a Prince too, and will he speake?

These Ladyes have ambition to kisse your hand, and have a great desire to know, how fares the campe at Tilbury, and please your Ex­cellencie.

'Tis one of Arthurs Knights of the round Table.

VVith his circular sippets; would you thinke that a pigmy poison'd should swell thus?

I am betraid, there's no retreat with honour, I must be confident.

Laugh and Jeere him hansomely.

Oh that the Major, and the Minor had been here now, they would teeze him ifaith, Mounsieur, aske that Maypole and he can dance.

Plait il Mounsieur? a la Galiard, de Goran, la Princesse, le Buckingham, heigh!

Put up your rosin, and your cats­guts [Page 39] presently and be gon, or I shall finde a grave for you in the pocket of my sleeve, and this shal be your winding sheet.

Me no play dat lesson, pocket de sleeve, dat is no tune de France, poket, le grand pock:—

pardonne moy Mounsieur: me put up my fidell and be gon, adieu Madam, Serviteur gentilhomes; pocket de sleeve?

But I must not seeme angry, Lady, my businesse is to you.

Businesse to me?

I am bold to present a sute to you, I confesse it was not made by a French Tailor, I can make a leg and kisse my hand too after the fashion of my cloaths, this serv'd in those honest dayes, when Knights were Gentlemen, and pro­per men tooke the walls of dwarfes; here's a belly peece, that lookes like armour, with what come­linesse may a man unbutton his dublet, when he seemes to take the wall to make urine? your sleeve so neere your nose, with a handkerchiefe, which I take out thus with a grace, after Emuncti­on, I put up agen, with the corianders hanging out, Geometricall breeches in severall slises, in which a man is not asham'd of his thighes, nor hides his bow leggs, which at the bottome sur­rounded with points make him look like a rough­sooted Pigeon, these things were worne when men of honor flourish'd, that tam'd the wealth of Spaine, set up the States, help'd the French King, and brought Rebellion to reason Gentle­men.

So they doe now.

Peace pepper corne; and all this at lesse charge than a masque comes to now, with the rare and new invention of hobbiehorses; which of our two habits (be you Lady, but the indifferent Judge, and squint not,) is the more grave and manly, his leane upper chinne, or this goodly promontory? my Trunkes with a round walke pav'd with gold and silver, or your trouses, cut close to your dock, and drawne on with a screw? in which if you venture but halfe a crowne, lookes like a poltisse, or a swelling in the groine; your habit is phantasticall as the time, you squirt into your dublet, which you weare so carelesse as you had not button'd it since you came from a baw­dy house, where men of this garbe, coming from the stewes, march with that gravity as they came from a conventicle, so soherly they would carry it.

I see whoring was equall in all times, onely the carrying of it.

Why that's all?

But surely I doe wonder, how my Grandfather could kisse my Grandmother, or embrace in that strange apparell.

They made a shift Knight, or else your wise worship had not been here; but that I want so much beard, I could shew how your Grandfa­ther stroak'd his three or foure handfull of haire, to the terrour no doubt of the standers by, and could stab I warrant you, with his two handed beard then, as well as you with your dagger beard now. It was never a good time since these cloaths went out of fashion; oh, those honourable dayes and persons!

Is't possible?

As how?

I pray inlarge your selfe.

To have seene but a St. Georges feast then.

Why, what difference sir?

When they were install'd, to see the twenty mile to Windsor strow'd with blew­coates, feathers and cognizances, as they do coun­try townes with boughes, and flowers for Princes Entries, and not to go privately in a coach, with a page and a barber to cut off charges.

How doe you like this Gentleman, Is't not a pretty humour?

Then you should have the best knight of the Countrey, with the ragged staffe on their sleeves.

Every Knight had his hundreds, and these would take up all the Tavernes in the Towne, be druoke to the honour of their Lords, and rather than not pay their reckoning, pawne their chains, though they pawn'd something for them the night before, and such merry catches then, as

So the Ladies do still.

It may be so, but for your Knights bright Sword 'tis at pawn, or at home in his Armory; then we had, God blesse the Duke of Norfolke, there was a jeast, and another Song.

He's very confident.

Alas, he is compel'd to't.

How do you like this Mrs Lucy, is he not a pretty ill-favour'd Gentleman in this habit?

He sings rarely.

No question he can dance too, in that disguise he lookes like famous Cardell the dancing. Master in Queen Elizabeths time, I have seen his Picture.

And he with your Worships favour, was held a wise man, and for his gravity he might have been Treasurer, he went with that setled and solid Pian-piano.

And when he danc'd a measure, you should have had him with his Rapier, short Cloak, [Page 43] his black Cap, and his white Feather, his single and double, both backward and forward, with that excellencie—

And now he must be in Cuerpo, or like a fellow on the ropes, or a Tumbler when he shoots his body through a hoop; there was musick then, and a Heaven and Earth, beyond your braules, or your Mountague, with a la, la, la, like a Bachana­lian dancing the Spanish Morisce, with knackers at his fingers.

It must needs be a rare sight.

He plaid to himself on a grave Lute, or a modest Citterne, with a politick quill, far beyond your Geofrey fiddle, or your French kit, that looks like a broken fagot stick, at the biggest, and sounds as if it had got the French disease, when it snivels out a Coranto, or so hoarse with a cold, as if some great base Fiddle had filenc'd it.

What misery is it, the Monsieur is gone now? here had been a French Duell.

But had you seen my Lord Loftie dance the Galliard, with such capers, such half capers, such turns o'th toe, and above ground, you would have sworn 'em sound for nine Generations, and for Lavaltoes, La, la, la, &c. and then the Lady.

How did he use her?

With wonderfull skill, he put his right arme about her, and took her lest hand in his, and then he did so touze her with his right thigh and legg, and list her up so high, and so fast, and so round—

As what I pray, be curteous.

Marry as soon as he had ended his dance she would lye down as dead as a swing'd chicken, [Page 44] with the head under the wing, so dissie was she, and so out of breath; and all these wonders were extant Knight when this old Cap was new.

Is not this very fine sport Madam?

Sir, y'are welcome; pray excuse me, if being prepar'd for some folly, your garbe and per­son seem'd at first ridiculous; you have chang'd my opinion, and there wants but such a noble lea­der to reduce, and make this habit fashionable; it shews a proper man, and if I were worthy to ad­vise, or could lay an obligation upon you, I should take it for an honour if you would often visit me in these ornaments, I like 'em infinitely, and the Wearer shall be ever welcome; please you wee'l walk and talk a turn in the Gallery.

You too much grace me Madam.

In my judgment 'tis an indifferent pret­ty fellow, but that his cloaths are out of fashion.

They are most becomming; I do not like your new phantasticall shapes, that transforme a man from his masculine aspect; you appear to me like a Jackanaps; there's a waste, and a Long lane cut close to your hanches.

Hum! she takes after the old one, I will try and shift my self, if the mother be taken with the habit in Qu. Elizabeths daies, why may not the daughter affect that in K. Jameses, and so the humor run in a bloud? I am resolv'd; she loves sing­ing too, I am furnish' with Ballads, o'my consci­ence [Page 45] this will do't; Ile fit her with a fashion, and about it presently.

They are here agen, and laugh at me: How familiar the Turtles are?

Ha, ha, ha.

Wee'l taste some aire i'th' garden, ha, ha, ha.

So, so, if I did love this widow for her self, what a case were I in? but I must not sit down thus, and something must be thought on for my honour.

Act. IIII. Scaene I.

SO, so, thou dost carry it excellently, it spreads like a Proclamation, what a rich widdow lies at my house, her wealth, and wit, must be exercis'd.

She must not appeare to be herself yet but in private, and the Chiause her Son has be­stow'd this Jewell upon me for expedition, for he dares not yet acknowledge her; she wonders at herself now she is painted, & sweares in her conscience she looks by her glass like one of foure and twenty, and simpers, and licks her leatherne lips as she had eaten Marmalade.

Sir William has heard of her, and (upon some affront, as I conjecture receiv'd from my Lady) has writ to me, and articled already to dispose her affections, I expect him every minute.

He will discover us.

He shall never see thee act her part.

Do you thinke he can affect her?

Courtiers do not marry into the City for love, and this Farmers wife has wealth enough to

buy a Ladiship; here's the gull, away and be dili­gent.

They'l fit you as well as my self for whom they were made in the Countrey.

How now sir, preparing for a race?

Is no body else with you? Do not en­quire what stratagem is in hand, there be more waies to catch a Mistresses heart; how does my mother?

She is pretty apt for one of her yeares: I can tell you news, there is a Knight about her already.

She shall have him.

Not with your favour if a greater person Interpose, I have so much care of her honour, now she is my charge.

Mistris Voluble, here's a Footman, lac'd all over, enquires for you, he serves a French Lord, he saies he must needs speak with you, he has a letter.

What if this Lord come hither for the same purpose?

Tis too much happinesse; Ile not be [Page 47] seen thus, nor let my Mother appeare in her roughcast, use the Footman kindly, if his mes­sage concerne us, away—

And will this Fashion become me, dost thinke? I prethee tell me some old stories in to'ther raigne, thou canst talke and make me ready too.

Ah sir, I knew a time, when two and twen­yeares was but a merry Christmas, nothing but Ambassadors, Masques, Playes, Entertainements, Hawking, Hunting, Winter and Summer, New-Market and Roiston mourne now, ha! had you seen the Court fox'd upon Gouries night, and the Gunpouder treason began then; oh we had rare sport, and then every body was knighted, they hardly lest a Gentleman in those dayes; and afterward they got a tricke of making Lords.

For what?

I know not that, but they hardly left a Knight, man, woman, and childe were made right honourable.

Right honourable, right worshipfull, and well beloved, I have heard that in the Coun­tr [...]y.

But the fashion of welbeloved is left off, for we doe not now love one another.

But had you no misfortunes?

Faith Sir, a rainy day was the worst, and that had but made the ground more soluble the next day for hunting.

No complaints James?

Oh yes sir! I hard a Gentleman complaine mightily that he had lost the highest flying tassell gentle, that ever was seene, another that he had [Page 48] prick'd his grey Nag, that was an excellent buck­hunter; a third, that he had fretish'd his best hound, Beauty, and that Lilly was kill'd at a Bay a stag-hunting, it had almost cost the Genleman his life.

And what else James?

By my troth sir, a Gentleman waiter, that shall be namelesse, removing a pasty of Venison, spilt it all, on a new satten doublet, and spoiled it utterly, there was such laughing, but his Master being gracious gave him a sute for his doublet, I thinke it was a Knight; but the Knight market is risen now.

I and the Lord Market too, James.

And please your worship, they say, the Herald would not make a Gentleman now, under ten pound.

Oh yes, they'l take reason to my knowledge, and give the prettiest phantasticall armes, I have all the colours of the Rainebow in my new coate, every foole may be a Gentleman of three generations now.

I can derive my selfe knave three de­scents under your ancesters.

Then thy children may write them­selves knaves of blood, take that upon my Heral­dry; but had not you brave songs then James?

In those dayes was the quintessence of ballads, you went to schoole with 'em, I remem­ber and learn'd no other bookes, I shall never for­get the Lord of Lornes sonne in Scotland and the false steward, to the tune of greene sleeves, those were the dayes indeed, oh there was then such a company for dancing singing and fooling, I doe [Page 49] not meane the wits, for sooling is another thing cleare from it; It does so bravely in company, when there is a great many that care not for wit, and pleases better than all the wit in the world; and then there was such brave jeasts, at the death of a Stag, and Buck; to throw blood up and downe, upon folkes faces; the very Footn en and Pages understood those Jeasts then; there was a time; and the Landerers were as well Employed in a progresse then as now, and the Surgeons got as much by 'em too; oh, I shall never forget those times.

So, so, how doe I looke in this transfor­mation? will any body know me dost thinke? Mistris Lucy, shall have the first sight of my shape; some body is gone into the dining roome, let us out at the backe doore James.

'Tis well done Nice to be carefull about your Mistris.

I am giving her some instructions about dressing, and was saying, she must not goe above once to court in black, it would be very scanda­lous without intermixing colours, in her petti­cote, sleeves, and stomacher, and the colours now in fashion are blew, pincke, and incarnadine, yel­low is much worne too.

But 'tis very materiall, what lace you wil choose, as silver and gold for blew, (Tha [...]'s a court maxime) and plaine silver for incarnadine, single or mixt will serve for pincke colour.

I shall never remember all this.

It is your Gentlewomans duty to remem­ber.

Let me alone Madam. When you will keepe house, a long handkercheife, or a round one with a quaife tied under your chin, and a lit­tle haire curl'd, with a black taffa ta hood, or white sarfenet.

When you pretend to have a cold, you must shew no haire, but weare a forehead cloth, with a pinner over that, these cloathes are much worne by old Ladyes, with which they binde downe a peece of sea recloth upon their forehead, to keepe wrinckles in obedience. How is her haire?

That little that she has is crazie.

She has enough to curle, and you have the discretion to know what proportion is to be lest out, according to the latitude of her face; and to be curl'd with pinnes and orrice pouder, which will neither hurt nor breake it, and then in the Morning to let the combe passe through it once, and open it, between a curle and a freeze, and draw up some of the curles with a bodkin within the other haire.

My haire will never indure all this.

You must endure more, if you meane to be a Lady of fashion, and attractive; where be the pendants?

Must she not weare a Feather?

Not without a diamond bodkin; have you no Jewels?

Yes, In the knot of my handker­chiefe.

Oh fie, you must buy a Cabinet. What's here? a Toad stone, two Turkies, sixe thumb­rings, three Aldermens seales, five Gemmals, and foure Deaths-heads; these are Alehouse orna­ments—Yet these Diamonds are tollerable, and these Pearles will make a half Chaine.

Would she were hangd in the fellow, con­dition we had the rest.

They must be changd, but Nice may weare these til you get new, they will serve to practice in.

There's a Coach at doore.

Ile pawne my ability the French Lord, 'tis about the time I gave directions to his Foot­man; for his entertainment, you must take upon you the rich widdow, and be you carefull to ob­serve Mrs Nices Language, garbe, and behaviour, to men of his quality; your Rings and Jewels up­on her will credit the cause, and person he comes to visit, which is your self, but under a vaile. Ile prepare his Lordship.

This is all for your instruction; these rings fit me excellent well, and hereaster you may take pride upon you by my example.

I hope I shall learne in time; but I shall be more than a Lady if I marry with a Lord.

Alas, I am but the Lady in the Play.

Now you put me in mind, I have seen pret­ty harlotry Ladies in a Country Play, so proud, and so knavish, one would have sworn they had been women indeed.

Hee's here, you must be modest, and ob­serve your distance now; Is this the Lord? He [Page 52] looks like an over-grown Monkey.

What pretty foolish things some of these young Lords are?

Your Lordship is bountifull; that is she whom fame hath delivered to you; your honour may advance.

Begar dis rish viddow looke young as my selfe.

If my eyes be not in a mist this is the French Dancer.

Vat is your name?

He means to catechise her.

I shall be happy if your Lordship please to own me by the title of your servant.

You must learne to complement thus—'Tis Galliard sure.

She kisse very vel begar, she have de Ala­mode touch of de lip ma foy; can you dance Madam?

I am now confirm'd.

Will he kisse me too?

Vat is she?

A Gentlewoman that attends me for the present.

Dat is a de reverence for de divel, she look like a de wihch Madam, but me tell you Ma­dam, for me love you very mush in the little time, as any man in de varle; me be French Lor, and me have lodging in de autre street, Duke de Me­morency my kinsman, and two tre hundred great Lors have lose deir head in France begar for no matre, and me flye to Englan to save a me neck by me trot.

Were you guilty of any treason?

No more begar than your little self.

What is your estate?

Begar very grand estate in Orleance, me have two tre Lettre from de Cardinall, and he write a me, dat de King send for me to kiss his hand: Now as me vas in de resolution to take a de ship for France, me heare of you Madam in de Strand, and me very glad to marry you before me go presently.

Your Lordship is very briefe, but I find not my self enclin'd to crosse the Seas.

The Sea, mary shield, Ile not see the salt water for any Lord in Christendome, I, Ile rather be no Lady.

Who, how now insolence, how dare you interpose?

Will you be ridiculous, and betray your self now?

Begar you have de Gypsey complexion, and looke like de sign of-de Robin Hood and maid a Marian.

Robin Hood in thy face, does he maid a Marian me?

She is not worth your Lordships passion, I shall teach you better manners.

Begar you shall have mush need of dat.

My Lord, you did aske me if I could dance.

The wench has found him.

Dere is noting in de varle for de Lady, like a de understanding in de foot.

I cannot praise my own ability, but I ad­mire the excellency of other Ladies, and should be fortunate to meet with some Master in thafa­culty, that would Instruct, and exercise me in private.

Me love you de bettre for da [...], begar no body exercise you in private but my self, me teach you Alamode de Court dance, hold up your litel fingre you command a my foot.

Your Lordship is too humble, it is an office would become one that is mercenary; I af­fect dancing infinitely, oh that we had but some musick here; la, la, ra.

[...]is comming out.

What's that a bedstaffe?

It is a French pocket-pistoll.

Will he shoot it oft here? I could never indure a gun.

Forboon, brave, ah, dat is like a de Prin­cess, Allez.

You shall not be so publick in your graces to me; conceale your Fiddle tillsome private op­po [...]runity.

Me understand.

How does your Lordship like her? You have her in an excellent humour.

Kisse a me madam—hah? 'tis heaven? de Poet talke of de Nectar, begar here is it; me never drink de [...]vine blanke or de Claret, so me have but two tre drop divine from your lip—Metresse speake a for me.

The foole is extasied; in his worst conditi­on he will serve for a husband; how he dances in a Net?

He has money, and a Trade, he will serve wench.

If me get dis rish widdow, me cozen 'em both begar.

Do you think he loves me indeed.

You no tinke madam dat me be so hot in love, and do burne, dat my reine a do melt, as me vere in de oven, me need a go into de river pre­santly to coole and vater my heart, vere is de Mi­stresse de la Maison? Gone? dat is vel, dere is no honor like a dat, as you take a de litel aire in my Coach.

I have not been abroad to day, but I dare trust my self with your Lordship.

Oh Madam, a vostre service, now if me get a de Priest all is perfect.

Be all these Trunkes hers?

We ha not stowage enough for half, she is infinitely rich.

Hast thou prepar'd her?

I find her very apt, 'tis her only ambition to be a Lady, a French Lord has her in chase, but I have delivered your character, and what privi­ledge she may have by charter of her Knight.

I long to see her, is she handsome?

What she wants in beauty and breeding, she has in estate Sir.

That, that's enough, I can have beauty in other places, and will exceed what I conditi­on'd for, if I prosper. I will have this Widdow in spight.

How Sir William?

To spight the Lady Beaufield, and her Magog that affronted me; I would lose no opor­tunity, a widdow must be taken in the pick; say I am come and commend me to the heavens, Ile make all good.

To the heavens? will you dye before her?

For that we must take our chance; thou shalt be sure of a good lease for thy life, and desti­ny agree upon us afterward.

Shall I direct you?

Sha't be my evening, and my morning star.

You too much afflict your self Mistris Lu­cy, 'tis but some humour he put on to try the strength of your affection.

He is lost; not for my sake, but for his own I pitty him, and I am confident, if I were so hap­py to speak with him agen, I should prevaile to win him to his first and noble temper; my end being so just, I could dispence with modesty to find him out, and perfect the act of charity.

You have imployd Formoll, from whom you may expect to heare such an account, as may dry up your sorrows.

I see Sir you preserve your confidence.

I dare be just in your commands, and in a service you but smile upon, despise the censure of the world.

Saw you not the Knight since?

The sweet hopes that he swallow'd, to prepare me a ridiculous object to you Madam, was gall upon his stomack, when he found you had mercy on my confidence; he dares not converse with so unlick'd a beare, as this shape must present

his criticall eye sight. Whats here? one sent to affront me?

Madam your most humble servant; there be other men, and manners, and garbes as fashionable in the eyes of discreet Ladies.

Have we got Adam Bell, and Clim o'th Clough?

We be three, good Mr William of Cloudesly.

'Tis so.

And how, and how shew matters Mistris Lucy? every mans Cap is not made of the same matter.

Sir, this is most uncivill, and your rash­nesse, beside the forfeit of your own discretion, will lay an imputation to wound my fame; with­in my presence, and beneath my roofe, which should protect all strangers, to affront a Gentle­man that visits me—

How's this?

Be bold sir, and presume you have my favour, you never appear'd handsome till this minute; beare up, your mirth becomes you rare­ly.

Dos't isaith?

What does my mother meane?

Spit o' thy hand, and clap me oth' shoulder Iames, the widow her selfe is in love with me.

I may turne o're the Daughtet to thee.

I would I had her in an Embroiderd clout.

Sure my Lady is but in jeast.

His follow Deere?

Thou Douglas?

This Lady has but fool'd me all this while; make much of your new Antick Madam, I can shift into my selfe agen, and if that thing were worth my anger, or my envy, beate him; [Page 59] you have a pretty humour, cherish it, and that William of the Wispe, till I visit you agen.—

The Gentleman is jealous.

I protest Madam if it had hot been not your sake, and that it had been pitty to have spilt any blood, in your Dining roome, I would ha done something

In his breeches.

But I shall report your noblenesse a­broad.

Doe not play the foole to much, I am out of the humour to laugh at you; he cannot leave me thus.—

This was no tricke to catch the old one.

How came you into this habit Simpleton?

By reading Ovids Metamorphosis, and to shew the variety of my wit.

Let me entreat you hold your feet toge­ther,—now you put me mind of a Smiths bel­lowes, your body is not all of a peece sure, but severall limbes thrust into severall pudding bags, you would shew terrible to the crowes in a wheat field, you are no living creature.

Perswade me to that, am I not sensible?

He that does that cure upon you, will de­serve a chronicle; so desiring you would take home your flaile there, for here is like to be no thrashing worke, I commit you to the Barne, where like another Orpheus, you will draw the horse, and sheepe, to the melody of your voyce, and ravish all the Cowes in the Countrey, to heare you sing Packingtons pound.—

She has made a coxcombe on you.

Hum? I wo'not out o'the pit for all this, I [Page 60] have another devise, and thou shalt assist me, if that faile, I'le dye a bachelor, and make thee my heire.

I shall but pray for your death sir.

So, so, I'le dance no more, a song, lets have a song now.

Take heed of the old ballads, ecclip­ed, Like Hermit poore, eyes hide my love, or Panae in the brazen Tower.

Or the lamentable complaint of Ariad­ne, and Theseus, and the more lamentable for being so long.

Doe you heare Madam vertue, Lady modesty cannot you play your part?

Not upon the violin.

They are both for the Gambo.

You shall play the part of my Mistris, you must be witty then, and extreame coy and scurvy, in your answers; go behind that hanging, I will suppose it your chamber; now Boy the Song I made to the window, while I mustle my selfe with the fidlers, to bid my Mistrisse good morrow in the street, observe the conjuration.

She's not awake, play a ratling tune that may startle her; where's this whore? ha!—

She's gone.

Vanish'd? so he might have sung a­way his lungs.

It may be, she is retir'd, for you know what Lady; come let us drinke.

Was your Muse at all this expence [Page 62] to the fidles? do you write to no other company sir?

Till they have my liveries; Ile maintaine 'em in songs, wind up your voyce agen▪

The pure spirit of Sack in't.

The wits Elixar.

No jeering Gentlemen, I shall grow loud and break the peace.

These Gentlemen are for nothing but song and drink, I see no market all this while; Ile get me hence too; if please you, Ile see if I can find out my sister.

There's but one stoole in the counting house, and Lady you shall stay till she returne; Gentlemen there's no life in you; I cannot do this roring and whoring handsomely; little thinks Lucy what Comrades I have got.

I have a pretious confidence in you Gen­tlemen, to trust my single modesty amongst so many.

VVhat would you give to be ravish'd now? thou hast an excellent complexion for't.

Ravish'd? preserve the Gentlemans deare wits Sack I beseech thee.

You would not lose by it if he ravish you.

another Song, and direct your voice to this Lady.

A discovery?

What new-found Land?

The Pigeon that left us hath been in another roome with Mr Formall my Lady Beau­fields Gentleman Usher, there he sits like the picture of a Harry Soveraigne in a chaire, while she is picking on's pocket.

Fetch him, and his Fairy hither, but for his Mrs sake usher him with loud musick.

Wee'l have some sport.

Where's the wench?

The wench has made an escape, she had a glimpse before and suspected me, but here's the wicked Elder.

What saies my wise▪ Lu [...]ullus?

Sir, my business was to you, though I met a Remera that is already sunke, I was sent by a Gentlewoman, but no body must know it.

We heare no business till he have wound up a bottle, and then he shall have audience.

That's but your fee for entrance, your garnish only; come sir there's no remedy.

I hope you will conceale it Gentlemen.

VVhar will become of me? would you and I Lady were in a back roome.

So now speak my Lord Embassador, I know your soveraign Lady greets us well.

Alas sir, my Lady does not know of my comming; I would speak with you from one that shall be nameless, who thinks you are a debauch'd Gentleman, under the Rose, and desires to talk with you when you are sober: I would be loath to disgrace you before this good company, neither was I willing to tell her what I heard about your drinking and whoring.

To the point.

I, I, to the point.

The principall matter then, and indeed my whole employment at this time to you is—

VVhat in the name of circumspection?

You shall excuse me sir, filence is a vertue; but if you knew who sent me—

He would make a costive Statesman.

It is sufficient one desires to speak with you, I name no time, nor person, I know my office; Mistris Lucy is not to be named at all times.

Mistris Lucie, I am her servant; come drink this narrow sea to her health, you must be drunk insallibly, Ile give a reason; I sweare by Muscadell That I do love her well; come yee Mermaids—

Ile do you reason then; but is this Mus­cadell? Mr Newman has sworne; for my own part, Gentlemen, I desire it should go no further.

Excellent!

Now give Mr Formall his cup.

I have had the narrow sea, I cannot drink an Ocean.

His t'other cup; you had my wench as I remember, and Ile prescribe you a pennance; there's another whore for you, drink to her and shee shall pledge.

Give me thy hand, and set thy foor to mine.

You may trust your single modesty with him.

For my own part, I had rather do things privately; come kisse me first—here's to thee, my flesh tingles—

A word with you two Squiers.

Any thing for a shelter, I foresee a storm; and what is one Cat among so many Mastives?

You are melancholly.

You lye, you that say nothing lye, if you be of his opinion.

Me thinks we are very merry.

We are exceeding merry.

Have you discharg'd your Culvering? where's the paraquito?

I drunke it off.

She is vanish'd too.

Then we are our selves, and make me [Page 68] your example; you know your Province Sirra, make ready for an Angell, sing the designe of ho­nour, and of fancy.

Off With Formalls Doublet, off with his Doublet, throw't into the fire, that's a good phan­sic; now he is Formall right.

I did not drink hard, for I am cold, the wench would keep me warme, she's a notable fire­drake; will it please you sir to go to the party?

Now does he betray what a Bawd he would be.

Does no body know where to get a Ser­pent with two legs that hath never a sting?

I have a great mind to drink a health in one of my boots.

I drink no beere glasses, if a shooe will serve turne—

His shooe, my scabberd, a match.

My glove.

His cap.

Fill brimmers, every man to his Mistris; now do not I like this phansie.

We ha don't.

There's wooll in my scabbard, which is a spungious matter, and when I ha done

I may leave my drink behind me, and that's a hanging matter, which I am principally to avoid—Do you heare the Musick of the Spheres Gentle­men?

What's that?

From the roofe a Throne?

This roome is mine, and cald the field of Tempe; Because I woonot stay while

the Plaies are done when I have a humor to be merry, and drink healths in the clouds, I built this Elisium; and when bright Sack hath crown'd my brow, how soon I am made immortall, you may guesse.

Is not Bacchus the best good fellow God on 'em all? Let me see, Formall shall be King, and he sent to heaven presently.

Send me to heaven? why should I be sent thither before another man?

Ret, Ret, verily Ret, here's the Fartridge under the Table.

They'l be good company, they shall both be immortall together, helpe Gentlemen. Boy you must be depos'd.

Alas what shall I doe?

You shall to heaven Lady?

What before my time? and whether I will or no?

It shall be with as much ease, as if it were in a Featherbed.

Let us sleepe together.

Ah pitty a poore Gentlewoman, if you have hearts of flesh, do not use me worse than heathen Prentices.

So crowne 'm, and give to each a glasse of wine, for a scepter.

Gentlewoman, if we must mount, 'tis none of our seeking, we are but Angells in our owne defence, for my owne part, I desire to go thether in no better company.

Up with 'em, and preserve your scepter glasses, doe not spill your blood royall.

Alas, hold there for heavens sake, I must meet three Innes of court Gentlemen at the Stillyard to night, it may be out of my way 20. pound, consider your owne cases.

Peace gentle Queene of grapes.

Thou art a traitor too, oh!

Doe not jog the chariot, let us take our preserment patiently, and drinke a health to the humble mortalls, that turne up their whites to us, this is pretty high drinking.

Drunkards, divells? oh that I were up­on earth agen.—

Is this the Gentlewomans wine, or water?

He mounts insensibly.

They have a heavenly time on't; you know me sirra.

Noble Mr. Newman.

There's for your attendance.

What's to pay?

They shall pay you the reckoning in the other world, you know the back way thither; come my boyes to the departed, having paid all rites

We now returne.

Like woefull Adamites.

Act. V. Scaena. I.

IAm resolved, since faire meanes can­not prevaile with Mistris Lucy, to steale her away, this is the key of the back-gate o'th' garden, to the fields, be ready when I give the signe to hurry her into the coach, and when I have her at my Countrey-House, Ile take in her maiden towne, upon my owne composition.

You wo'not ravish her.

There are twenty wayes to deale with a woman, and never ravish her; no, I have plaid the foole too much.

I am of your opinion.

But she shall find if I get possession.—

The Coachman is a lusty fellow too, and will help to clap her abroad; the curtaines being close she cannot be heard, and the horses will runne, as the devill were in the poope, for he drives like a Tamberlaine.

Holla ye pamperd Jades.

One Traitour more were not amisse for al that.

Thou saist right, for though she be a little woman, her voyce may be too strong for us.

Let us alone, mind your owne part.

Be resolute James.

The course I am in, hath brought some men to the Gallowes, and doe I take it for pre­vention?

What desperate fellow's that?

I am weary of wine and noise, is there no other cure for melancholly? I doe not love the cramp in my necke.

He lookes like a Gentleman that were in debt; my friend doe you come hither to finde a tree? th'art a proper fellow, dost want employment, for though your cloathes have a good glosse, they looke as they were ill lin'd, they want money.

I suffer that which made the old woman mend her pace fir.

Doe as Ile direct thee.

Whom doe you serve?

I serve my selfe; my Master is a foole; did you never heare of Simpleton?

That worshipfull puppy?

He knowes him. I have seen you before, but 'tis no matter where; I like thy countenance; can'st keepe counsell? walke o'this hand o'me.

Nay a little further Mistris Lucy, it seemes Mrs Ʋoluble told him no great good fortune, she saw it in his starres, for you know she weares A­strology at her apron strings; but she told me in private who should be the man, your deere En­dymion.

Who I beseech you?

The object is presented, and 'tis in vaine to oppose the Constellations, what must be must be, and there were no more Ladyes in the world, I am the man.

To steale her away?

My Master is resolv'd. They are here; close.

She is betraid.—

Now.—

Help; theeves.

Stop her mouth.

Then every man take his chance.

Murther, murther.

Are you so cunning sir? you shall along with us.

Worried by Hedghogs!

Are you not kill'd outright sir?

I am not certaine, be sure you hold him fast; to the next Justice; I must get a Surgeon. You are my rivall, I know you well enough, if I miscarry, it shall cost me a hundred pound, but Ile ha thee hang'd for't.

I understand you perfectly Mistris Voluble, and like your proposition; but a word more of the widdow that is at your' house, shee is very rich you say?

Not in understanding.

Tis the better.

Her's all your worship must promise her, to be knighted, for she hath a great mind to bee a Lady.

I know where a blanck lies dormant for a Baronet, it will carry more noise and authority on the bench too.

You have done me some discourtesie here tofore, in beleeving the complaints of Intempe­rate tongues against me, but you see my charity I desire to live in your worships faire opinion [...] a neighbour.

I will make you amends sweet Mistris V [...] luable, y'are a vertuous Gentlewoman on my conscience: but how shall this widdow be wrought?

Thats done already. The truth is she in­quir'd [Page 75] of me, (for we women use to open our se­crets one to another) for some stayd Gentleman that was a Lawier, (because she has so great an e­state, and many sutes to follow) on whom shee might bestow her selfe, for the security of her for­tune, and I have already prepared her, and such a commendation of your person, and learned gra­vity, a Justice of Peace and Quorum, out of my private respects to you, without desire or expecta­tion of any bribe or reward.

I understand that very well.

I know you doe.

How much I am bound to your vertue?

The widdow has a great mind to see you, but I will contrive it for your honour, shee shall come hither, as to her learned Counsell.

The invincible wit of a woman! how I honour it.

There can bee no losse in't if you get a Chaplaine in readinesse, widowes are taken in the opportunitie.

A Gentleman brought to be examined, that has wounded one Master Simpleton.

Simpleton? that's the widowes son.

Richard, send to the Curate of the Parish, say I would speake with him presently.

Alas who hurt you?

My rivall Master Newman, Is this the [...]ustice?

A former quarrell; if you die, I have [...]aw [Page 76] enough to make it murther, for your good Mo­thers sake.

Cannot you make it manslaughter, and let me live? for I desire but his death.

Hee shall make it what you please. This Gentleman is to bee Knighted, and loves your mother above all the world, things meet as close, as if they went to engender.

My Mother is worth six thousand pound, if you will promise to make her a Lady, and doe your best to hang the Gentleman, you shall be my Father in Law, when my Landlady sayes the word.

Sir Ile take my leave.

Sweet Mistris Voluble, leave your friend to me, I understand the matter perfectly, and it shall goe hard, but wee will have all the Law on our side. Call in the offender; please you sit; Ri­chard be ready with your Ammunition, Pen, Inke and Paper.

VVhat is your name sir?

My name is Seare.

He is the Surgeon sir.

Ile teach you [...]o follow your profession sirra, Ile make you an example to all Phleboto­mers; how often have you beene indited for letting of blood firra?

I understand you nor.

But I understand you sirra; how durst you vi & armis, felloniously assault this noble Gentle­man in contempt of peice, and the Kings Law, [Page 77] his Crowne and dignity? answer me sirra to that. Ile seeze him.

You VVorship is mistaken, I never see the Gentleman before, I was sent for—

He is the Surgeon sir, that is come to take measure of my Masters wounds, it was that Gent­leman that let him blood.

VVhy do they not change faces then? away you knave, and looke to the Gentleman; you stand idling here to stumble authority with a fel­lonious countenance.

Let us be for sworne both in a tale.

Sir, you are one that should doe Justice; where is my poore friend? bee not so much de­jected, you did but rescue me sir from disho­nour.

I was in a melancholly humour; 'tis come about as the wise woman concluded.

VVher's Simpleton? I may accuse him for a Rape.

Take heede what you say.

Or some such black intent; this Gentle­man but interpos'd to save me from their surie, and with his sword punish'd a bold offender by letting out some blood that was corrupted.

Thats not materiall; will you confesse you wounded Master Simpleton? come to the matter.

I confesse it sir, but heare the reason.

I will heare no reason, that were simple justice; take him aside, and you may follow your [Page 78] businesse. Stay young Gentlewoman, I must exa­mine you.

Shall I withdraw, and shut the doore?

VVhat Justice [...]ir, or Law is this?

It is not Polton, Crompton, nor Fitzerhert, A Justice ought to have some discretion without booke, especially in these cases. I grant you are the root and cause of this misfortune.

I [...]ir?

Be wise, and understand me; nd being in­dued with such gifts of nature, native beauty and favour, (come a little nearer) and you to abuse your selfe—

How sir?

Or suffer your selfe to be abused (come a little nearer) is not to be thankefull for those ex­cellent benefits.

VVill you translate an Insolence in others upon my guilt?

You accuse an honest Gentleman for an intent of rape; alas poore soule, it was pure af­fection in him, hee would have ravished you no doubt, with your owne consent, the fault was your Ingratitude, (a little nearer) Seneca doth write much of Ingratitude, that I may come (a little nearer) or else Nero had not let him blood, (yet nearer) this Nero was a most wicked Tyrant, for all he could play upon a fidle, make ballads, and sing them himselfe, and therefore take heede of cruelty, and be gentle,

[...]or, sweet-heart Nero died a violent death.

My Mother.

Lucy you made haste.

Your pardon Madam.

I understand she is a Lady.

In the defence of my owne vertue, and the noble Gentleman that suffers for his charity to me—

I came to assist you. It were an injurie to doubt your justice. My name is Beaufield. If my credit may be interpos'd security for New­man my daughters knowledge in the cause will

give a most cleare satisfaction.

Richard, call in the delinquent, this Lady has spoken very much to the matter, as I under­stand it. Has the Surgeon done yet?

They are comming downe.

Now sir, how many of his wounds are mortall?

There is not one considerable, the Gen­tleman is in no danger.

But have not you authority to hang him? Ile take my oath, he had an intent to kill me. My Lady and Mistris Lucie? Iames, Ile stay no lon­ger, since I am not mortally wounded, sneake af­ter me.

My hanging [...]it is over, and the witch­craft, I am now my selfe again, if you can pardon

me Madam this too great an honour to your worthlesse servant.

How now? what saucie fellow's this?

Shee's here too. I am bold Cozen to visit you, they say, ther's a Gentleman brought before you, for breach o'th' peace, I come to baile him.

We take no forrainers; what outlandish thing are you, pray?

You know me sir, my name is Manley, you ca [...]ld me cozen yesterday.

I never saw you before. I know that name, and a Gentleman that ownes it, a kinsman of mine too, but he is no such Brandemart. Richard, doe you know this Mahound? he calls himselfe my cozen Manly.

Why in this habit?

Transmigration?

Is it not some spie [...]ir?

Constable take him to your charge. Ile teach you sirra, to usurpe a Gentlemans name; tis fello­ny ipso facto, write his mittimus.

By what statute? Trigesimo Secundo of King Phillip? I doe not Madam desire your cer [...]ificate.

Y'ar [...] a stranger sir to me, yet I dare bee engag'd for his forth comming, hee has an honest face.

Come hither Richard, theres halfe a peece, rub thy eyes woo't, are they open yet?

I see you plainely now [...]ir, y'are my Ma­sters [Page 81] cozen, 'tis Master Manley.

'Tis your best course to owne me too; is it so long since you tooke bribes, since you divided and manumisd a crooked chambermaid that robd her Mistris of old Gold? there was a Lancepresa­do stript a hedge, when you were out of Linnen; Peuter has been left at the back-doore, when you did study Alchymie; I leave the tricke you shew'd the Sailors wife in your Closet, when you pro­mis'd a reprieve to her goodman from Wapping; I know not that you have run your wither'd mot­ley face into a prem [...]nire; doe not know me, why d'ee no [...] charge the constable?

What is a Justice without eyes, I meane spectacles? 'tis he indeed, I understand, and see him perfectly; welcome, a Chaire for my Co­sen?

So then. Madam a word with you, I'le make you know me too, ere I ha' done.

There is a matted Chamber & a Couch—More businesse?

Vere is de matre Justice? begar dey have put de sheare upon me, me expect de rish vidow, and have marry the chambermaid, she confesse dat, Maitre Justice, pray take her to your selfe, me desire your varrant, for Metresse Ʋoluble, dat she bring the vidow Simplaton to marry me sans ceremoine, dat is your commissi­on, or begar me complaine of you to de King.

Did you expect the rich widow Simple­ton? h [...], ha! I know this trifle, my Clarke knowes her better

Bergar Matre Justice, and Matre Clarke make your division, dat is all you see.

Sir I have onely cause to complaine, he told me he was a French Lord, Mistris Ʋoluble shall make affidavit, and courted me to be his Lady, and now we are married, he proves but a cinquepace. I look'd for thousands per annum, and he is but one, two, three, foure, and five.

How, did he pretend himselfe to be a Lord? 'tis Scandalum Magnatum in the highest degree: and by a statute quinquagesimo of the Queene, if she prosecute, he is to be whip'd, and lose his eares three severall market dayes.

How will you divide his Eares into three equall portions?

Me give a de whip, and me Iose a mine 'ares!

You heare the law, if I complaine.

Sir—Mistris Ʋoluble—

Is the widow come?

The Gentlewoman is come, and de­sires to speake with your worship in private.

The Curat's in the Hall sir.

So, so, I must intreate your patience for a few minutes; how I am blest!

Tell a me de trot, have you no Argent, no portion?

But I have a trade.

I dare be sworne thou hast.

Aw dat is someting, here is my hand, you no tell a de tale, a me, and me keepe your

[Page 83] secret by my trot.

I tooke boldnesse Madam upon sight of your Ladiships new Coach at the doore, to entrude and present a poore forsaken servant; give you joy of your old fashion'd young Gentle­man.

Your companion wants no antiquity, if she have no Visard on.

I hope you are not married Sir?

The matters done, and tis more honourable to make a Lady than to marry one. Does any body know this Gentlewoman, she was a widow till this morning, and a rich one I thanke my staires, and wants the subtile art, some Ladyes have to make themselves ridiculous, by doting upon anticks.

What name has your most reverend Lady?

She was called the wealthy widow of old Simpleton, before I married her.

Ha, ha, ha!

What Is't makes you so merry Mounsieur?

Begar some body make arrant asse of de Knight, hold a me, or me shall cracke a my rib wi'de laugh, dat is no Simplaton, but an autre Chambermaid, de servant to my vife, begar he be sheated too.

I must confesse she waited upon me.

How?

Ha, ha, ha!

Ma foy dat is certaine, ha, ha, ha!

I desie her, that was but a plot.

Begar it was very fine a plot, me have [Page 84] patience, dat dere be more foole in de come­dy.

Mistris Ʋoluble can justifie what I am, that I am, or would I might nere be, a Lady, and I be'nt, that I be'nt.

I will have Justice.

You may have him sir.

The reason of this noyse my right worshipfull?

Give me a warrant presently.

Against whom?

Ʋol [...]ble, I'le have her whip'd.

Wrong not the vertuous Gentlewoman.

Vertuous? vexation.

Why doe you take on so, o' my consci­ence she is honest enough; does this woman looke like a whore?

I thanke you Gentleman.

She has gravity enough to be a bawde, and then the worst is past.

Is not the widow weight, not perfect sterling?

This is not the widow.

What widow?

The rich widow Simpleton.

I doe believe it, did she promise you marriage?

The devills proctor Mistris Ʋoluble made me believe so.

Doe not wrong I say agen that vertuous Gentlewoman Mistris Ʋoluble, I know her, and know her vertuous, but the rich widow Simpleton, you talke of (thankes be to providence) is [Page 85] newly married, the Priest hath scarce wip'd his oraculous lips, since they pronounc'd us, Man

and Wife, in my stone Parlour, in good faith la, she's here, her owne tongue will confirme it Gentlemen.

Why does she veile her face.

It is her modesty, to hide her blushes, that I should so soone prevaile upon her: and thus the morning breakes out of the cloudes.

By your leave Landlady, wher's my mother.

Mistris Ʋoluble?

Here's my son, he shall be a witnesse I am his mother, I am married to this Knight, and they would perswade me out of my selfe.

'Tis come about agen, Is this your mother?

I have asked her blessing in my dayes.

There is no remedy, 'twas your owne Curate did it.

Give you joy Mr. Justice.

Conspiracy, is there no law for this?

Yes, yes, the canon law, and you must keepe her.

Let me obtaine Madam your faire con­struction, Sir William you are sped to your desires, and you are fitted Mounsieur Galliard, but Nice, the Jewells must returne to their right owner.

Excuse a moy.

It must be so, I keepe my wedding ring for thee sweet heart.

I aske you pardon sir, and Mistris Lucy, [Page 86] I had a plot upon your loves, to endeare young Simpleton, in hope your credulous nature, to avoid melancholy, might have beene engag'd to some licentious rudenesse, and so made your self unworthy of her affection, but here I must con­fesse I have no skill in starres nor fortune telling, and am but one among the rest that have de­ceiv'd your easy faith, forgive me, as I wish you may thrive in your affections.

I am confirm'd.

Nay then let marriages goe round, with this take both possession of my heart and fortunes.

You but inlarge my power to doe you service.

Your love, and joyes be constant. Mr. Iustice you must embrace Mistris Ʋoluble.

VVell, I will love thee for thy wit; but no more wandring.

You wholly sir shall steere me, and to invite more welcome from you sir, I have not liv'd upon the common charity, I have a state is not to be despis'd.

Saist thou so, wee'l put our stocks to­gether and live merrily.

Will they not take his word? alas poore Formall, there, there's their ransome, bid the whore be honest, I'le plead his reconcilement to my Lady.

I am gone.

But d'ee heare, must I ha' no wench, at the end of the play? that have taken all this paines? what will you doe with me?

Well remembred, this Lady did accuse [Page 87] him; though I miss'd of the Mother, I will make sure of the son, make his warrant for New­gate presently.

How Sir?

I know how very well Sir.

You call'd it love before, I freely pardon him.

Let this Day be consecrate to peace, and Hymen.

And the Night to Ʋenus; let it be so, and thanke this Gentlewoman.

I thanke you all, and will never trust a witch for your sake, I'le goe seeke out my wits.