Oh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c.

To earth? and, why to earth, thou fooolish Spirit?

What wold'st thou do on earth?

For that, great Chiefe!

As time shal work. I do but ask my mon'th.

Which euery petty pui'nee Diuell has;

Within that terme, the Court of Hell will heare

Something, may gaine a longer grant, perhaps.

For what? the laming a poore Cow, or two?

Entring a Sow, to make her cast her farrow?

Or crossing of a Mercat-womans Mare,

Twixt this and Totnam? these were wont to be

Your maine atchieuements, Pug, you haue some plot, now,

Vpon a tonning of Ale, to stale the yest,

Or keepe the churne so, that the buttter come not;

Spight o'the housewiues cord, or her hot spit?

Or some good Ribibe, about Kentish Towne,

Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a witch,

Because shee will not let you play round Robbin:

And you'll goe sowre the Citizens Creame 'gainst Sunday?

That she may be accus'd for't, and condemn'd,

By a Middlesex Iury, to the satisfaction

Of their offended friends, the Londiners wiues

Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish feind,

Stay i'your place, know your owne strengths, and put not

Beyond the spheare of your actiuity.

You are too dull a Diuell to be trusted

Forth in those parts, Pug, vpon any affayre

That may concerne our name, on earth. It is not

Euery ones worke. The state of Hell must care

Whom it imployes, in point of reputation,

Heere about London. You would make, I thinke

An Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire,

Proper inough; or some parts of Northumberland,

So yo'had good instructions, Pug.

O Chiefe!

You doe not know, deare Chiefe, what there is in mee.

Proue me but for a fortnight, for a weeke,

And lend mee but a Vice, to carry with mee,

To practice there-with any play-fellow,

And, you will see, there will come more vpon't,

Then you'll imagine, pretious Chiefe.

What Vice?

What kind wouldst th'haue it of?

Why, any Fraud;

Or Couetousnesse; or Lady Vanity;

Or old Iniquity: I'll call him hither.

What is he, calls vpon me, and would seeme to lack a Vice[unclear]

Ere his words be halfe spoken, I am with him in a trice;

Here, there, and euery where, as the Cat is with the mice:

True vetus Iniquitas. Lack'st thou Cards, friend, or Dice?

I will teach thee cheate, Child, to cog, lye, and swagger,

And euer and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:

To sweare by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty Iuuentus,

In a cloake to thy heele, and a hat like a pent-house.

Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,

With a Wench that shall feede thee, with cock-stones and gelly.

Is it not excellent, Chiefe? how nimble he is!

Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leape

From the top of Pauls-steeple, to the Standard in Cheepe:

And lead thee a dance, through the streets without faile,

Like a needle of Spaine, with a thred at my taile.

We will suruay the Suburbs, and make forth our sallyes,

Downe Petticoate-lane, and vp the Smock-allies,

To Shoreditch, Whitechappell, and so to Saint Kathernes.

To drinke with the Dutch there, and take forth their patternes:

From thence, wee will put in at Custome-house key there,

And see, how the Factors, and Prentizes play there,

False with their Masters; and gueld many a full packe,

To spend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool-sacke.

Braue, braue, Iniquity! will not this doe, Chiefe?

Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roysters,

At Belins-gate, feasting with claret-wine, and oysters,

From thence shoot the Bridge, childe, to the Cranes i'the Vintry,

And see, there the gimblets, how they make their entry!

Or, if thou hadst rather, to the Strand downe to fall,

'Gainst the Lawyers come dabled from Westminster-hall

And marke how they cling, with their clyents together,

Like Iuie to Oake; so Veluet to Leather:

Ha, boy, I would shew thee.

Rare, rare!

Peace, dotard,

And thou more ignorant thing, that so admir'st.

Art thou the spirit thou seem'st? so poore? to choose

This, for a Vice, t'aduance the cause of Hell,

Now? as Vice stands this present yeere? Remember,

What number it is. Six hundred and sixteene.

Had it but beene fiue hundred, though some sixty

Aboue; that's fifty yeeres agone, and six,

(When euery great man had his Vice stand by him,

In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger)

I could consent, that, then this your graue choice

Might haue done that, with his Lord Chiefe, the which

Most of his chamber can doe now. But Pug,

As the times are, who is it, will receiue you?

What company will you goe to? or whom mix with?

Where canst thou carry him? except to Tauernes?

To mount vp on a joynt-stoole, with a Iewes-trumpe,

To put downe Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens?

He ne're will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.

Hee may perchance, in taile of a Sheriffes dinner,

Skip with a rime o'the Table, from New-nothing,

And take his Almaine-leape into a custard,

Shall make my Lad Maioresse, and her sisters,

Laugh all their hoods ouer their shoulders. But,

This is not that will doe, they are other things

That are receiu'd now vpon earth, for Viccs;

Stranger, and newer: and chang'd euery houre.

They ride 'hem like their horses off their legges,

And here they come to Hell, whole legions of 'hem,

Euery weeke tyr'd. Wee, still striue to breed,

And reare 'hem vp new ones; but they doe not stand,

When they come there: they turne'hem on our hands.

And it is fear'd they haue a stud o'their owne

Will put downe ours. Both our breed, and trade

VVill suddenly decay, if we preuent not.

Vnlesse it be a Vice of quality,

Or fashion, now, they take none from vs. Car-men

Are got into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers

To their tabacco, and strong-waters, Hum,

Meath, and Obarni. VVee must therefore ayme

At extraordinary subtill ones, now,

VVhen we doe send to keepe vs vp in credit.

Not old Iniquities. Get you e'ne backe, Sir,

To making of your rope of sand againe.

You are not for the manners, nor the times:

They haue their Vices, there, most like to Vertues;

You cannnot know 'hem, apart, by any difference:

They weare the same clothes, eate the same meate,

Sleepe i'the selfe-same beds, ride i'those coaches.

Or very like,foure horses in a coach,

As the best men and women. Tissue gownes,

Garters and roses, fourescore pound a paire,

Embroydred stockings, cut-worke smocks, and shirts,

More certaine marks of lechery, now, and pride,

Then ere they were of true nobility!

But Pug, since you doe burne with such desire

To doe the Common-wealth of Hell some seruice;

I am content, assuming of a body,

You goe to earth, and visit men, a day.

But you must take a body ready made, Pug,

I can create you none: nor shall you forme

Your selfe an aery one, but become subiect

To all impression of the flesh, you take,

So farre as humane frailty. So, this morning,

There is a handsome Cutpurse hang'd at Tiborne,

Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body:

For clothes imploy your credit, with the Hangman,

Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you.

And, looke, how farre your subtilty can worke

Thorugh those organs, with that body, spye

Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices,

And therefore the lesse need to carry 'hem wi'you)

But as you make your soone at nights relation,

And we shall find, it merits from the State,

You shall haue both trust from vs,and imployment.

Most gracious Chiefe!

Onely, thus more I bind you,

To serue the first man that you meete; and him

I'le shew you, now: Obserue him. Yon' is hee,

You shall see, first, after your clothing. Follow him:

But once engag'd, there you must stay and fixe;

Not shift, vntill the midnights cocke doe crow.

Any conditions to be gone.

SIr, your good pardon, that I thus presume

Vpon your priuacy. I am borne a Gentleman,

A younger brother; but, in some disgrace,

Now, with my friends: and want some little meanes,

To keepe me vpright, while things be reconcil'd.

Please you, to let my seruice be of vse to you, Sir.

Seruice? 'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,

Till I had view'd his shooes well: for, those roses

Were bigge inough to hide a clouen foote.

No, friend, my number's full. I haue one seruant,

Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broome

Vnto the brush: for, iust so farre, I trust him.

He is my Ward-robe man, my Cater, Cooke,

Butler, and Steward; lookes vnto my horse:

And helpes to watch my wife. H'has all the places,

That I can thinke on, from the garret downward,

E'en to the manger, and the curry-combe.

Sir, I shall put your worship to no charge,

More then my meate, and that but very little,

I'le serve you for your loue.

Ha? without wages?

I'le harken o'that eare, were I at leasure.

But now, I'm busie. 'Pr'ythe, friend forbeare mee,

And' thou hadst beene a Diuell. I should say

Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder, now,

My meditations.

Sir, I am a Diuell.

How!

A true Diyell, Sr,

Nay, now, you ly:

Vnder your fauour, friend, for, I'll not quarrell.

I look'd o'your feet, afore, you cannot coozen mee,

Your shoo's not clouen, Sir, you are whole hoof'd.

Sir, that's a popular error, deceiues many:

But I am that, I tell you.

What's your name?

My name is Diuell, Sr.

Sai'st thou true.

In-

deed, Sr.

'Slid! there's some omen i'this! what country man?

Of Derby-shire, Sr. about the Peake.

That Hole

Belong'd to your Ancestors?

Yes, Diuells arse, Sr.

I'll entertaine him for the name sake. Ha?

And turne away my tother man? and saue

Foure pound a yeere by that? there's lucke, and thrift too!

The very Diuell may come, heereafter,as well.

Friend, I receiue you: but (withall) I acquaint you,

Aforehand, if yo'offend mee, I must beat you.

It is a kind of exercise, I vse.

And cannot be without.

Yes, if I doe not

Offend, you can, sure.

Faith, Diuell, very hardly:

I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I love it.

YOnder hee walkes, Sir, I'll goe lift him for you.

To him, good Ingine, raise him up by degrees,

Gently, and hold him there too, you can doe it.

Shew your selfe now, a Mathematicall broker.

I'll warrant you for halfe a piece.

'Tis done, Sr.

Is't possible there should be such a man?

You shall be your owne witnesse, I'll not labour

To tempt you past your faith.

And is his wife

So very hand some, say you?

I ha' not seene her,

Since I came home from trauell: and they say,

Shee is not alter'd. Then, before I went,

I saw her once; but so, as shee hath stuck

Still i'my view, no obiect hath remou'd her.

'Tis a faire guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodg'd

Deepe in the eyes, shee hardly leaues the Inne.

How do's he keepe her?

Very braue. Howeuer,

Himselfe be sordide, hee is sensuall that way.

In euery dressing, hee do's study her.

And furnish forth himselfe so from the Brokers?

Yes, that's a hyr'd suite, hee now has one,

To see the Diuell is an Asse, to day, in

(This Ingine gets three or foure pound a weeke by him)

He dares not misse a new Play, or a Feast,

What rate soeuer clothes be at; and thinkes

Himselfe still new, in other mens old.

But stay,

Do's he loue meat so?

Faith he do's not hate it.

But that's not it. His belly and his palate

Would be compounded with for reason. Mary,

A wit he has, of that strange credit with him,

'Gainst all mankinde; as it doth make him doe

Iust what it list: it rauishes him forth,

VVhither it please, to any assembly 'or place,

And would conclude him ruin'd, should hee scape

One publike meeting, out of the beliefe

He has of his owne great, and Catholike strengths,

In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see:

H'has got the cloak vpon him.

A faire garment,

By my faith, Ingine!

It was neuer made, Sir,

For three score pound, I assure you: 'Twill yeeld thirty.

The plush, Sir, cost three pound, ten shillings a yard!

And then the lace, and veluet.

I shall, Ingine,

Be look'd at, pretitly, in it! Art thou sure

The Play is play'd to day?

ô here's the bill, Sr.

I', had forgot to gi't you.

Ha? the Diuell!

I will not lose you, Sirah! But, Ingine, thinke you,

The Gallant is so furious in his folly?

So mad vpon the matter, that hee'll part

With's cloake vpo'these termes?

Trust not your Ingine,

Breake me to pieces else, as you would doe

A rotten Crane, or an old rusty Iacke,

That has not one true wheele in him. Doe but talke with him.

I shall doe that, to satisfie you, Ingine,

And my selfe too. With your leaue, Gentlemen.

Which of you is it, is so meere Idolater

To my wiues beauty, and so very prodigall

Vnto my patience, that, for the short parlee?

Of one swift houres quarter, with my wife,

He will depart with (let mee see) this cloake here

The price of folly? Sir, are you the man?

I am that vent'rer, Sir.

Good time! your name

Is Witty-pol?

The same, Sr.

And'tis told me,

Yo' haue trauell'd lately?

That I haue, Sr.

Truly,

Your trauells may haue alter'd your complexion;

But sure, your wit stood still.

It may well be, Sir.

All heads ha'not like growth.

The good mans grauity,

That left you land, your father, neuer taught you

These pleasant matches?

No, nor can his mirth,

With whom I make 'hem, put me off.

You are

Resolu'd then?

Yes, Sr.

Beauty is the Saint,

You'll sacrifice your selfe, into the shirt too?

So I may still cloth, and keepe warme your wisdome?

You lade me Sr!

I know what you wil beare, Sr.

Well, to the point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,

To speake vnto my wife?

Only, to speake to her.

And in my presence?

In your very presence.

And in my hearing?

In your hearing: so,

You interrupt vs not.

For the short space

You doe demand, the fourth part of an houre,

I thinke I shall, with some conuenient study,

And this good helpe to boot, bring my selfe to't.

I aske no more.

Please you, walk to'ard my house,

Speake what you list; that time yours: My right

I haue depated with. But, not beyond,

A minute, or a second, looke for. Length,

And drawing out, ma'aduance much, to these matches.

And I except all kissing. Kisses are

Silent petitions still with willing Louers.

Louers? How falls that o'your phantsie?

Sir.

I doe know somewhat, I forbid all lip-worke.

I am not eager at forbidden dainties.

Who couets vnfit thinks, denies him selfe.

You say well, Sir, 'T was prettily said, that same,

He do's, indeed, I'll haue no touches, therefore,

Nor takings by the armes, nor tender circles

Cast'bout the wast, but all be done at distance.

Loue is brought vp with those soft migniard handlings;

His pulse lies in his palme: and I defend

All melting ioynts, and fingers, (that's my bargaine)

I doe defend 'hem, any thing like action.

But talke, Sir, what you will. Vse all the Tropes

And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:

And much good do your Rhetoriques heart. You are welcome, Sir.

Ingine, God b'w'you.

Sir, I must condition

To haue this Gentleman by, a witnesse.

Well,

I am content, so he be silent.

Yes, Sir.

Come Diuell, I'll make you roome, streight. But I'll shew you

First, to your Mistresse, who's no common one,

Yeu must conceiue, that brings this gaine to see her.

I hope thou'st brought me good lucke.

I shall do't. Sir.

INgine, you hope o'your halfe piece? 'Tis there, Sir.

Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?

I am directly in a fit of wonder

What'll be the issue of this conference!

For that, ne'r vex your selfe, till the euent.

How like yo'him?

I would faine see more of him.

What thinke you of this?

I am past degrees of thinking.

Old Africk, and the new America,

With all their fruite of Monsters cannot shew

So iust a prodigie.

Could you haue beleeu'd,

Without your sight, a minde so sordide inward,

Should be so specious, and layd forth abroad,

To all the shew, that euer shop, or ware was?

I beleeue any thing now, though I confesse

His Vices are the most extremities

I euer knew in nature. But, why loues hee

The Diuell so?

O Sr! for hidden treasure,

Hee hopes to finde: and has propos'd himselfe

So infinite a Masse, as to recouer,

He cares not what he parts with, of the present,

To his men of Art, who are the race, may coyne him.

Promise gold-mountaines, and the couetous

Are still most prodigall.

But ha' you faith,

That he will hold his bargaine?

O deare, Sir!

He will not off on't. Feare him not. I know him.

One basenesse still accompanies another.

See! he is heere already, and his wife too.

A wondrous handsome creature, as I liue!

COme wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.

Why, what do you meane Sir? ha'you your reason?

Wife,

I do not know, that I haue lent it forth

To any one; at least, without a pawne, wife:

Or that I'have eat or drunke the thing, of late,

That should corrupt it. Wherefore gentle wife,

Obey, it is thy vertue: hold no acts

Of disputation.

Are you not enough

The talke, of feasts, and meetingy, but you'll still

Make argument for fresh?

Why, carefull wedlocke,

If I haue a longing to haue one tale more

Goe of mee, what is that to thee, deare heart?

Why shouldst thou enuy my delight? or crosse it?

By being solicitous, when it not concernes thee?

Yes, I haue share in this The scorne will fall

As bittterly on me, where both are laught at.

Laught at, sweet bird? is that the scruple? Come, come,

Thou art a Niaise. Which of your great houses,

(I will not meane at home, here, but abroad)

Your families in France, wife, send not forth

Something, within the seuen yeere, may be laught at?

I doe not say seuen moneths, nor seuen weekes,

Nor seuen daies, nor houres: but seuen yeere wife.

I give 'hem time. Once, within seuen yeere,

I thinke they may doe something may be laught at.

In France, I keepe me there, still. Wherefore, wife,

Let them that list, laugh still, rather then weepe

For me; Heere is a cloake cost fifty pound, wife,

Which I can sell for thirty, when I ha' seene

All London in't, and London has seene mee.

To day, I goe to the Black-fryers Play-house,

Sit it he view, salute all my acquaintance,

Rise vp betweene the Acts, let fall my cloake,

Publish a handsome man, and a rich suite

(As that's a speciall end, why we goe thither,

All that pretend, to stand for't o'the Stage)

The Ladies aske who's that? (For, they doe come

To see vs, Loue, as wee doe to see them)

Now, I shall lose all this, for the false feare

Of being laught at? Yes, yusse. Let 'hem laugh, wife,

Let me haue such another cloake to morrow.

And let 'hem laugh againe, wife, and againe,

And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter,

All my young Gallants, let 'hem bring their friends too:

Shall I forbid 'hem? No, let heauen forbid 'hem:

Or wit, if't haue any charge on 'hem. Come, thy eare, wife,

Is all, I'll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir,

Thou, onely art to heare, not speake a word, Doue,

To ought he sayes. That I doe gi'you in precept,

No lesse then councell, on your wiue-hood, wife,

Not thongh he flatter you, or make court, or Loue,

(As you must looke for these) or say, he raile;

What ere his arts be, wife, I will haue thee

Delude 'hem with a trick, thy obstinate silence;

I know aduantages; and I loue to hit

These pragmaticke young men, at their owne weapons.

Is your watch ready? Here my saile beares, for you;

Tack toward him, sweet Pinnace, where's your watch?

I'll set it, Sir, with yours.

I must obey.

Her modesty seemes to suffer with her beauty,

And so, as if his folly were a way,

It were worth pitty.

Now, th'are right, beginne, Sir.

But first, let me repeat the contract, briefely.

I am, Sir, to inioy this cloake, I stand in,

Freely, and as your gift; vpon condition

You may as freely, speake here to my spouse,

Your quarter of an houre alwaies keeping

The measur'd distance of your yard, or more,

From my said Spouse: and in my sight and hearing.

This is yonr couenant?

Yes, but you'll allow

For this time spent, now?

Set 'hem so much backe.

I thinke, I shall not need it.

Well, begin, Sir,

There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that rush.

If you interrupt me, Sir, I shall discloake you.

The time I haue purchast, Lady, is but short;

And, therefore, if I imploy it thriftily,

I hope I stand the neerer to my pardon.

I am not here, to tell you, you are faire,

Or louely, or how well you dresse you, Lady,

I'll saue my selfe that eloquence of your glasse,

Which can speake these things better to you then I.

And 'tis a knowledge, wherein fooles may be

As wise as a Court Parliament. Nor come I,

With any pre[unclear: j]udice, or doubt, that you

Should, to the notice of your owne worth, neede

Least reuelation. Shee's a simple woman,

Know's not her good: (who euer knowes her ill)

And at all caracts. That you are the wife,

To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soule,

In stead of salt, to keepe it sweete; I thinke,

Will aske no witnesses, to proue. The cold

Sheetes that you lie in, with the watching candle,

That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,

Pieces, and quarters, halfe, and whole nights, sometimes,

The Diuell-giuen Elfine Squire, your husband,

Doth leaue you, quitting heere his proper circle,

For a much-worse i'the walks of Lincolnes Inne,

Vnder the Elmes, t'expect the fiend in vaine, there

Will confesse for you.

I did looke for this geere.

And what a daughter of darknesse, he do's make you,

Lock'd vp from all society, or object;

Your eye not let to looke vpon a face,

Vnder a Conjurers (or some mould for one,

Hollow, and leane like his) but, by great meanes,

As I now make; your owne too sensible sufferings,

Without the extraordinary aydes,

Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, Lady.

For my part, I protest'gainst all such practice,

I worke by no false arts, medicines, or charmes

To be said forward and backward.

No, I except:

Sir I shall ease you.

Mum.

Nor haue I ends, Lady,

Upon you, more then this: to tell you how Love

Beauties good Angell, he that waits vpon her

At all occasions, and no lesse then Fortune,

Helps th'aduenturous, in mee makes that proffer,

Which neuer faire one was so fond, to lose;

Who could but reach a hand forth to her freedome.

On the first sight, I lou'd you: since which time,

Though I haue travell'd, I haue beene in trauell

More for this second blessing of your eyes

Which now I'haue purchas'd, then for all aymes else.

Thinke of it, Lady, be your minde as actiue,

As is your beauty: view your object well.

Examine both my fashion, and my yeeres

Things, that are like, are soone familiar:

And Nature ioyes, still in equality.

Let not the signe o'the husband fright you, Lady.

But ere your spring be gone, inioy it. Flowers,

Though faire, are oft but of one morning. Thinke,

All beauty doth not last vntill the autumne.

You grow old, while I tell you this. And such,

As cannot vse the present, are not wise.

If Love and Fortune will take care of vs,

Why tshould our will be wanting? This is all.

Wha doe you answer, Lady?

Now, the sport comes.

Let him still waite, waite, waite: while the watch goes,

And the time runs. Wife!

How! not any word?

Nay, then, I taste a tricke in't. Worthy Lady,

I cannot be so false to mine owne thoughts

Of your presumed goodnesse, to conceiue

This, as your rudenesse, which I see's impos'd.

Yet, since your cautelous Iaylor, here stands by you,

And yo'are deni'd the liberty o'the house,

Let me take warrant, Lady, from your silence,

(Which euer is interpreted consent)

To make your answer for you: which shall be

To as good purpose, as I can imagine,

And what I thinke you'ld speak.

No, no, no, no.

I shall resume, Sr.

Sir, what doe you meane?

One interruption more, Sir, and you goe

Into your hose and doublet, nothing saues you.

And therefore harken. This is for your wife.

You must play faire, Sr.

Stand for mee, good friend.

Troth, Sir, tis more then true, that you haue vttred

Of my vnequall, and so sordide match heere,

With all the circumstances of my bondage.

I haue a husband, and a two-legg'd one,

But such a moon-ling, as no wit of man

Or roses can redeeme from being an Asse.

H'is growne too much, the story of mens mouthes,

To scape his lading: should I make't my study,

And lay all wayes, yea, call mankind to helpe,

To take his burden off, why, this one act

Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,

And, at a price, proclaimes his asinine nature

So lowd, as I am weary of my title to him.

But Sir, you seeme a Gentleman of vertue,

No lesse then blood; and one that euery way

Lookes as he were of too good quality,

To intrap a credulous woman, or betray her:

Since you haue paid thus deare, Sir, for a visit,

And made such venter, on your wit, and charge

Meerely to see mee, or at most to speake to mee,

I were too stupid; or (what's worse) ingrate

Not to returne your venter. Thinke,but how,

I may with safety doe it; I shall trust

My loue and honour to you, and presume;

You'll euer husband both, against this husband;

Who, if we chance to change his liberall eares,

To other ensignes, and with labour make

A new beast of him, as hee shall deserve,

Cannot complaine, hee is vnkindly dealth with,

This day hee is to goe to a new play, Sir.

From whence no feare, no, nor authority,

Scarcely the Kings command, Sir, will restraine him,

Now you haue fitted him with a Stage-garment,

For the meere names sake, were there norhing else:

And many more such iourneyes, hee will make.

Which, if they now, or, any time heereafter,

Offer us opportunity, you heare, Sir,

Who'll be as glad, and forward to imbrace,

Meete, and enioy it chearefully as you.

I humbly thanke you, Lady.

Keepe your ground Sir.

Will you be lightned?

Mum.

And I but air,

By the sad contract, thus to take my leaue of you

At this so enuious distance, I had taught

Our lips ere this, to seale the happy mixture

Made of our soules. But we must both, now, yeeld

To the necessity. Doe not thinke yet, Lady,

But I can kisse, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,

And doe those crowning court-ships too, for which

Day, and the publike haue allow'd no name

But, now, my bargaine binds me. 'Twere rude iniury,

T'importune more, or vrge a noble nature,

To what of it's owne bounty it is prone to:

Else, I should speake—But, Lady, I loue so well,

As I will hope, you'll do so to. I haue done, Sir.

Well, then, I ha'won?

Sir, And I may win, too.

O yes! no doubton't. I'll take carefull order,

That shee shall hang forth ensignes at the window,

To tell you when I am absent. Or I'll keepe

Three or foure foote-men, ready still of purpose,

To runne and fetch you, at her longings, Sir.

I'll goe bespeake me straight a guilt caroch,

For her and you to take the ayre in. Yes,

Into Hide-parke, and thence into Black-Fryers,

Visit the painters, where you may see pictures,

And note the properest limbs, and how to make'hem.

Or what doe you say vnto a middling Gossip?

To bring you aye together, at her lodging?

Vnder pretext of teaching o' my wife

Some rare receit of drawing almond milke? ha?

It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b'w'you.

I ha' kept the contract, and the cloake is mine owne.

Why, much good do't you Sr; it may fall out,

That you ha'bought it deare, though I ha' not sold it.

A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir.

Wife, your face this way, looke on me: and thinke

Yo'haue had a wicked dreame, wife, and forget it.

This is the strangest motion I ere saw.

Now, wife, sits this faire cloake the worse vpon me,

For my great sufferings, or your little patience? ha?

They laugh, you thinke?

Why Sr. and you might see't.

What thought, they haue of you, may be soone collected

By the young Genlemans speach.

Youug Gentleman?

Death! you are in loue with him, are you? could he not

Be nam'd the Gentleman, without the young?

Up to your Cabbin againe.

My cage, yo' were best

To call it?

Yes, sing there. You'ld faine be making

Blanck Manger with him at your mothers! I know you.

Goe get you vp. How now! what say you, Diuell?

HEere is one Ingine, Sir, desires to speake with you.

I thought he brought some newes, of a broker! Well,

Let him come in, good Diuell: fetch him else.

O, my fine Ingine! what's th'affaire? more cheats?

No Sir, the Wit, the Braine, the great Proiector,

I told you of, is newly come to towne.

Where, Ingine?

I ha'brought him (H'is without)

Ere hee pull'd off his boots, Sir, but so follow'd,

For businesses:

But what is a Proiector?

I would conceiue.

Why, one Sir, that projects

Wayes to enrich men, or to make 'hem great,

By suites, by marriages, by vndertaking:

According as hee sees they humour it.

Can he not coniure at all?

I thinke he can, Sir.

(To tell you true) but, you doe know, of late,

The State hath tane such note of'hem, and compell'd 'hem,

To enter fuch great bonds, they dare not practice.

'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't, the while!

O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.

I hope I shall: but Ingine, you doe talke

Somewhat too much, o'my courses. My Cloake-customer

Could tell mee strange particulars.

By my meanes?

How should he haue'hem else?

You do not know, Sr,

What he has: and by what arts! A moneid man, Sir,

And is as great with your Almanack-Men, as you are!

That Gallant?

You make the other wait too long, here:

And he is extreme punctuall.

Is he a gallant?

Sir, you shall see: He'is in his riding suit,

As hee comes now from Court. But heere him speake:

Minister matter to him, and then tell me.

Ir, money's a whore, a bawd, a drudge;

Fit to runne out on errands: Let her goe.

Via pecunia! when she's runne and gone,

And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, againe,

With Aqua vitæ, out of an old Hogs-head!

While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beere,

I'le never want her! Coyne her out of cobwebs,

Dust, but I'll haue her! Raise wooll vpon egge-shells,

Sir, and make grasse grow out o'marro-bones.

To make her come. (Commend mee to your Mistresse,

Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready,

And it is done) I would but see the creature

(Of flesh, and blood) the man, the prince, indeed,

That could imploy so many millions

As I would help him to.

How, talks he? millions?

(I'll giue you an account of this to morrow.)

Yes, I will talke no lesse, and doe it too;

If they were Myriades: and without the Diuell,

By direct meanes, it shall be good in law.

Sir.

Tell Mr. Wood cock, I'll not faile to meet him

Vpon th'Exchange at night. Pray him to haue

The writings there, and wee'll dispatch it. Sir,

You are a Gentleman of a good presence,

A handsome man (I haue considered you)

As a fit stocke to graft honours vpon:

I haue a Project to make you a Duke, now.

That you must be one, within so many moneths,

And I set downe, out of true reason of state,

You sha'not auoid it. But you must harken, then.

Harken? why Sr, doe you doubt his eares? Alas!

You doe not know Master Fitz-dottrel.

He do's not know me indeed. I thank you, Ingine,

Fot rectifying him.

Good! Why, Ingine, then

I'le tell it you. (I see you ha' credit, here,

And, that you can keepe counsell, I'll not question.)

Hee shall but be an vndertaker with mee,

In a most feasible bus'nesse. It shall cost him

Nothing.

Good, Sr.

Except he please, but's count-nance;

(That I will haue) t'appeare in't, to great men,

For which I'll make him one. Hee shall not draw

A string of's purse. I'll driue his pattent for him.

We'll take in Cittizens, Commoners, and Aldermen,

To beare the charge, and blow'he[unclear]m off againe,

Like so many dead flyes, when 'tis carryed.

The thing is for recouery of drown'd land,

Whereof the Crowne's to have a moiety,

If it be owner; Else, the Crowne and Owners,

To share that moiety: and the recouerers

T'enioy the tother moiety, for their charge.

Thoroughout England?

Yes, which will arise

To eyghteene millions, seuen the first yeere:

I haue computed all, and made my suruay

Vnto an acre. I'll beginne at the Pan,

Not, at the skirts: as some ha' done, and lost,

All that they wrought, their timber-worke, their trench,

Their bankes all borne away, or else fill'd vp

By the next winter. Tut, they neuer went

The way: I'll have it all.

A gallant tract

Of land it is!

'Twill yeeld a pound an acre.

Wee must let cheape, euer, at first. But Sir,

This lookes too large for you, I see. Come hither,

We'll haue a lesse. Here's a plain fellow, you see him,

Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram,

Wi'not be sold for th'Earledome of Pancridge: Draw,

Gi'me out one, by chance. Proiect 4. Dog-skinnes?

Twelue thousand pound! the very worst, at first.

Pray you let's see't Sir.

'Tis a toy, a trifle!

Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?

Yes,

But, by my way of dressing, you must know, Sir,

And med'cining the leather, to a height

Of improu'd ware, like your Borachio

Of Spaine, Sir. I can fetch nine thousand for't—

Of the Kings glouer?

Yes, how heard you that?

Sir, I doe know you can.

Within this houre:

And reserve halfe my secret. Pluck another;

See if thou hast a happier hand: I thought so.

The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale.

Yet, this is two and twenty thousand! Pr'y thee

Pull out another, two or three.

Good, stay, friend,

By bottle-ale, two and twenty thousand pound?

Yes, Sir, it's cast to penny-hal'penny-farthing,

O'the back-side, there you may see it, read,

I will not bate a Harrington o'the summe.

I'll winne it i'my water, and my malt,

My furnaces, and hanging o'my coppers,

The tonning, and the subtilty o'my yest;

And, then the earth of my bottles, which I dig,

Turne vp, and steepe, and worke, and neale, my selfe,

To a degree of Porc'lane. You will wonder,

At my proportions, what I will put vp

In seuen yeeres! for so long time, I aske

For my inuention. I will saue in cork,

In my mere stop'ling, 'boue three thousand pound,

Within that terme: by googing of 'hem out

Iust to the size of my bottles, and not slicing.

There's infinite losse i'that. What hast thou there?

O'making wine of raisins: this is in hand, now,

Is not that strange, Sr, to make wine of raisins?

Yes, and as true a wine, as th'wines of France,

Or Spaine, or Italy, Looke of what grape

My raisin is, that wine I'll render perfect,

As of the muscatell grape, I'll render muscatell;

Of the Canary, his; the Claret, his;

So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices,

Of wine, throughout the kingdome, halfe in halfe.

But, how, Sr, if you raise the other commodity,

Raysins?

No, good Sir.

Saue you the trouble, I'le not looke, nor heare

Of any, but your first, there; the Drown'd-land:

If't will doe, as you say.

Sir, there's not place,

To gi'you demonstration of these things.

They are a little to subtle. But, I could shew you

Such a necessity in't, as you must be

But what you please: against the receiu'd heresie,

That England beares no Dukes. Keepe you the land, Sr,

The greatnesse of th'estate shall throw't vpon you.

If you like better turning it to money,

What may not you, Sr, purchase with that wealth?

Say, you should part with two o'your millions,

To be the thing you would, who would not do't?

As I protest, I will, out of my diuident,

Lay, for some pretty principality,

In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps,

Fancy the smoake of England, rather? But—

Ha' you no priuate roome, Sir, to draw to,

T'enlarge our selues more vpon.

O yes, Diuell!

These, Sir, are bus'nesses, aske to be carryed

With caution, and in cloud.

I apprehend,

They doe so, Sr. Diuell, which way is your Mistresse?

Aboue, Sr, in her chamber.

O that's well.

Then, this way, good, Sir.

I shall follow you; Traines,

Gi'mee the bag, and goe you presently,

Commend my seruice to my Lady Tail-bush.

Tell her I am come from Court this morning; say,

I'haue got our bus'nesse mou'd, and well: Intreat her,

That shee giue you the four-score Angels, and see'hem

Dispos'd of to my Councel, Sir Poul Eitherside.

Sometime, to day, I'll waite vpon her Ladiship,

With the relation.

Sir, of what dispatch,

He is! Do you marke?

Ingine, when did you see

My cousin Euer-ill? keepes he still your quarter?

I'the Bermudas?

Yes, Sir, he was writing

This morning, very hard.

Be not you knowne to him,

That I am come to Towne: I haue effected

A businesse for him, but I would haue it take him,

Before he thinks for't.

Is it past?

Not yet.

'Tis well o'the way.

O Sir! your worship takes

Infinit paines.

I loue Friends, to be actiue:

A sluggish nature puts off man, and kinde.

And such a blessing followes it.

I thanke

My fate. Pray you let's be priuate, Sir?

In, here.

Where none may interrupt vs.

You heare, Diuel,

Lock the streete-doores fast, and let no one in

(Except they be this Gentlemans followers)

To trouble mee. Doe you marke? Yo'haue heard and seene

Something, to day; and, by it, you may gather

Your Mistresse is a fruite, that's worth the stealing

And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now,

Yo'haue all your eyes about you; and let in

No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-masques,

And cut-works. See you? Nor old croanes, with wafers,

To conuey letters. Nor no youths, disguis'd

Like country-wiues, with creame, and marrow-puddings.

Much knauery may be vented in a pudding,

Much bawdy intelligence: They'are shrewd ciphers.

Nor turne the key to any neighbours need;

Be't but to kindle fire, or begg a little,

Put it out, rather: all out, to an ashe,

That they may seeno smoake. Or water, spill it:

Knock o'the empty tubs, that by the sound,

They may be forbid entry. Say, wee are robb'd,

If any come to borrow a spoone, or so.

I wi'not have good fortune, or gods blessing

Let in, while I am busie.

I'll take care, Sir:

They sha'not trouble you, if they would.

Well, doe so.

I Have no singular seruice of this, now?

Nor no superlatiue Master? I shall wish

To be in hell againe, at leasure? Bring,

A Vice from thence? That had bin such a subtilty,

As to bring broad-clothes hither: or transport

Fresh oranges into Spaine. I finde it, now;

My Chiefe was i'the right. Can any feind

Boast of a better Vice, then heere by nature,

And art, th'are owners of? Hell ne'r owne mee,

But I am taken! the fine tract of it

Pulls mee along! To heare men such professors

Growne in our subtlest Sciences! My first Act, now,

Shall be, to make this Master of mine cuckold:

The primitiue worke of darknesse, I will practise!

I will deserue so well of my faire Mistresse,

By my discoueries, first; my counsells after;

And keeping counsell, after that: as who,

So euer, is one, I'll be another, sure,

I'll ha'my share. Most delicate damn'd flesh!

Shee will be! O! that I could stay time, now,

Midnight will come too fast vpon me, I feare,

To cut my pleasure—

Looke at the back-doore,

One knocks, see who it is.

Dainty she-Diuell!

I cannot get this venter of the cloake,

Out of my fancie; nor the Gentlemans way,

He tooke, which though 'twere strange, yet 'twas handsome,

And had a grace withall, beyond the newnesse.

Sure he will thinke mee that dull stupid creature,

Hee said, and may conclude it; if I finde not

Some thought to thanke th'attemp. He did presume,

By all the carriage of it, on my braine,

For answer; and will sweare 'tis very barren,

If it can yeeld him no returne Who is it?

Mistresse, it is, but first, let me assure

The excellence, of Mistresses, I am,

Although my Masters man, my Mistresse slave,

The servant of her secrets, and sweet turnes,

And know, what fitly will conduce to either.

What's this? I pray you come to your selfe and thinke

What your part is: to make an answer. Tell,

Who is it at the doore?

The Gentleman, Mrs,

Who was at the cloake-charge to speake with you,

This morning, who expects onely to take

Some small command'ments from you, what you please,

Worthy your forme, hee saies, and gentlest manners.

O! you'll anon proue his hyr'd man, I feare,

What has he giu'n you, for this message? Sir,

Bid him pnt off his hopes of straw, and leaue

To spread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take

Master Fitz-dottrel, I am no such foule,

Nor faire one, tell him, will be had with stalking.

And wish him to for-beare his acting to mee,

At the Gentlemans chamber-window in Lincolnes-Inne there,

That opens to my gallery: else, I sweare

T'acquaint my husband with his folly, and leaue him

To the iust rage of his offended iealousie.

Or if your Masters sense be not so quicke

To right mee, tell him, I shall finde a friend

That will repaire me. Say, I will be quiet.

In mine owne house? Pray you, in those words giue it him.

This is some foole turn'd!

If he be the Master,

Now, of that state and wit, which I allow him;

Sure, hee will vnderstand mee: I durst not

Be more direct. For this officious fellow,

My husbands new groome, is a spie vpon me,

I finde already. Yet, if he but tell him

This in my words, hee cannot but conceive

Himselfe both apprehended, and requited.

I would not haue him thinke he met a statue:

Or spoke to one, not there, though I were silent.

How now? ha' you told him?

Yes.

And what saies he?

Sayes he? That which my self would say to you, if I durst.

That you are proude, sweet Mistresse? and with-all,

A little ignorant, to entertaine

The good that's proffer'd; and (by your beauties leaue)

Not all so wise, as some true politique wife

Would be: who hauing match'd with such a Nupson

Hath left t'accuse him, now, for't doth confesse him,

What you can make him; will yet (out of scruple,

And a spic'd conscience) defraud the poore Gentleman,

At least delay him in the thing he longs for,

And makes it hs whole study, how to compasse,

Onely a title. Could but he write Cuckold,

He had his ends. For, looke you—

This can be

None but my husbands wit.

My pretious Mistresse

It creaks his Ingine: The groome neuer durst

Be, else, so saucy—

If it were not clearely,

His worshipfull ambition; and the top of it;

The very forked top too: why should hee

Keepe you, thus mur'd up in a back-roome, Mistresse,

Allow you ne'r a casement to the streete,

Feare of engendering by the eyes, with gallants,

Forbid you paper, pen and inke, like Rats-bane.

Search your halfe pint of muscatell, lest a letter

Be suncke i'the pot: and hold your new-laid egge

Against the fire, lest any charme be writ there?

Will you make benefit of truth, deare Mistresse,

If I doe tell it you: I do't not often?

I am set over you, imploy'd, indeed,

To watch your steps, your lookes, your very breathings,

And to report them to him. Now, if you

Will be a true, right, delicate sweet Mistresse,

Why, wee will make a Cokes of this Wise Master,

We will, my Mistresse, an absolute fine Cokes,

And mock, to ayre, all the deepe diligences

Of such a solemne, and effectuall Asse,

An Asse to so good purpose, as wee'll vse him.

I will contriue it so, that you shall goe

To Playes, to Masques, to Meetings, and to Feasts.

For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Mistris,

If you neate handsome vessells, of good sayle,

Put not forth euer, and anon, with your nets

Abroad into the world. It is your fishing.

There, you shal chuse your friends, your seruants, Lady,

Your squires of honour; I'le conuey your letters,

Fetch answers, doe you all the offices,

That can belong to your bloud, and beauty. And,

For the variety, at my times, although

I am not in due symmetrie, the man

Of that proportion; or in rule

Of physicke, of the iust complexion;

Or of that truth of Picardell, in clothes,

To boast a soueraignty o're Ladies: yet

I know, to do my turnes, sweet Mistresse. Come, kisse—

How now!

Deare delicate Mist. I am your slaue,

Your little worme, that loues you: your fine Monkey;

Your Dogge, your Iacke, your Pug, that longs to be

Stil'd, o'your pleasures.

Heare you all this? Sir, Pray you,

Come from your standing, doe, a little, spare

Your selfe, Sir, from your watch, t'applaud your Squire,

That so well followes your instructions!

HOw now, sweet heart? what's the matter?

Good!

You are a stranger to the plot! you set not

Your saucy Diuell, here, to tempt your wife,

With all the insolent vnciuill language,

Or action, he could vent?

Did you so, Divell?

Not you? you were not planted i'your hole to heare him,

Vpo'the stayres? or here, behinde the hangings?

I doe not know your qualities? he durst doe it,

And you not giue directions?

You shall see, wife,

Whether he durst, or no: and what it was,

I did direct.

Sweet Mistresse, are you mad?

You most mere Rogue! you open manifest Villaine!

You Fiend apparant you! you declar'd Hel-hound!

Good Sr.

Good Knaue, good Rascal, and good Traitor.

Now, I doe find you parcel-Diuell, indeed.

Vpo'the point of trust? I'your first charge?

The very day o' your probation?

To tempt your Mistresse? You doe see, good wedlocke,

How I directed him.

Why, where Sr, were you?

Nay, there is one blow more, for exercise:

I told you, I should doe it.

Would you had done, Sir.

O wife, the rarest man! yet there's another

To put you in mind o'the last. such a braue man, wife!

Within, he has his proiects, and do's vent'hem,

The gallantest! where you tentiginous? ha?

Would you be acting of the Incubus?

Did her silks rustling moue you?

Gentle Sir.

Out of my sight. If thy name were not Diuell,

Thou should'st not stay a minute with me. In,

Goe, yet stay: yet goe too. I am resolu'd,

What I will doe: and you shall know't afore-hand.

Soone as the Gentleman is gone, doe you heare?

I'll helpe your lisping. Wife, such a man, wife!

He has such plots! He will make mee a Duke!

No lesse, by heauen! six Mares, to your coach, wife!

That's your proportion! And your coach-man bald!

Because he shall be bare, inough. Doe not you laugh,

We are looking for a place, and all, i'the map

What to be of. Haue faith, be not an Infidell.

You know, I am not easie to be gull'd.

I sweare, when I haue my millions, else, I'lle make

Another Dutchesse; if you ha' not faith.

You'll ha'too much, I feare, in these false spirits,

Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, mere wit!

This man defies the Diuell, and all his works!

He dos't by Ingine, and deuises, hee!

He has his winged ploughes, that goe with sailes,

Will plough you forty acres, at once! and mills,

Will spout you water, ten miles off! All Crowland

Is ours, wife; and the fens, from vs, in Norfolke,

To the vtmost bound of Lincoln-shire! we haue view'd it,

And measur'd it within all; by the scale!

The richest tract of land, Loue, i'the kingdome!

There will be made seuenteene, or eighteene millions;

Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore, thinke,

Sweet heart, if th'hast a fancy to one place,

More then another, to be Dutchesse of;

Now, name it: I will ha't, what ere it cost,

(If't will be had for money) either here,

Or'n France, or Italy.

You ha' strange phantasies!

VVHere are you, Sir?

I see thou hast no talent

This way, wife. Vp to thy gallery; doe, Chuck,

Leaue vs to talke of it, who vnderstand it.

I thinke we ha'found a place to fit you, now, Sir.

Gloc'ster.

O, no, I'll none!

Why, Sr?

That you say right in. Spenser, I thinke, the younger,

Had his last honour thence. But, he was but Earle.

I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodstocke,

I'm sure, was Duke, and he was made away,

At Calice; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury:

And Richard the third, you know what end he came too.

By m'faith you are cunning i'the Chronicle, Sir.

No, I confesse I ha't from the Play-bookes,

And thinke they'are more authentique.

That's sure, Sir.

What say you (to this then)

No, a noble house.

Pretends to that. I will doe no man wrong.

Then take one proposition more, and heare it

As past exception.

What's that?

To be

Duke of those lands, you shall recouer: take

Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drown'd lands,

Or Drown'd-land.

Ha? that last has a good sound!

I like it well. The Duke of Drown'd-land?

Yes;

It goes like Groen-land, Sir, if you marke it.

I,

And drawing thus your honour from the worke,

You make the reputation of that, greater;

And stay't the longer i'your name.

'Tis true.

Drown'd-lands will liue in Drown'd-land!

Yes, when you

Ha' no foote left; as that must be, Sir, one day.

And, though it tarry in your heyres, some forty,

Fifty descents, the longer liuer, at last, yet,

Must thrust 'hem out on't: if no quirk in law,

Or odde Vice o'their owne not do'it first.

Wee see those changes, daily: the faire lands,

That were the Clyents, are the Lawyers, now:

And those rich Mannors, there, of good man Taylors,

Had once more wood vpon 'hem, then the yard,

By which th'were measur'd out for the last purchase.

Nature hath these vicissitudes. Shee makes

No man a state of perpetuety, Sir.

Yo'are i'the right. Let's in then, and conclude.

I my sight, againe? I'll talke with you, anon.

SVre hee will geld mee, if I stay: or worse,

Pluck out my tongue, one o'the two. This Foole,

There is no trusting of him: and to quit him,

Were a contempt against my Chiefe, past pardon.

It was a shrewd disheartning this, at first!

Who would ha' thought a woman so well harness'd,

Or rather well-caparison'd, indeed,

That weares such petticoates, and lace to her smocks,

Broad seaming laces (as I see 'hem hang there)

And garters which are lost, if shee can shew 'hem,

Could ha' done this? Hell! why is shee so braue?

It cannot be to please Duke Dottrel, sure,

Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery,

Nor her owne deare reflection, in her glasse;

Yet that may be: I haue knowne many of 'hem,

Beginne their pleasure, but none end it, there:

(That I consider, as I goe a long with it)

They may, for want of better company,

Or that they thinke the better, spend an houre;

Two, three, or foure, discoursing with their shaddow:

But sure they haue a farther speculation.

No woman drest with so much care, and study,

Doth dresse her selfe in vaine. I'll vexe this probleme,

A little more, before I leaue it, sure.

THis was a fortune, happy aboue thought,

That this should prove thy chamber; which I fear'd

Would be my greatest trouble! this must be

The very window, and that the roome.

It is.

I now remember, I haue often seen there

A woman, but I neuer mark'd her much.

Where was your soule, friend?

Faith, but now, and then,

Awake vnto those obiects.

You pretend so.

Let mee not liue, if I am not in loue

More with her wit, for this direction, now,

Then with her forme, though I ha' prais'd that prettily,

Since I saw her, and you, to day. Read those.

They'll goe vnto the ayre you loue so well.

Try'hem vnto the note, may be the musique

Will call her sooner; light, shee's here! Sing quickly.

Either he vnderstood him not: or else,

The fellow was not faithfull in deliuery,

Of what I bad. And, I am iustly pay'd,

That might haue made my profit of his seruice,

But, by mis-taking, haue drawne on his enuy,

And done the worse defeate vpon my selfe.

How! Musique? then he may be there: and is sure.

O! Is it so? Is there the enter-view?

Haue I drawne to you, at last, my cunning Lady?

The Diuell is an Asse! fool'd off! and beaten!

Nay, made an instrument! and could not sent it!

Well, since yo'haue showne the malice of a woman,

No lesse then her true wit, and learning, Mistresse,

I'll try, if little Pug haue the malignity

To recompence it, and so saue his danger.

'Tis not the paine, but the discredite of it,

The Diuell should not keepe a body intire.

Away, fall backe, she comes.

I'll leaue you, Sir,

The Master of my chamber. I haue businesse

Mrs!

You make me paint, Sr.

The'are faire colours,

Lady, and naturall! I did receiue

Some commands from you, lately, gentle Lady,

But so perplex'd, and wrap'd in the deliuery,

As I may feare t'haue mis-interpreted:

But must make suit still, to be neere your grace.

Who is there with you, Sr?

None, but my selfe.

It falls out, Lady, to be a deare friends lodging.

Wherein there's some conspiracy of fortune

With your poore seruants blest affections.

Who was it sung?

He, Lady, but hee's gone,

Vpon my entreaty of him, seeing you

Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him,

If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.

Sir, if you iudge me by this simple action,

And by the outward habite, and complexion

Of easinesse, it hath, to your designe;

You may with Iustice, say, I am a woman:

And a strange woman But when you shall please,

To bring but that concurrence of my fortune,

To memory, which to day your selfe did vrge:

It may beget some fauor like excuse,

Though none like reason.

No, my tune-full Mistresse?

Then, surely, Loue hath none; nor Beauty any;

Nor Nature violenced, in both these:

With all whose gentle tongues you speake, at once.

I thought I had inough remou'd, already,

That scruple from your brest, and left yo'all reason;

When, through my mornings perspectiue I shewd you

A man so aboue excuse, as he is the cause,

Why any thing is to be done vpon him:

And nothing call'd an iniury, mis-plac'd.

I'rather, now had hope, to shew you how Loue

By his accesses, growes more naturall:

And, what was done, this morning, with such force

VVas but deuis'd to serue the present, then.

That since loue hath the honour to approach

These sister-swelling brests; and touch this soft,

And rosie hand; hee hath the skill to draw

Their Nectar forth, with kissing; and could make

More wanton salts, from this braue promontory,

Downe to this valley, then the nimble Roe;

Could play the hopping Sparrow, 'bout these nets;

And sporting Squirell in these crisped groues;

Bury himselfe in euery Silke-wormes kell,

Is here vnrauel'd; runne into the snare,

Which euery hayre is, cast into a curle,

To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himselfe

In milke, and roses, here, and dry him, there;

Warme his cold hands, to play with this smooth, round,

And well torn'd chin, as with the Billyard ball;

Rowle on these lips, the banks of loue, and there

At once both plant, and gather kisses. Lady,

Shall I, with what I haue made to day here, call

All sense to wonder, and all faith to signe

The mysteries reuealed in your forme?

And will Loue pardon mee the blasphemy

I vtter'd, when I said, a glasse could speake

This beauty, or that fooles had power to iudge it?

IS shee so, Sir? and, I will keepe her so.

If I know how, or can: that wit of man

Will doe't, I'll goe no farther. At this windo'

She shall no more be buz'd at. Take your leaue on't.

If you be sweet meates, wedlock, or sweet flesh,

All's one: I doe not love this Hum about you.

A flye-blowne wife is not so proper, In:

For you, Sr, looke to heare from me.[unclear]

So, I doe, Sir.

No, but in other tearmes. [unclear: There]'s no man offers

This to my wife, but paies for't.

That haue I, Sir.

Nay, then, I tell you, you are.

What am I, Sir?

Why, that I'll thinke on, when I ha' cut your throat.

Goe, you are an Asse.

I am resolu'd on't, Sir.

I thinke you are.

To call you to a reckoning.

Away, you brokers blocke, you property.

S'light, if you strike me, I'll strike your Mistresse,

O! I could shoote mine eyes at him, for that, now;

Or leaue my teeth in'him, were they cuckolds bane,

Inough to kill him. What prodigious,

Blinde, and most wicked change of fortune's this?

I ha'no ayre of patience: all my vaines

Swell, and my sinewes start at iniquity of it.

I shall breake, breake.

This for the malice of it,

And my reuenge may passe! But, now, my conscience

Tells mee, I haue profited the cause of Hell

But little, in the breaking-off their loues.

Which, if some other act of mine repaire not,

I shall heare ill of in my accompt.

O, Bird

Could you do this? 'gainst me? and at this time, now?

When I was so imploy'd, wholly for you,

Drown'd i'my care (more, then the land, I sweare,

I'haue hope to win) to make you peere-lesse? studying,

For footemen for you, fine pac'd huishers, pages,

To serue you o'the knee; with what Knights wife,

To beare your traine, and sit with your foure women

In councell, and receiue intelligences,

From forraigne parts, to dresse you at all pieces!

Y'haue (a'most) turn'd my good affection, to you;

Sowr'd my sweet thoughts; all my pure purposes:

I could now find (i'my very heart) to make

Another, Lady Dutchesse; and depose you.

Well, goe your waies in. Diuell, you haue redeem'd all.

I doe forgiue you. And I'll doe you good.

Where I ha'beene vex'd a little, with a toy!

O Sir! no toyes must trouble your graue head,

Now it is growing to be great. You must

Be aboue all those things.

Nay, nay, so I will.

Now you are to'ard the Lord, you must put off

The man, Sir.

He saies true.

You must do nothing

As you ha'done it heretofore; not know,

Or salute any man.

That was your bed-fellow,

The other moneth.

The other moneth? the weeke.

Thou dost not know the priuiledges, Ingine,

Follow that Title; nor how swift: To day,

When he has put on his Lords face once, then—

Sir, for these things I shall doe well enough,

There is no feare of me. But then, My wife is

Such an untoward thing! shee'll neuer learne

How to comport with it! I am out of all

Conceipt, on her behalfe.

Best haue her taught, Sir.

Where? Are there any Schooles for Ladies? Is there

An Academy for women? I doe know,

For men, there was: I learn'd in it, my selfe,

To make my legges, and doe my postures.

Sir.

Doe you remember the conceipt you had—

O'the Spanish gowne, at home?

Ha! I doe thanke thee,

With all my heart, deare Ingine. Sir, there is

A certaine Lady, here about the Towne,

An English widdow, who hath lately trauell'd,

But shee's call'd the Spaniard; cause she came

Latest from thence: and keeps the Spanish habit.

Such a rare woman! all our women heere,

That are of spirit, and fashion flocke, vnto her,

As to their President; their Law; their Canon;

More then they euer did, to Oracle-Foreman.

Such rare receipts shee has, Sir, for the face;

Such oyles; such tinctures; such pomatumn's;

Such perfumes; med'cines; quintessences, &c.

And such a Mistresse of behavior;

She knowes, from the Dukes daughter, to the Doxey,

What is their due iust: and no more!

O Sir!

You please me i'this, more then mine owne greatnesse.

Where is shee? Let vs haue her.

By your patience;

We must vse meanes; cast how to be acquainted—

Good, Sr, about it.

We must think how, first.

O!

I doe not loue to tarry for a thing,

When I haue a mind to't. You doe not know me.

If you doe offer it.

Your wife must send

Some pretty token to her, with a complement,

And pray to be receiu'd in her good graces,

All the great Ladies do't,

She shall, she shall,

What were it best to be?

Some little toy,

I would not haue it any great matter, Sir:

A Diamant ring, of forty or fifty pound,

Would doe it handsomely: and be a gift

Fit for your wife to send, and her to take.

I'll goe, and tell my wife on't, streight.

Why this

Is well! The clothes we'haue now: But, where's this Lady?

If we could get a witty boy, now, Ingine;

That were an excellent cracke. I could instruct him,

To the true height. For any thing takes this dottrel.

Why, Sir your best will be one o'the players!

No, there's no trusting them. They'll talke on't,

And tell their Poets.

What if they doe? the iest

will brooke the Stage. But, there be some of'hem

Are very honest Lads. There's Dicke Robinson

A very pretty fellow, and comes often

To a Gentlemans chamber, a friends of mine. We had

The merriest supper of it there, one night,

The Gentlemans Land-lady invited him

To'a Gossips feast, Now, he Sir brought Dick Robinson,

Drest like a Lawyers wife, amongst 'hem all;

(I lent him cloathes) but, to see him behaue it;

And lay the law; and carue; and drinke vnto'hem;

And then talke baudy: and send frolicks! o!

It would haue burst your buttons, or not left you

A seame.

They say hee's an ingenious youth!

O Sir! and dresses himselfe, the best! beyond

Forty o'your very Ladies! did you ne'r see him?

No, I do seldome see those toyes. But thinke you,

That we may haue him?

Sir, the young Gentleman

I tell you of, can command him. Shall I attempt it?

Yes, doe it.

S'light, I cannot get my wife

To part with a ring, on any termes: and yet,

The sollen Monkey has two.

It were'gainst reason,

That you should vrge it; Sir, send to a Gold-smith,

Let not her lose by't.

How do's she lose by't?

Is't not for her?

Make it your owne bounty,

It will ha' the better successe; what is a matter

Of fifty pound to you, Sr.

I have but a hundred

Pieces, to shew here; that I would not breake—

You shall ha' credit, Sir. I'll send a ticket

Vnto my Gold-smith. Heer, my man comes too,

To carry it fitly. How now, Traines? What birds?

Your Cousin Euer-ill met me, and has beat mee,

Because I would not tell him where you were:

I think he has dogd me to the house too.

Well—

You shall goe out at the back-doore, then, Traines.

You must get Guilt-head hither by some meanes:

'Tis impossible!

Tell him, we haue venison,

I'll g' him a piece, and send his wife a Phesant.

A Forrest moues not, till that forty pound,

Yo'had of him, last, be pai'd. He keepes more stirre,

For that same petty sume, then for your bond

Of sixe; and Statute of eight hundred!

Tell him

Wee'll hedge in that. Cry vp Fitz-dottrell to him,

Double his price: Make him a man of mettall.

That will not need, his bond is currant inough.

Ll this is to make you a Gentleman:

I'll haue you learne, Sonne. Wherefore haue I plac'd you

With Sr. Pould Either-side, but to haue so much Law

To keepe your owne? Besides, he is a Iustice,

Here i'the Towne; and dwelling, Sonne, with him,

You shal learne that in a yeere, shall be worth twenty

Of hauing stay'd you at Oxford, or at Cambridge,

Or sending you to the Innes of Court, or France.

I am call'd for now in haste, by Master Meere-craft

To trust Master Fitz-dottrel, a good man:

I'haue inquir'd him, eighteene hundred a yeere,

(His name is currant) for a diamant ring

Of forty, shall not be worth thirty (thats gain'd)

And this is to make you a Gentleman!

O, but good father, you trust too much!

Boy, boy,

We liue, by finding fooles out, to be trusted.

Our shop-bookes are our pastures, our corn-grounds,

We lay'hem op'n, for them to come into:

And when wee haue 'hem there, wee drive 'hem up

In t'one of our two Pounds, the Compters, streight,

And this is to make you a Gentleman!

Wee Citizens neuer trust, but we doe coozen:

For, if out debtors pay, wee coozen them;

And if they doe not, then we coozen our selues.

But that's a hazard euery one must runne,

That hopes to make his Sonne a Gentleman!

I doe not wish to be one, truely, Father.

In a descent, or two, wee come to be

Iust 'itheir state, fit to be coozend, like 'hem.

And I had rather ha'tarryed i'your trade:

For, since the Gentry scorne the Citty so much,

Me thinkes we should in time, holding together,

And matching in our owne tribes, as they say,

Haue got an Act of Common Councell, for it,

That we might coozen them out of rerum natura.

I, if we had an Act first to forbid

The marrying of our wealthy heyres unto 'hem:

And daughters, with such lauish portions.

That confounds all.

And makes a Mungril breed, Father.

And when they haue your money, then they laugh at you:

Or kick you downe the stayres. I cannot abide 'hem.

I would faine haue'hem coozen'd, but not trusted.

O,Is he come! I knew he would not faile me.

Welcome, good Guilt-head, I must ha' you doe

A noble Gentleman, a courtesie, here:

In a mere toy (some pretty Ring, or Iewell)

Of fifty, or threescore pound (Make it a hundred,

And hedge in the last forty, that I owe you,

And your owne price for the Ring) He's a good man, Sr,

And you may hap' see him a great one! Hee,

Is likely to bestow hundreds, and thousands,

Wi'you; if you can humour him. A great prince

He will be shortly. What doe you say?

In truth, Sir

I cannot. 'T has beene a long vacation with vs,

Of what, I pray thee? of wit? or honesty?

Those are your Citizens long vacations.

Good Father do not trust 'hem.

Nay, Thom. Guilt-head.

Hee will not buy a courtesie and begge it:

Hee'll rather pay, then pray. If you doe for him,

You must doe cheerefully. His credit, Sir,

Is not yet prostitute! Who's this? thy sonne?

A pretty youth, what's his name?

Plutarchus, Sir.

Plutarchus! How came that about?

That yeere Sr,

That I begot him, I bought Plutarch's liues,

And fell s'in loue with the booke, as I call'd my sonne

By'his name; In hope he should be like him:

And write the liues of our great men!

I'the City?

And you do breed him, there?

His mind, Sir, lies

Much to that way.

Why, then, he is i'the right way.

But, now, I had rather get him a good wife,

And plant him i'the countrey; there to vse

The blessing I shall leaue him:

Out upon't!

And lose the laudable meanes, thou hast at home, heere,

T'aduance, and make him a young Alderman?

Buy him a Captaines place, for shame; and let him

Into the world, early, and with his plume,

And Scarfes, march through Cheapside, or along Cornehill,

And by the vertue' of those, draw downe a wife

There from a windo', worth ten thousand pound!

Get him the posture booke, and's leaden men,

To set vpon a table, 'gainst his Mistresse

Chance to come by, that hee may draw her in,

And shew her Finsbury battells.

I have plac'd him

With Iustice Eytherside, to get so much law—

As thou hast conscience. Come, come, thou dost wrong

Pretty Plutarchus, who had not his name,

For nothing: but was borne to traine the youth

Of London, in the military truth—

That way his Genius lies. My Cousin Euerill!

Father, deare Father, trust him if you loue mee.

Why, I doe meane it, boy; but, what I doe,

Must not come easily from mee: Wee must deale

With Courtiers, boy, as Courtiers deale with us.

If I haue a Businesse there, with any of them,

Why, I must wait, I'am sure on't, Son: and though

My Lord dispatch me, yet his worshipfull man—

Will keepe me for his sport, a moneth, or two,

To shew mee with my fellow Cittizens.

I must make his traine long, and full, one quarter;

And helpe the spectacle of his greatnesse. There,

Nothing is done at once, but iniuries, boy:

And they come head-long! all their good turnes moue not,

Or very slowly

Yet sweet father, trust him.

VVell, I will thinke.

Come, you must do't, Sir.

I'am vndone else, aud your Lady Tayl-bush

Has sent for mee to dinner, and my cloaths

Are all at pawne. I had sent out this morning,

Before I heard you were come to towne, some twenty

Of my epistles, and no one returne—

VVhy, I ha'told you o'this. This comes of wearing

Scarlet, gold lace, and cut-works! your fine gartring!

VVith your blowne roses, Cousin! and your eating

Phesant, and Godwit, here in London! haunting

The Globes, and Mermaides! wedging in with Lords,

Still at the table! and affecting lechery,

In veluet! where could you ha' contented your selfe

VVith cheese, salt-butter, and a pickled hering,

I'the Low-countries; there worne cloth, and fustian!

Beene satisfied with a leape o'your Host's daughter,

In garrison, a wench of a stoter! or,

Your Sutlers wife, i'the leaguer, of two blanks!

You neuer, then, had runne vpon this flat,

To write your letters missiue, and send out

Your priuy seales, that thus haue frighted off

All your acquaintance; that they shun you at distance,

VVorse, then you do the Bailies!

Pox upon you.

I come not to you for counsell, I lack money.

You doe not thinke, what you owe me already?

I?

They owe you, that meane to pay you. I'll besworne,

I neuer meant it. Come, you will proiect,

I shall vndoe your practice, for this moneth else:

You know mee.

Well, that's all one!

You'll leaue this Empire, one day?

You will not euer have this tribute payd,

Your scepter o'the sword?

Tye vp your wit,

Doe, and prouoke me not—

Will you, Sir, helpe,

To what I shall prouoke another for you?

I cannot tell; try me: I thinke I am not

So vtterly, of an ore vn-to-be-melted,

But I can doe my selfe good, on occasions.

Strike in then, for your part. Mr. Fitz-dottrel

If I transgresse in point of manners, afford mee

Your best construction; I must beg my freedome

From your affayres, this day.

How, Sr.

It is

In succour of this Gentlemans occasions,

My kins-man—

You'll not do me that affront, Sr.

I am sory you should so interpret it,

But, Sir, it stands vpon his being inuested

In a new office, hee has stood for, long:

Master of the Dependances! A place

Of my proiection too, Sir, and hath met

Much opposition; but the State, now, see's

That great necessity of it, as after all

Their writing, and their speaking, against Duells,

They haue erected it. His booke is drawne—

For, sincc, there will be differences, daily,

'Twixt Gentlemen; and that the roaring manner

Is growne offensiue; that those few, we call

The ciuill men o'the sword, abhorre the vapours;

They shall refer now, hither, for their processe;

And such as trespasse 'gainst the rule of Court,

Are to be fin'd—

In troth, a pretty place!

A kinde of arbitrary Court 'twill be, Sir.

I shall haue matter for it, I beleeue,

Ere it be long: I had a distast.

But now, Sir,

My learned councell, they must haue a feeling;

They'll part, Sir, with no bookes, without the hand-gout

Be oyld, and I must furnish. If't be money,

To me streight. I am Mine, Mint and Exchequer,

To supply all. What is't? a hundred pound?

No, th'Harpey, now, stands on a hundred pieces.

Why, he must haue'hem, if he will. To morrow, Sir,

Will equally serue your occasion's,——

And therefore, let me obtaine, that you will yeeld

To timing a poore Gentlemans distresses,

In termes of hazard.—

By no meanes!

I must

Get him this money, and will.—

Sir, I protest,

I'd rather stand engag'd for it my selfe:

Then you should leaue mee.

O good Sr, do you thinke

So coursely of our manners, that we would,

For any need of ours, be prest to take it:

Though you be pleas'd to offer it.

Why, by heauen,

I meane it!

I can never beleeve lesse.

But wee, Sir, must preserue our dignity,

As you doe publish yours. By your faire leaue, Sir.

As I am a Gentleman, if you doe offer

To leaue mee now, or if you doe refuse mee,

I will not thinke you love mee.

Sir, I honour you.

And with just reason, for these noble notes,

Of the nobility, you pretend too! But, Sir—

I would know, why? a motiue (he a stranger)

You should doe this?

You'll mar all with your finenesse)

Why, that's all one, if'twere, Sir, but my fancy.

But I have a Businesse, that perhaps I'd have

Brought to his office.

O, Sir! I have done, then;

If he can be made profitable, to you.

Yes, and it shall be one of my ambitions

To have it the first Businesse? May I not?

So you doe meane to make't, a perfect Businesse.

Nay, I'll doe that, assure you: shew me once.

Sr, it concernes, the first be a perfect Businesse,

For his owne honour!

I, and th'reputation

Too, of my place.

Why, why doe I take this course, else?

I am not altogether, an Asse, good Gentlemen,

Wherefore should I consult you? doe you thinke?

To make a song on't? How's your manner? tell vs.

Doe, satisfie him: giue him the whole course.

First, by request, or otherwise, you offer

Your Businesse to the Court: wherein you craue:

The judgement of the Master and the Assistants.

Well, that's done, now, what doe you vpon it?

We streight Sr, haue recourse to the spring-head;

Visit the ground; and, so disclose the nature:

If it will carry, or no. If wee doe finde,

By your proportions it is like to proue

A sullen, and blacke Bus'nesse That it be

Incorrigible; and out of, treaty; then,

We file it, a Dependance!

So 'tis fil'd.

What followes? I doe loue the order of these things.

We then aduise the party, if he be

A man of meanes, and hauings, that forth-with,

He settle his estate: if not, at least

That he pretend it. For, by that, the world

Takes notice, that it now is a Dependance.

And this we call, Sir, Publication.

Very sufficient! After Publication, now?

Then we grant out our Processe, which is diuers;

Either by Chartell, Sir, or ore-tenus,

Wherein the Challenger, and Challengee

Or (with your Spaniard) your Provocador,

And Prouocado,haue their seuerall courses—

I haue enough on't! for an hundred pieces?

Yes, for two hundred, vnder-write me, doe.

Your man will take my bond?

That he will, sure,

But, these same Citizens, they are such sharks!

There's an old debt of forty, I ga my word

For one is runne away, to the Bermudas,

And he will hooke in that, or he wi'not doe.

Why, let him. That and the ring, and a hundred pieces,

Will all but make two hundred?

No, no more, Sir.

What ready Arithmetique you haue? doe you heare?

A pretty mornings worke for you, this? Do it,

You shall ha' twenty pound on't.

Twenty pieces?

Good Father, do't)

You will hooke still? well,

Shew vs your ring. You could not ha'done this, now

With gentlenesse, at first, wee might ha'thank'd you?

But groane,and ha'your courtesies come from you

Like a hard stoole, and stinke? A man may draw

Your teeth out easier, then your money? Come,

Were little Guilt-head heere, no better a nature,

I should ne'r loue him, that could pull his lips off, now!

Was not thy mother a Gentlewoman?

Yes, Sir.

And went to the Court at Christmas, and St. Georges-tide?

And lent the Lords-men, chaines?

Of gold, and pearle, Sr.

I knew, thou must take, after some body!

Thou could'st not be else. This was no shop-looke!

I'll ha'thee Captaine Guilt-head, and march vp,

And take in Pimlico,, and kill the bush,

At euery tauerne! Thou shalt haue a wife,

If smocks will mount, boy. How now? you ha'there now

Some Bristo-stone, or Cornish counterfeit

You'ld put vpon vs.

No, Sir, I assure you:

Looke on his luster! hee will speake himselfe!

I'le gi'you leaue to put him i'the Mill,

H'is no great, large stone, but a true Paragon,

H'has all his corners, view him well.

H'is yellow.

Vpo'my faith, Sr, o'the right black-water,

And very deepe! H'is set without a foyle, too.

Here's one o'the yellow water, I'll sell cheape.

And what do you valew this, at? thirty pound?

No, Sir, he cost me forty, ere he was set.

Turnings, you meane? I know your Equiuocks:

You'are growne the better Fathers of'hem o'late.

Well, where't must goe, 'twill be iudg'd, and, therefore,

Looke you't be right. You shall haue fifty pound for't.

Not a deneer more! And, because you would

Haue things dispatch'd, Sir, I'll goe presently,

Inquire out this Lady. If you thinke good, Sir.

Hauing an hundred pieces ready, you may

Part with those, now, to serue my kinsmans turnes,

That he may wait vpon you, anon, the freer;

And take'hem when you ha'seal'd, againe, of Guilt-head.

I care not if I do!

And dispatch all,

Together.

Th'are just: a hundred pieces!

I' ha'told'hem ouer, twice a day, these two months.

Well, go, and seale then, Sr, make your returne

As speedy as you can.

Come gi'me.

Soft, Sir,

Mary, and faire too, then. I'll no delaying, Sir.

But, you will heare?

Yes, when I haue my diuident.

Theres forty pieces for you.

What is this for?

Your halfe. You know, that Guilt-head must ha'twenty.

And what's your ring there? shall I ha' none o'that?

O, thats to be giuen to a Lady!

Is't so?

By that good light, it is.

Come, gi'me

Ten pieces more, then.

Why?

For Guilt-head? Sir,

Do you thinke, I'll low him any such share:

You must.

Must I? Doe you your musts, Sir, I'll doe mine,

You wi'not part with the whole, Sir? Will you? Goe too.

Gi' me ten pieces!

By what law, doe you this?

E'n Lyon-law, Sir, I must roare else.

Good!

Yo'haue heard, how th' Asse made his diuisions, wisely?

And, I am he. I thanke you.

Much good do you, Sr.

I shall be rid o'this tyranny, one day?

Not,

While you doe eate; and lie, about the towne, here;

And coozen i'your bullions; and I stand

Your name of credit, and compound your businesse;

Adiourne your beatings euery terme; and make

New parties for your proiects. I haue, now,

A pretty tasque, of it, to hold you in

Wi'your Lady Tayle-bush: but the toy will be,

How we shall both come off?

Leaue you your doubting.

And doe your portion, what's assign'd you: I

Neuer fail'd yet.

With reference to your aydes?

You'll still be vnthankfull. Where shall I meete you, anon?

You ha' some feate to doe alone, now, I see;

You wish me gone, well, I will finde you out,

And bring you after to the audit.

S'light!

There's Ingines share too, I had forgot! This raigne

Is too-too vnsuportable! I must

Quit my selfe of this vassalage! Ingine! welcome.

HOw goes the cry?

Excellent well!

Wil't do?

VVhere's Robinson?

Here is the Gentleman, Sir.

VVill vndertake t'himselfe. I haue acquainted him,

VVhy did you so?

VVhy, Robinson would ha'told him,

You know. And hee's a pleasant wit! will hurt

Nothing you purpose. Then, he'is of opinion,

That Robinson might want audacity,

She being such a gallant. Now, hee has beene,

In Spaine, and knowes the fashions there; and can

Discourse; and being but mirth (hee saies) leaue much,

To his care:

But he is too tall!

For that,

He has the brauest deuice! (you'll loue him for't)

To say, he weares Cioppines: and they doe so

In Spaine. And Robinson's as tall, as hee.

Is he so?

Euery iot.

Nay, I had rather

To trust a Gentleman with it, o'the two.

Pray you goe to him, then, Sir, and salute him.

Sir, my friend Ingine has acquainted you

With a strange businesse, here.

A merry one, Sir.

The Duke of Drown'd-land, and his Dutchesse?

Yes, Sir.

Now, that the Coniurers ha'laid him by,

I ha' made bold, to borrow him a while;

With purpose, yet, to put him out I hope

To his best vse?

Yes, Sir.

For that small part,

That I am trusted with, put off your care:

I would not lose to doe it, for the mirth,

Will follow of it; and well, I haue a fancy.

Sir, that will make it well.

You will report it so.

Where must I haue my dressing?

At my house, Sir.

You shall haue caution, Sir, for what he yeelds,

To six pence.

You shall pardon me. I will share, Sir,

I' your sports, onely: nothing i'your purchase.

But you must furnish mee with complements,

To th' manner of Spaine; my coach, my guarda duenn'as;

Ingine's your Pro'uedor. But, Sir, I must

(Now I'haue entred trust wi'you, thus farre)

Secure still i' your quality, acquaint you

With somewhat, beyond this. The place, design'd

To be the Scene, for this our merry matter,

Because it must haue countenance of women,

To draw discourse, and offer it, is here by,

At the Lady Taile-bushes.

I know her, Sir,

And her Gentleman huisher.

Mr Ambler?

Yes, Sir.

Sir, It shall be no shame to mee, to confesse

To you, that wee poore Gentlemen, that want acres,

Must for our needs, turne fooles vp, and plough Ladies

Sometimes, to try what glebe they are: and this

Is no vnfruitefull piece. She, and I now,

Are on a proiect, for the fact, and venting

Of a new kinde of fucus (paint, for Ladies)

To serve the kingdome: wherein shee her selfe

Hath trauell'd, specially, by way of seruice

Vnto her sexe, and hopes to get the Monopoly,

As the reward, of her inuention.

What is her end, in this?

Merely ambition,

Sir, to grow great, and court it with the secret:

Though shee pretend some other. For, she's dealing,

Already, vpon caution for the shares,

And Mr. Ambler, is he nam'd Examiner

For the ingredients; and the Register

Of what is vented; and shall keepe the Office.

Now, if shee breake with you, of this (as I

Must make the leading thred to your acquaintance,

That, how experience gotten i'your being

Abroad, will helpe our businesse) thinke of some

Pretty additions, but to keepe her floting:

It may be, shee will offer you a part,

Any strange names of—

Sr, I haue my instructions.

Is it not high time to be making ready?

Yes, Sir,

The foole's in sight, Dottrel.

Away, then.

REturn'd so soone?

Yes, here's the ring: I ha'seal'd.

But there's not so much gold in all the row, he saies—

Till't come fro' the Mint. 'Tis tane vp for the gamsters.

There's a shop-shift! plague on'hem.

He do's sweare it.

He'll sweare, and forsweare too, it is his trade,

You should not haue left him.

S'lid, I can goe backe,

And beat him, yet.

No, now let him alone.

I was so earnest, after the maine Businesse,

To haue this ring, gone.

True, and 'tis time.

I haue learn'd, Sir, sin' you went, her Ladi-ship eats

With the Lady Tail-bush, here, hard by.

I'the lane here?

Yes, if you'had a seruant, now of presence,

Well cloth'd, and of an aëry voluble tongue,

Neither too bigge, or little for his mouth,

That could deliuer your wiues complement;

To send along withall.

I haue one Sir,

A very hand some, gentleman-like-fellow,

That I doe meane to make my Dutchesse Vsher—

I entertain'd him, but this morning, too:

I'll call him to you. The worst of him, is his name!

She'll take no note of that, but of his message.

Diuell! How like you him, Sir. Pace, go a little.

Let's see you moue.

He'll serue, Sr, giue it him:

And let him goe along with mee, I'll helpe

To present him, and it.

Looke, you doe sirah,

Discharge this well, as you expect your place.

Do'you heare, goe on, come off with all your honours.

I would faine see him, do it.

Trust him, with it;

Remember kissing of your hand, and answering

With the French-time, in flexure of your body.

I could now so instruct him— and for his words—

I'll put them in his mouth.

O, but I haue 'hem

O'the very Academies.

Sir, you'll haue vse for'hem,

Anon, your selfe, I warrant you: after dinner,

When you are call'd.

S'light, that'll be iust play-time.

It cannot be, I must not lost the play!

Sir, but you must, if she appoint to sit.

And, shee's president.

S'lid, it is the Diuell!

And, 'twere his Damme too, you must now apply

Your selfe, Sir, to this, wholly; or lose all.

If I could but see a piece—

Sr. Never think on't.

Come but to one act, and I did not care—

But to be seene to rise, and goe away,

To vex the Players, and to punish their Poet—

Keepe him in awe!

But say, that he be one,

Wi'not be aw'd! but laugh at you. How then?

Then he shall pay for'his dinner himselfe.

Perhaps,

He would doe that twice, rather then thanke you.

Come, get the Diuell out of your head, my Lord,

(I'll call you so in priuate still) and take

Your Lord ship i'your minde. You were, sweete Lord,

In take to bring a Businesse to the Office.

Yes.

Why should not you, Sr, carry it o'your selfe,

Before the Office be vp? and shew the world,

You had no need of any mans direction;

In point, Sir, of sufficiency. I speake

Against a kinsman, but as one that tenders

Your graces good.

I thanke you; to proceed—

To Publications: ha'your Deed drawne presently.

And leaue a blancke to put in your Feoffces

One, two, or more, as you see cause—

I thank you

Heartily, I doe thanke you. Not a word more,

I pray you, as you loue mee. Let mee alone.

That I could not thinke o'this, as well, as hee?

O, I could beat my infinite blocke-head—!

Come, we must this way.

How far is't.

Hard by here

Ouer the way. Now, to atchieue this ring,

From this same fellow, that is to assure it;

Before hee giue it. Though my Spanish Lady,

Be a young Gentleman of meanes, and scorne

To share, as hee doth say, I doe not know

How such a toy may tempt his Lady-ship:

And therefore, I thinke best, it be assur'd.

Sir, be the Ladies braue, wee goe vnto?

O, yes.

And shall I see'hem, and speake to'hem?

What else? ha' you your false-beard about you? Traines.

Yes,

And is this one of your double Cloakes?

The best of'hem.

Be ready then. Sweet Pitfall!

COme, I must busse—

Away.

I'll set thee vp again.

Neuer feare that: canst thou get ne'r a bird?

No Thrushes hungry? Stay, till cold weather come,

I'll help thee to an Ousell, or, a Field-fare.

Who's within, with Madame?

I'll tell you straight.

Please you stay here, a while Sir, I'le goe in.

I doe so long to haue a little venery,

While I am in this body! I would taste

Of euery sinne, a little, if it might be

After the mãner of man! Sweet-heart!

What would you, Sr?

Nothing but fall in, to you, be your Black-bird,

My pretty pit (as the Gentleman said) your Throstle:

Lye tame, and taken with you; here'is gold!

To buy you so much new stuffes, from the shop,

As I may take the old vp—

You must send, Sir.

The Gentleman the ring.

There'tis. Nay looke,

Will you be foolish, Pit,

This is strange rudenesse.

Deare Pit.

I'll call, I sweare.

Where are you, Sr?

Is your ring ready? Goe with me.

I sent it you.

Me? When? by whom?

A fellow here, e'en now,

Came for it i' your name.

I sent none, sure.

My meaning euer was, you should deliuer it,

Your selfe: So was your Masters charge, you know.

What fellow was it, doe you know him?

Here,

But now, he had it.

Saw you any? Traines?

Not I.

The Gentleman saw him.

Enquire.

I was so earnest vpon her, I mark'd not!

My diuellish Chiefe has put mee here in flesh,

To shame mee! This dull body I am in,

I perceiue nothing with! I offer at nothing,

That will succeed!

Sir, she saw none, she saies.

Satan himselfe, has tane a shape t'abuse me.

It could not be else!

This is aboue strange!

That you should be so retchlesse. What'll you do, Sir?

How will you answer this, when you are question'd?

Run from my flesh, if I could: put off mankind!

This's such a scorne! and will be a new exercise,

For my Arch-Duke! Woe to the seuerall cudgells,

Must suffer, on this backe! Can you no succours? Sir?

Alas! the vse of it is so present,

I aske,

Sir, credit for another, but till to morrow?

There is not so much time, Sir. But how euer,

The Lady is a noble Lady, and will

(To saue a Gentleman from check) be intreated

To say, she ha's receiu'd it.

Do you thinke so?

Will shee be won?

No doubt, to such an office,

It will be a Lady's brauery, and her pride.

And not be knowne on't after, vnto him?

That were a treachery! Vpon my word,

Be confident. Returne vnto your master,

My Lady President sits this after-noone,

Ha's tane the ring, commends her seruices

Vnto your Lady-Dutchesse. You may say

She's a ciuill Lady, and do's giue her

All her respects, already: Bad you, tell her

She liues, but to receiue her wish'd commandements,

And haue the honor here to kisse her hands:

For which shee'll stay this houre yet. Hasten you

Your Prince, away.

And Sir, you will take care

Th'excuse be perfect?

You confesse your feares.

Too much.

The shame is more, I'll quit you of either.

Pox vpo' referring to Commissioners,

I'had rather heare that it were past the seales:

Your Courtiers moue so Snaile-like i'your Businesse.

Would I had not begun wi'you.

We must moue,

Madame, in order, by degrees: not iump.

Why, there was Sr. Iohn Monie-man could iump

A Businesse quickely.

True, hee had great friends,

But, because some, sweete Madame, can leape ditches,

Wee must not all shunne to goe ouer bridges.

The harder parts, I make account are done:

Now, 'tis referr'd. You are infinitely bound

Vnto the Ladies, they ha' so cri'd it vp!

Doe they like it then?

They ha' sent the Spanish-Lady,

To gratulate with you—

I must send 'hem thankes

And some remembrances.

That you must, and visit 'hem.

Where's Ambler?

Lost, to day, we cannot heare of him.

Not Madam?

No in good faith. They say he lay not

At home, to night. And here has fall'n a Businesse

Betweene your Cousin, and Master Manly, has

Vnquieted vs all.

So I heare, Madame.

Pray you how was it?

Troth, it but appeares

Ill o'your Kinsmans part. You may haue heard,

That Manly is a sutor to me, I doubt not:

I guess'd it, Madame.

And it seemes, he trusted

Your Cousin to let fall some faire reports

Of him vnto mee.

Which he did!

So farre

From it, as hee came in, and tooke him rayling

Against him.

How! And what said Manly to him?

Inough, I doe assure you: and with that scorne

Of him, and the iniury, as I doe wonder

How Euerill bore it! But that guilt vndoe's

Many mens valors

Here comes Manly.

Madame,

I'll take my leaue—

You sha'not goe, i'faith.

I'll ha you stay, and see this Spanish miracle,

Of our English Lady.

Let me pray your Ladiship,

Lay your commands on me, some other time.

Now, I protest: and I will haue all piec'd,

And friends againe.

It will be but ill solder'd!

You are too much affected with it.

I cannot

Madame, but thinke on't for th'iniustice.

Sir,

His kinsman here is sorry.

Not I, Madame,

I am no kin to him, wee but call Cousins,

And if wee were, Sir, I haue no relation

Vnto his crimes.

You are not vrged with 'hem.

I can accuse, Sir, none but mine owne iudgement,

For though it were his crime, so to betray mee:

I am sure, 'twas more mine owne, at all to trust him.

But he, therein, did vse but his old manners,

And sauour strongly what hee was before.

Come, he will change!

Faith, I must neuer think it.

Nor were it reason in mee to expect

That for my sake, hee should put off a nature

Hee suck'd in with his milke. It may be Madam,

Deceiuing trust, is all he has to trust to:

If so, I shall be loath, that any hope

Of mine, should bate him of his meanes.

Yo'are sharp, Sir.

This act may make him honest!

If he were

To be made honest, by an act of Parliament,

I should not alter, i'my faith of him.

Eyther-side!

Welcome, deare Either-side! how hast thou done, good wench?

Thou hast beene a stranger! I ha'not seene thee, this weeke.

EVer your seruant, Madame.

Where hast'hou beene?

I did so long to see thee.

Visiting, and so tyr'd!

I protest, Madame, 'tis a monstrous trouble!

And so it is. I sweare I must to morrow,

Beginne my visits (would they were ouer) at Court.

It tortures me, to thinke on'hem.

I doe heare

You ha'cause, Madame, your sute goes on.

Who told thee?

One, that can tell: Mr. Eyther-side.

O,thy husband!

Yes faith, there's life in't, now: It is referr'd.

If wee once see it vnder the seales, wench, then,

Haue with 'hem for the great Carroch, sixe horses,

And the two Coach-men, with my Ambler, bare,

And my three women: wee will liue, i'faith,

The examples o'the towne, and gouerne it.

I'le leade the fashion still.

You doe that, now,

Sweet Madame.

O, but then, I'll euery day

Bring up some new device. Thou and I, Either-side,

Will first be in it, I will giue it thee;

And they shall follow vs. Thou shalt, I sweare,

Weare euery moneth a new gowne, out of it.

Thanke you good Madame.

Pray thee call mee Taile-bush

As I thee, Either-side; I not loue this, Madame.

Then I protest to you, Taile-bush, I am glad

Your Businesse so succeeds.

Thanke thee, good Eyther-side.

But Master Either-side tells me, that he likes

Your other Businesse better.

Which?

O,the Tooth-picks.

I neuer heard on't.

Aske Mr. Mere craft.

Madame? H'is one, in a word, I'll trust his malice,

With any mans credit, I would haue abus'd!

Sir, if you thinke you doe please mee, in this,

You are deceiu'd!

No, but because my Lady,

Nam'd him my kinsman; I would satisfie you,

What I thinke of him: and pray you, vpon it

To iudge mee!

So I doe: that ill mens friendship,

Is as vnfaithfull, as themselues.

Doe you heare?

Ha'you a Businesse about Tooth-picks?

Yes, Madame.

Did I ne'r tell't you? I meant to haue offer'd it

Your Lady-ship, on the perfecting the pattent.

How is't!

For seruing the whole state with Tooth-picks;

(Somewhat an intricate Businesse to discourse) but—

I shew, how much the Subiect is abus'd,

First, in that one commodity? then what diseases,

And putrefactions in the gummes are bred,

By those are made'of' adultrate, and false wood?

My plot, for reformation of these, followes.

To haue all Tooth-picks, brought vnto an office,

There seal'd; and such as counterfait 'hem, mulcted,

And last, for venting 'hem to have a booke

Printed, to teach their vse, which euery childe

Shall haue throughout the kingdome, that can read,

And learne to picke his teeth by. Which beginning

Earely to practice, with some other rules,

Of neuer sleeping with the mouth open, chawing

Some graines of masticke, will preserue the breath

Pure, and so free from taynt— ha'what is't? sai'st thou?

Good faith, it sounds a very pretty Bus'nesse!

So Mr. Either-side saies, Madame.

The Lady is come.

Is she? Good, waite vpon her in. My Ambler

Was neuer so ill absent. Either-side,

How doe I looke to day? Am I not drest,

Spruntly?

Yes, verily, Madame.

Pox o'Madame,

Will you not leaue that?

Yes, good Taile-bush.

So?

Sounds not that better? What vile Fucus is this,

Thou hast got on?

'Tis Pearle.

Pearle? Oyster-shells:

As I breath, Either-side, I know't. Here comes

(They say) a wonder, sirrah, has beene in Spaine!

Will teach vs all! shee's sent to mee, from Court.

To gratulate with mee! Pr'y thee, let's obserue her,

What faults she has, that wee may laugh at 'hem,

When she is gone,

That we will heartily, Tail-bush.

O, me! the very Infanta of the Giants!

Here is a noble Lady, Madame, come,

From your great friends, at Court, to see your Ladi-ship:

And haue the honour of your acquaintance.

Sir.

She do's us honour.

Pray you, say to her Ladiship,

It is the manner of Spaine, to imbrace onely,

Neuer to kisse. She will excuse the custome!

Your vse of it is law. Please you, sweete, Madame,

To take a seate.

Yes, Madame. I'haue had

The fauour, through a world of faire report

To know your vertues, Madame; and in that

Name, haue deserv'd the happinesse of presenting

My seruice to your Ladiship!

Your loue, Madame,

I must not owne it else.

Both are due, Madame,

To your great vndertakings.

Great? In troth, Madame,

They are my friends, that thinke 'hem any thing:

If I can doe my sexe (by 'hem) any seruice,

I'haue my ends, Madame.

And they are noble ones,

That make a multitude beholden, Madame:

The common-wealth of Ladies, must acknowledge from you.

Except some enuious, Madame.

Yo'are right in that, Madame,

Of which race, I encountred some but lately.

Who ('t seemes) haue studyed reasons to discredit

Your businesse.

How, sweet Madame.

Nay, the parties

Wi'not be worth your pause— Most ruinous things, Madame,

That haue put off all hope of being recouer'd

To a degree of handsomenesse.

But their reasons, Madame?

I would faine heare.

Some Madame, I remember.

They say, that painting quite destroyes the face—

O, that's an old one, Madame.

There are new ones, too.

Corrupts the breath; hath left so little sweetnesse

In kissing, as 'tis now vs'd, but for fashion:

And shortly will be taken for a punishment.

Decayes the fore-teeth, that should guard the tongue;

And suffers that runne riot euerlasting!

And (which is worse) some Ladies when they meete

Cannot be merry, and laugh, but they doe spit

In one anothers faces!

I should know

This voyce, and face too:

Then they say, 'tis dangerous

To all the falne, yet well dispos'd Mad-dames,

That are industrious, and desire to earne

Their liuing with their sweate! For any distemper

Of heat, and motion, may displace the colours;

And if the paint once runne about their faces,

Twenty to one, they will appeare so ill-fauour'd,

Their seruants run away, too, and leaue the pleasure

Imperfect, and the reckoning als'vnpay'd.

Pox, these are Poets reasons.

Some old Lady

That keeps a Poet, has deuis'd these scandals.

Faith we must haue the Poets banish'd, Madame,

As Master Either-side saies.

Master Fitz dottrel?

And his wife: where? Madame, the Duke of Drown'd-land,

That will be shortly.

Is this my Lord?

The same.

YOur seruant, Madame!

How now? Friend? offended,

That I haue found your haunt here?

No, but wondring

At your strange fashion'd venture, hither.

It is

To shew you what they are, you so pursue.

I thinke'twill proue a med'cine against marriage;

To know their manners.

Stay, and profit then.

The Lady, Madame, whose Prince has brought her, here,

To be instructed.

Please you sit with vs, Lady.

That's Lady-President.

A goodly woman!

I cannot see the ring, though.

Sir, she has it.

But, Madame, these are very feeble reasons!

So I vrg'd Madame, that the new complexion,

Now to come forth, in name o'your Ladishipe's fucus,

Had no ingredient—

But I durst eate, I assure you.

So do they, in Spaine.

Sweet Madam be so liberall,

To giue vs some o'your Spanish Fucuses!

They are infinite, Madame.

So I heare, they haue

VVater of Gourdes, of Radish, the white Beanes,

Flowers of Glasse, of Thistles, Rose-marine.

Raw Honey, Mustard-seed, and Bread dough-bak'd,

The crums o'bread, Goats-milke, and whites of Egges,

Campheere, and Lilly-rootes, the fat of Swannes,

Marrow of Veale, white Pidgeons, and pine-kernells,

The seedes of Nettles, perse'line, and hares gall.

Limons, thin-skind—

How, her Ladiship has studied

Al excellent things!

But ordinary, Madame.

No, the true rarities, are th' Aluagada,

And Argentata of Queene Isabella!

I, what are their ingredients, gentle Madame?

Your Allum Scagliole, or Pol-dipedra;

And Zuccarino; Turpentine of Abezzo,

Wash'd in nine waters: Soda di leuante;

Or your Ferne ashes; Beniamin digotta;

Grasia diserpe; Porcelletto marino;

Oyles of Lentisco; Zucche Mugia; make

The admirable Vernish for the face,