Welcome good Captaine Ironside, and brother;

You shall along with me. I'm lodg'd hard by,

Here at a noble Ladies house i'th' street,

The Lady Loadstones (one will bid us welcome)

Where there are Gentlewomen, and male Guests,

Of severall humors, cariage, constitution,

Profession too: but so diametrall

One to another, and so much oppos'd,

As if I can but hold them all together,

And draw 'hem to a sufferance of themselves,

But till the Dissolution of the Dinner;

I shall have just occasion to beleeve

My wit is magisteriall; and our selves

Take infinite delight, i'the successe.

Troth, brother Compasse, you shall pardon me;

I love not so to multiply acquaintance

At a meales cost, 'twill take off o' my freedome

So much: or bind me to the least observance.

Why Ironside, you know I am a Scholler,

And part a Souldier; I have beene imployed,

By some the greatest States-men o' the kingdome,

These many yeares: and in my time convers'd

With sundry humors, suiting so my selfe

To company, as honest men, and knaves,

Good-fellowes, Hypocrites, all sorts of people,

Though never so divided in themselves,

Have studied to agree still in the usage,

And handling of me (which hath beene faire too.)

Sir I confesse you to be one well read

In men, and manners; and that, usually,

The most ungovern'd persons, you being present,

Rather subject themselves unto your censure,

Then give you least occasion of distaste,

By making you the subject of their mirth:

But (to deale plainely with you, as a brother)

When ever I distrust i'my owne valour:

Ile never beare me on anothers wit,

Or offer to bring off, or save my selfe

On the opinion of your Iudgement, gravitie,

Discretion, or what else. But (being away)

You'are sure to have lesse-wit-worke, gentle brother,

My humour being as stubborne, as the rest,

And as unmannageable.

You doe mistake

My Caract of your friendship, all this while!

Or at what rate I reckon your assistance

Knowing by long experience, to such Animals,

Halfe-hearted Creatures, as these are, your Foxe, there,

Vnkenneld with a Cholerick, ghastly aspect,

Or two or three comminatory Termes,

Would run their feares to any hole of shelter,

Worth a dayes laughter! I am for the sport:

For nothing else.

But, brother, I ha' seene

A Coward, meeting with a man as valiant

As our St. George (not knowing him to be such,

Or having least opinion that hee was so)

Set to him roundly, I, and swindge him soundly:

And i'the vertue of that errour, having

Once overcome, resolv'd for ever after

To erre; and thinke no person, nor no creature

More valiant then himselfe.

I thinke that too.

But, Brother, (could I over intreat you)

I have some little plot upon the rest

If you would be contented, to endure

A sliding reprehension, at my hands,

To heare your selfe, or your profession glanc'd at

In a few sleighting termes: It would beget

Me such a maine Authority, o' the by:

And doe your selfe no dis-repute at all!

Compasse, I know that universall causes

In nature produce nothing; but as meeting

Particular causes, to determine those,

And specifie their acts. This is a piece

Of Oxford Science, staies with me ere since

I left that place; and I have often found

The truth thereof, in my private passions:

For I doe never feele my selfe perturb'd

With any generall words 'gainst my profession,

Vnlesse by some smart stroke upon my selfe

They doe awake, and stirre me: Else, to wise

And well experienc'd men, words doe but signifie;

They have no power; save with dull Grammarians,

Whose soules are nought, but a Syntaxis of them.

Here comes our Parson, Parson Palate here

A venerable youth! I must salute him,

And a great Clerke! hee's going to the Ladies,

And though you see him thus, without his Cope,

I dare assure you, hee's our Parish Pope!

God save my reverend Clergy, Parson Palate.

The witty Mr. Compasse! how is't, with you?

My Lady staies for you, and for your Councell,

Touching her Neice Mrs. Placentia Steele!

Who strikes the fire of full fourteene, to day,

Ripe for a husband.

I, she chimes, shee chimes,

Saw you the Doctor Rut, the house Physician?

He's sent for too.

To Councell? 'time yo' were there.

Make haste, and give it a round quick dispatch:

That wee may goe to dinner betimes, Parson:

And drinke a health, or two more, to the busines.

This is a strange put-off! a reverend youth,

You use him most surreverently me thinkes!

What? call you him? Palate Please? or Parson Palate?

All's one, but shorter! I can gi'you his Character.

Hee, is the Prelate of the Parish, here;

And governes all the Dames; appoints the cheere;

Writes downe the bils of fare; pricks all the Guests;

Makes all the matches and the marriage feasts

Within the ward; drawes all the parish wils;

Designes the Legacies; and strokes the Gills

Of the chiefe Mourners; And (who ever lacks)

Of all the kindred, hee hath first his blacks.

Thus holds hee weddings up, and burials,

As his maine tithing; with the Gossips stals,

Their pewes; He's top still, at the publique messe;

Comforts the widow, and the fatherlesse,

In funerall Sack! Sits 'bove the Alderman!

For of the Ward-mote Quest, he better can,

The mysterie, then the Levitick Law:

That peece of Clark-ship doth his Vestry awe.

Hee is as he conceives himselfe, a fine

Well furnish'd, and apparaled Divine.

Who made this EPIGRAMME, you?

No, a great Clarke

As any'is of his bulke. (Ben: Ionson) made it.

But what's the other Character, DOCTOR Rut?

The same man made 'hem both: but his is shorter,

And not in rime, but blancks. Ile tell you that, too.

Rut is a young Physician to the family:

That, letting God alone, ascribes to nature

More then her share; licentious in discourse,

And in his life a profest Voluptary;

The slave of money, a Buffon in manners;

Obscene in language; which he vents for wit;

Is sawcy in his Logicks, and disputing,

Is any thing but civill, or a man.

See here they are! and walking with my Lady,

In consultation, afore the doore;

Wee will slip in, as if we saw 'hem not.

I, tis his fault, she's not bestow'd,

My brother Interests.

Who, old Sir Moath?

Hee keeps off all her Suitors, keepes the portion,

Still in his hands: and will not part with all,

On any termes.

Hinc illæ lachrymæ;

Thence flowes the cause o' the maine grievance.

That

It is a maine one! how much is the portion?

No petty summe.

But sixteene thousand pound.

He should be forc'd, Madam, to lay it downe.

When is it payable?

When she is married.

Marry her, marry her, Madam.

Get her married.

Loose not a day, an houre—

Not a minute.

Pursue your project reall. Mr. Compasse,

Advis'd you, too. He is the perfect Instrument,

Your Ladiship should saile by.

Now, Mr. Compasse

Is a fine witty man; I saw him goe in, now.

Is hee gone in?

Yes, and a Fether with him,

He seemes a Souldier.

Some new Sutor, Madam.

I am beholden to him: hee brings ever

Variety of good persons to my table,

And I must thanke him, though my brother Interest

Dislike of it a little.

Hee likes nothing

That runs your way.

Troth, and the other cares not.

Hee'll goe his owne way, if he thinke it right.

Hee's a true friend! and ther's Mr. Practise,

The fine young man of Law comes to the house:

My brother brooks him not, because he thinkes

He is by me assigned for my Neice:

Hee will not heare of it.

Not of that eare:

But yet your Ladiship doth wisely in it—

'Twill make him to lay downe the portion sooner,

If he but dreame you'l match her with a Lawyer.

So Mr. Compasse sayes. It is betweene

The Lawyer, and the Courtier, which shall have her.

Who, Sir Diaphanous Silke-worme?

A fine Gentle-man.

Old Mr. Silke-wormes Heire.

And a neat Courtier,

Of a most elegant thred

And so my Gossip

Polish assures me. Here she comes! good Polish

Welcome in troth! How do'st thou gentle Polish?

Who's this?

Dame Polish, her shee-Parasite,

Her talking, soothing, sometime governing Gossip.

Your Ladiship is still the Lady Loadstone

That drawes, and drawes unto you, Guests of all sorts:

The Courtiers, and the Souldiers, and the Schollers,

The Travellers, Physicians, and Divines,

As Doctor Ridley writ, and Doctor Barlow?

They both have wrote of you, and Mr. Compasse.

Wee meane, they shall write more, ere it be long.

Alas, they are both dead, and't please you; But,

Your Ladiship meanes well, and shall meane well,

So long as I live. How does your fine Neice?

My charge, Mistris Placentia Steele?

Shee is not well.

Not well?

Her Doctor sayes so.

Not very well; shee cannot shoot at Buts.

Or manage a great Horse, but shee can cranch

A sack of small coale! eat you lime, and haire,

Soap-ashes, Loame, and has a dainty spice

O' the greene sicknesse!

'Od sheild!

Or the Dropsie!

A toy, a thing of nothing. But my Lady, here

Her noble Aunt.

Shee is a noble Aunt!

And a right worshipfull Lady, and a vertuous;

I know it well!

Well, if you know it, peace.

Good sister Polish heare your betters speake.

Sir I will speake, with my good Ladies leave,

And speake, and speake againe; I did bring up

My Ladies Neice, Mrs. Placentia Steele,

With my owne Daughter (who's Placentia too)

And waits upon my Lady, is her woman:

Her Ladiship well knowes M^rs. Placentia

Steele (as I said) her curious Neice, was left

A Legacie to me; by Father, and Mother

With the Nurse, Keepe, that tended her: her Mother

Shee died in Child-bed of her, and her Father

Liv'd not long after: for he lov'd her Mother!

They were a godly couple! yet both di'd,

(As wee must all.) No creature is immortall;

I have heard our Pastor say: no, not the faithfull!

And they did die (as I said) both in one moneth.

Sure shee is not long liv'd, if she spend breath thus.

And did bequeath her, to my care, and hand,

To polish, and bring up. I moulded her,

And fashion'd her, and form'd her; she had the sweat

Both of my browes and braines. My Lady knowes it

Since she could write a quarter old.

I know not

That she could write so early, my good Gossip.

But I doe know she was so long your care,

Till she was twelve yeare old; that I call'd for her,

And tooke her home, for which I thanke you Polish,

And am beholden to you.

I sure thought

She had a Lease of talking, for nine lives—

It may be she has.

Sir sixteene thousand pound

Was then her portion! for she was, indeed,

Their only child! and this was to be paid

Vpon her marriage, so she married still

With my good Ladies liking here, her Aunt:

(I heard the Will read) Mr. Steele her father,

The world condemn'd him to be very rich,

And very hard, and he did stand condemn'd

With that vaine world, till, as 'twas 'prov'd, after,

He left almost as much more to good uses

In Sir Moath Interests hands, my Ladies brother,

Whose sister he had married: He holds all

In his close gripe. But Mr. Steele, was liberall,

And a fine man; and she a dainty Dame,

And a religious, and a bountifull—

You knew her Mr. Compasse?

Spare the torture,

I doe confesse without it.

And her husband,

What a fine couple they were? and how they liv'd?

Yes.

And lov'd together, like a paire of Turtles?

Yes.

And feasted all the Neighbours?

Take her off

Some body that hath mercy.

O he knowes her,

It seemes!

Or any measure of compassion:

Doctors, if you be Christians, undertake

One for the soule, the other for the body!

She would dispute with the Doctors of Divinity

At her owne table! and the Spitle Preachers!

And find out the Armenians.

The Armenians?

I say the Armenians.

Nay, I say so too!

So Mr. Polish calld 'hem, the Armenians!

And Medes, and Persians, did he not?

Yes, he knew'hem,

And so did Mistris Steele! she was his Pupill!

The Armenians, he would say, were worse then Papists!

And then the Persians, were our Puritanes,

Had the fine piercing wits!

And who, the Medes?

The midle men, the Luke-warme Protestants?

Out, out.

Sir she would find them by their branching:

Their branching sleeves, brancht cassocks, and brancht doctrine,

Beside their Texts.

Stint Karlin: Ile not heare,

Confute her Parson.

I respect no Persons,

Chaplins, or Doctors, I will speake.

Yes, so't be reason,

Let her.

Death, she cannot speake reason.

Nor sense, if we be Masters of our senses!

What mad woman ha' they got, here, to bate?

Sir I am mad, in truth, and to the purpose;

And cannot but be mad; to heare my Ladies

Dead sister sleighted, witty Mrs. Steele!

If shee had a wit, Death has gone neere to spoile it,

Assure your selfe.

She was both witty, and zealous,

And lighted all the Tinder o' the truth,

(As one said) of Religion, in our Parish:

Shee was too learn'd to live long with us!

She could the Bible in the holy tongue:

And reade it without pricks: had all her Masoreth;

Knew Burton, and his Bull; and scribe Prin-Gent!

Præsto-be-gon: and all the Pharisees.

Deare Gossip,

Be you gone, at this time, too, and vouchsafe

To see your charge, my Neice.

I shall obey

If your wise Ladiship thinke fit: I know,

To yeild to my Superiors.

A good woman!

But when she is impertinent, growes earnest,

A litle troublesome, and out of season:

Her love, and zeale transport her.

I am glad,

That any thing could port her hence. Wee now

Have hope of dinner, after her long grace.

I have brought your Ladiship a hungry Guest, here,

A Souldier, and my brother Captaine Ironside:

Who being by custome growne a Sanguinarie,

The solemne, and adopted sonne of slaughter:

Is more delighted i' the chase of an enemy,

An execution of three daies, and nights;

Then all the hope of numerous succession,

Or happinesse of Issue could bring to him.

Hee is no Suitor then?

So't should seeme.

And, if hee can get pardon at heavens hand,

For all his murthers, is in as good case

As a new christned Infant: (his imployments

Continu'd to him, without Interruption;

And not allowing him, or time, or place

To commit any other sinne, but those)

Please you to make him welcome for a meale, Madam.

The noblenesse of his profession makes

His welcome perfect: though your course description

Would seeme to sully it.

Never, where a beame

Of so much favour doth illustrate it,

Right knowing Lady.

She hath cur'd all well.

And hee hath fitted well the Complement.

No; here they come! the prime Magnetick Guests

Our Lady Loadstone so respects: the Artick!

And th' Antartick! Sir Diaphanous Silke-worme!

A Courtier extraordinary; who by diet

Of meates, and drinkes; his temperate exercise;

Choise musick; frequent bathes; his horary shifts

Of Shirts and Wast-coats; meanes to immortalize

Mortality it selfe; and makes the essence

Of his whole happinesse the trim of Court.

I thanke you Mr. Compasse, for your short

Encomiastick.

It is much in little, Sir.

Concise, and quick: the true stile of an Orator.

But Mr. Practise here, my Ladies Lawyer!

Or man of Law: (for that's the true writing)

A man so dedicate to his profession,

And the preferments goe along with it;

As scarce the thundring bruit of an invasion,

Another eighty eight, threatning his Countrey

With ruine; would no more worke upon him,

Then Syracusa's Sack, on Archimede:

So much he loves that Night-cap! the Bench-gowne!

With the broad Guard o'th back! These shew

A man betroth'd unto the study of our Lawes!

Which you but thinke the crafty impositions,

Of subtile Clerks, feats of fine understanding,

To abuse Clots, and Clownes with, Mr. Compasse,

Having no ground in nature, to sustaine it

Or light, from those cleare causes: to the inquiry

And search of which, your Mathematicall head,

Hath so devow'd it selfe.

Tut, all men are

Philosophers, to their inches. There's within,

Sir Interest, as able a Philosopher,

In buying, and selling! has reduc'd his thrifte,

To certaine principles, and i'that method!

As hee will tell you instantly, by Logorythmes,

The utmost profit of a stock imployed:

(Be the Commoditie what it will) the place,

Or time, but causing very, very little,

Or, I may say, no paralaxe at all,

In his pecuniary observations!

He has brought your Neices portion with him, Madam,

At least the man that must receive it; Here

They come negotiating the affaire;

You may perceive the Contract in their faces;

And read th'indenture: If you'ld signe 'hem. So.

What is he, Mr. Compasse?

A Vi-politique!

Or a sub-aiding Instrument of State!

A kind of a laborious Secretary

To a great man! (and likely to come on)

Full of attendance! and of such a stride

In busines politique, or œconomick,

As, well, his Lord may stoope t'advise with him,

And be prescribed by him, in affaires

Of highest consequence, when hee is dull'd,

Or wearied with the lesse.

'Tis Mr. Bias,

Lord Whach'um's Politique.

You know the man?

I ha' seene him waite at Court, there, with his Maniples

Of papers, and petitions.

Hee is one

That over-rules tho', by his authority

Of living there; and cares for no man else:

Neglects the sacred letter of the Law;

And holds it all to be but a dead heape,

Of civill institutions: the rest only

Of common men, and their causes, a farragoe,

Or a made dish in Court; a thing of nothing:

And that's your quarrell at him? a just plea.

I tell you sister Loadstone—

(Hang your eares

This way: and heare his praises, now Moath opens)

I ha' brought you here the very man! the Jewell

Of all the Court! close Mr. Bias! Sister!

Apply him to your side! or you may weare him

Here o' your brest! or hang him in your eare!

He's a fit Pendant for a Ladies tip!

A Chrisolite, a Gemme: the very Agat

Of State, and Politie: cut from the Quar

Of Macchiavel, a true Cornelian,

As Tacitus himselfe! and to be made

The brooch to any true State-cap in Europe!

You praise him brother, as you had hope to sell him.

No Madam, as hee had hope to sell your Neice

Vnto him.

'Ware your true jests, Mr. Compasse;

They will not relish.

I will tell you, sister,

I cannot cry his Carract up enough:

He is unvaluable: All the Lords

Have him in that esteeme, for his relations,

Corrant's, Avises, Correspondences[unclear]

With this Ambassadour, and that Agent! Hee

Will screw you out a Secret from a Statist—.

So easie, as some Cobler wormes a Dog.

And lock it in the Cabinet of his memory—.

Till 't turne a politique insect, or a Fly!

Thus long.

You may be merry Mr. Compasse,

But though you have the reversion of an office,

You are not in't Sir.

Remember that.

Why, should that fright me, Mr. Bi—, from telling

Whose as you are?

Sir he's one, can doe

His turnes there: and deliver too his letters,

As punctually, and in as good a fashion,

As ere a Secretary can in Court.

Why, is it any matter in what fashion

A man deliver his letters, so he not open 'hem?

Yes, we have certaine precedents in Court,

From which wee never swerve, once in an age:

And (whatsoere he thinkes) I know the Arts,

And Sciences doe not directlier make

A Graduate in our Vniversities;

Then an habituall gravitie prefers

A man in Court.

Which by the truer stile,

Some call a formall, flat servility.

Sir you may call it what you please. But wee

(That tread the path of publike businesses)

Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrinke;

The wearing the Callott; the politique hood:

And twenty other parerga, o' the by,

You Seculars understand not: I shall trick him,

If his reversion came, i' my Lords way.

What is that Mr. Practise? you sure know?

Mas' Compasses reversion?

A fine place

(Surveyor of the Projects generall)

I would I had it.

What is't worth?

O Sir,

A Nemo scit.

Wee'l thinke on't afore dinner.

SWeet Mistris, pray you be merry: you are sure

To have a husband now.

I, if the store

Hurt not the choise.

Store is no sore, young Mistris,

My mother is wont to say.

And shee'l say wisely,

As any mouth i' the Parish. Fixe on one,

Fixe upon one, good Mistris.

At this call, too,

Here's Mr. Practise, who is call'd to the Bench

Of purpose.

Yes, and by my Ladies meanes—

'Tis thought to be the man.

A Lawyers wife.

And a fine Lawyers wife.

Is a brave calling.

Sweet Mistris Practise!

Gentle Mistris Practise!

Faire, open Mistris Practise!

I, and close,

And cunning Mrs. Practise!

I not like that;

The Courtiers is the neater calling.

Yes,

My Lady Silke-worme.

And to shine in Plush.

Like a young night Crow, a Diaphanous Silkeworme.

Lady Diaphanous sounds most delicate!

Which would you choose, now Mistris?

Cannot tell.

The copie does confound one.

Here's my Mother.

How now, my dainty charge, and diligent Nurse?

What were you chanting on? (God blesse you Maiden.)

Wee were inchanting all; wishing a husband

For my young Mistris here. A man to please her.

Shee shall have a man, good Nurse, and must have a man:

A man, and a halfe, if wee can choose him out:

We are all in Counsell within, and sit about it:

The Doctors, and the Schollers, and my Lady;

Who's wiser then all us—. Where's Mr. Needle?

Her Ladiship so lacks him to prick out

The man? How does my sweet young Mistris?

You looke not well, me thinkes! how doe you, deare charge?

You must have a husband, and you shall have a husband;

There's two put out to making for you: A third,

Your Vncle promises: But you must still

Be rul'd by your Aunt: according to the will

Of your dead father, and mother (who are in heaven.)

Your Lady-Aunt has choise i'the house for you:

Wee doe not trust your Vncle; hee would keepe you

A Batchler still, by keeping of your portion:

And keepe you not alone without a husband,

But in a sicknesse: I, and the greene sicknesse,

The Maidens malady; which is a sicknesse:

A kind of a disease, I can assure you,

And like the Fish our Mariners call remora—.

A remora Mistris!

How now goody Nurse?

Dame Keepe of Katernes? what? have you an oare

I' the Cockboat, 'cause you are a Saylors wife?

And come from Shadwell? I say a remora:

For it will stay a Ship, that's under Saile!

And staies are long, and tedious things to Maids!

And maidens are young ships, that would be sailing,

When they be rigg'd: wherefore is all their trim else?

True; and for them to be staid–.

The stay is dangerous:

You know it Mrs. Needle.

I know somewhat:

And can assure you, from the Doctors mouth,

Shee has a Dropsie; and must change the ayre,

Before she can recover.

Say you so, Sir?

The Doctor saies so.

Sayes his worship so?

I warrant 'hem he sayes true, then; they sometimes

Are Sooth-sayers, and alwayes cunning men.

Which Doctor was it?

Eeene my Ladies Doctor:

The neat house-Doctor: But a true stone-Doctor.

Why? heare you, Nurse? How comes this geare to passe?

This is your fault in truth: It shall be your fault,

And must be your fault: why is your Mistris sicke?

Shee had her health, the while shee was with me.

Alas good Mistris Polish, I am no Saint,

Much lesse, my Lady, to be urg'd give health,

Or sicknesse at my will: but to awaite

The starres good pleasure, and to doe my duty.

You must doe more then your dutie, foolish Nurse:

You must doe all you can; and more then you can,

More then is possible: when folkes are sick,

Especially, a Mistris; a young Mistris.

Here's Mr. Doctor himselfe, cannot doe that

Doctor Doo-all can doe it. Thence he's call'd so.

Whence? what's hee call'd?

Doctor, doe all you can,

I pray you, and beseech you, for my charge, here.

She's my tendring Gossip, loves my Neice.

I know you can doe all things, what you please, Sir,

For a young Damsel, my good Ladies Neice, here!

You can doe what you list.

Peace Tiffany.

Especially in this new case, o' the Dropsie.

The Gentlewoman (I doe feare) is leven'd.

Leven'd? what's that?

Puft, blowne, and't please your worship.

What! Darke, by darker? What is blowne? puff'd? speake

English—.

Tainted (and't please you) some doe call it.

She swels, and swels so with it—.

Give her vent,

If shee doe swell. A Gimblet must be had:

It is a Tympanites she is troubled with;

There are three kinds: The first is Ana-sarca

Vnder the Flesh, a Tumor: that's not hers.

The second is Ascites, or Aquosus,

A watry humour: that's not hers neither.

But Tympanites (which we call the Drum)

A wind bombes in her belly, must be unbrac'd,

And with a Faucet, or a Peg, let out,

And she'll doe well: get her a husband.

Yes,

I say so Mr. Doctor, and betimes too.

As

Soone as wee can: let her beare up to day,

Laugh, and keepe company, at Gleeke, or Crimpe.

Your Ladiship sayes right, Crimpe, sure, will cure her.

Yes, and Gleeke too; peace Gossip Tittle-Tattle,

Shee must to morrow, downe into the Countrey,

Some twenty mile; A Coach, and six brave Horses:

Take the fresh aire, a moneth there, or five weekes:

And then returne a Bride, up to the Towne,

For any husband i' the Hemisphere,

To chuck at; when she has dropt her Timpane.

Must she then drop it?

Thence, 'tis call'd a Dropsie.

The Timpanites is one spice of it;

A toy, a thing of nothing, a meere vapour:

Ile blow't away.

Needle, get you the Coach

Ready, against to morrow morning.

Yes Madam.

Ile downe with her my selfe, and thanke the Doctor.

Wee all shall thanke him. But, deare Madam, thinke,

Resolve upon a man, this day.

I ha' done't.

To tell you true, (sweet Gossip;) here is none

But Master Doctor, hee shall be o' the Counsell:

The man I have design'd her to, indeed,

Is Master Practise: he's a neat young man,

Forward, and growing up, in a profession!

Like to be some body, if the Hall stand!

And Pleading hold! A prime young Lawyers wife,

Is a right happy fortune.

And shee bringing

So plentifull a portion, they may live

Like King, and Queene, at common Law together!

Sway Judges; guide the Courts; command the Clarkes,

And fright the Evidence; rule at their pleasures,

Like petty Soveraignes in all cases.

O, that

Will be a worke of time; she may be old

Before her husband rise to a chiefe Judge;

And all her flower be gone: No, no, a Lady

O' the first head I'ld have her; and in Court:

The Lady Silk-worme, a Diaphanous Lady:

And be a Vi-countesse to carry all

Before her (as wee say) her Gentleman-usher:

And cast off Pages, bare, to bid her Aunt

Welcome unto her honour, at her lodgings.

You say well, Ladies Gossip; if my Lady

Could admit that, to have her Neice precede her.

For that, I must consult mine owne Ambition,

My zealous Gossip.

O, you shall precede her:

You shall be a Countesse! Sir Diaphanous,

Shall get you made a Countesse! Here he comes;

Has my voice certaine: O fine Courtier!

O blessed man! the bravery prick't out,

To make my dainty charge, a Vi-countesse!

And my good Lady, her Aunt, Countesse at large!

I tell thee Parson, if I get her, reckon

Thou hast a friend in Court; and shalt command

A thousand pound, to goe on any errand,

For any Church preferment thou hast a mind too.

I thanke your worship: I will so worke for you,

As you shall study all the wayes to thanke me:

Ile worke my Lady, and my Ladies friends;

Her Gossip, and this Doctor; and Squire Needle,

And Mr. Compasse, who is all in all:

The very Fly shee moves by: Hee is one

That went to Sea with her husband, Sir Iohn Loadstone,

And brought home the rich prizes: all that wealth

Is left her; for which service she respects him:

A dainty Scholler in the Mathematicks;

And one shee wholly imployes. Now Dominus Practise

Is yet the man (appointed by her Ladiship)

But there's a trick to set his cap awry:

If I know any thing; hee hath confest

To me in private, that hee loves another,

My Ladies woman, Mrs. Pleasance: therefore

Secure you of Rivalship.

I thanke thee

My noble Parson: There's five hundred pound

Waites on thee more for that.

Accoast the Neice:

Yonder shee walkes alone: Ile move the Aunt:

But here's the Gossip: shee expects a morsell.

Ha' you nere a Ring, or toy to throw away?

Yes, here's a Diamont of some threescore pound,

I pray you give her that.

If shee will take it.

And there's an Emerauld, for the Doctor too:

Thou Parson, thou shalt coine me: I am thine.

Here Mr. Compasse comes: Doe you see my Lady?

And all the rest? how they doe flutter about him!

Hee is the Oracle of the house, and family!

Now, is your time: goe nick it with the Neice:

I will walke by; and hearken how the Chimes goe.

Nay Parson, stand not off; you may approach:

This is no such hid point of State, wee handle,

But you may heare it: for wee are all of Counsell.

The gentle Mr. Practise, hath dealt clearly,

And nobly with you, Madam.

Ha' you talk'd with him?

And made the overture?

Yes, first I mov'd

The busines trusted to me, by your Ladiship,

I' your owne words, almost your very Sillabes:

Save where my Memory trespass'd 'gainst their elegance:

For which I hope your pardon. Then I inlarg'd

In my owne homely stile, the speciall goodnesse,

And greatnesse, of your bounty, in your choice,

And free conferring of a benefit,

So without ends, conditions, any tye

But his meere vertue, and the value of it,

To call him to your kindred, to your veines

Insert him in your family, and to make him

A Nephew, by the offer of a Neice,

With such a portion; which when hee had heard,

And most maturely acknowledg'd (as his calling

Tends all unto maturity) he return'd

A thankes, as ample as the Curtesie,

(In my opinion) said it was a Grace,

Too great to be rejected, or accepted

By him! But as the termes stood with his fortune,

Hee was not to prevaricate, with your Ladiship,

But rather to require ingenious leave,

He might with the same love, that it was offer'd

Refuse it, since he could not with his honesty,

(Being he was ingag'd before) receive it.

The same he said to me.

And name the party.

He did, and he did not.

Come, leave your Schemes,

And fine Amphibolies, Parson.

You'l heare more.

Why, now your Ladiship is free to choose,

The Courtier Sir Diaphanous: he shall doe it,

Ile move it to him my selfe.

What will you move to him?

The making you a Countesse.

Stint, fond woman.

Know you the partie Mr. Practise meanes?

No, but your Parson sayes he knowes, Madam.

I feare he fables; Parson doe you know

Where Mr. Practise is ingag'd?

Ile tell you!

But under seale, her Mother must not know:

'T is with your Ladiships woman, Mrs. Pleasance.

How!

Hee is not mad.

O hide the hideous secret

From her, shee'l trouble all else. You doe hold

A Cricket by the wing.

Did he name Pleasance?

Are you sure Parson?

O 'tis true, your Mrs!

I find where your shooe wrings you, Mr. Compasse:

But, you'l looke to him there.

Yes, here's Sir Moath,

Your brother, with his Bias, and the Partie

Deepe in discourse: 'twill be a bargaine, and sale;

I see by their close working of their heads,

And running them together so in Councell.

Will Mr. Practise be of Councell against us?

He is a Lawyer, and must speake for his Fee,

Against his Father, and Mother, all his kindred;

His brothers, or his sisters: no exception

Lies at the Common-Law. He must not alter

Nature for forme, but goe on in his path–

It may be he will be for us. Doe not you

Offer to meddle, let them take their course:

Dispatch, and marry her off to any husband;

Be not you scrupulous; let who can have her:

So he lay downe the portion, though he gueld it:

It will maintaine the suit against him: somewhat,

Something in hand is better, then no birds;

He shall at last accompt, for the utmost farthing,

If you can keepe your hand from a discharge.

Sir, doe but make her worshipfull Aunt a Countesse,

And she is yours: her Aunt has worlds to leave you!

The wealth of six East Indian Fleets at least!

Her Husband, Sir Iohn Loadstone, was the Governour

O' the Company, seven yeares.

And came there home,

Six Fleets in seven yeares?

I cannot tell,

I must attend my Gossip, her good Ladiship.

And will you make me a Vi-countesse too? For,

How doe they make a Countesse? in a Chaire?

Or 'pon a bed?

Both wayes, sweet bird, Ile shew you.

The truth is, Mr. Practise, now wee are sure

That you are off, we dare come on the bolder:

The portion left, was sixteene thousand pound,

I doe confesse it, as a just man should.

And call here Mr. Compasse, with these Gentlemen,

To the relation: I will still be just.

Now for the profits every way arising,

It was the Donors wisedome, those should pay

Me for my watch, and breaking of my sleepes;

It is no petty charge, you know, that summe;

To keepe a man awake, for fourteene yeare.

But (as you knew to use it i' that time)

It would reward your waking.

That's my industry;

As it might be your reading, studie, and counsell;

And now your pleading, who denies it you?

I have my calling too. Well, Sir, the Contract

Is with this Gentleman, ten thousand pound.

(An ample portion, for a younger brother,

With a soft, tender, delicate rib of mans flesh,

That he may worke like waxe, and print upon.)

He expects no more then that summe to be tendred,

And hee receive it: Those are the conditions.

A direct bargaine, and sale in open market.

And what I have furnish'd him with all o' the by,

To appeare, or so: A matter of foure hundred,

To be deduc'd upo' the payment—.

Right.

You deale like a just man still.

Draw up this

Good Mr. Practise, for us, and be speedy.

But here's a mighty gaine Sir, you have made

Of this one stock! the principall first doubled,

In the first seven yeare; and that redoubled

I'the next seven! beside sixe thousand pound,

There's threescore thousand got in fourteene yeare,

After the usuall rate of ten i'the hundred,

And the ten thousand paid.

I thinke it be!

How will you scape the clamour, and the envie?

Let 'hem exclaime, and envie: what care I?

Their murmurs raise no blisters i'my flesh.

My monies are my blood, my parents, kindred:

And he that loves not those, he is unnaturall:

I am perswaded that the love of monie

Is not a vertue, only in a Subject,

But might befit a Prince. And (were there need)

I find me able to make good the Assertion.

To any reasonable mans understanding.

And make him to confesse it.

Gentlemen,

Doctors, and Schollers, yo'll heare this, and looke for

As much true secular wit, and deepe Lay-sense,

As can be showne on such a common place.

First, wee all know the soule of man is infinite

I what it covets. Who desireth knowledge,

Desires it infinitely. Who covets honour,

Covets it infinitely, It will be then

No hard thing, for a coveting man, to prove

Or to confesse, hee aimes at infinite wealth.

His soule lying that way.

Next, every man

Is i'the hope, or possibility

Of a whole world: this present world being nothing,

But the dispersed issue of first one:

And therefore I not see, but a just man

May with just reason, and in office ought

Propound unto himselfe.

An infinite wealth!

Ile beare the burden: Goe you on Sir Moath.

Thirdly, if wee consider man a member,

But of the body politique, we know,

By just experience, that the Prince hath need

More of one wealthy, then ten fighting men.

There you went out o' the road, a little from us.

And therefore, if the Princes aimes be infinite,

It must be in that, which makes all.

Infinite wealth.

Fourthly, 'tis naturall to all good subjects,

To set a price on money; more then fooles

Ought on their Mrs. Picture; every piece

Fro' the penny to the twelve pence, being the Hieroglyphick,

And sacred Sculpture of the Soveraigne.

A manifest conclusion, and a safe one.

Fiftly, wealth gives a man the leading voice,

At all conventions; and displaceth worth,

With generall allowance to all parties:

It makes a trade to take the wall of vertue;

And the mere issue of a shop, right Honourable.

Sixtly, it doth inable him that hath it

To the performance of all reall actions,

Referring him to himselfe still: and not binding

His will to any circumstance; without him;

It gives him precise knowledge of himselfe;

For, be he rich, he straight with evidence knowes

Whether he have any compassion,

Or inclination unto vertue, or no;

Where the poore knave erroniously beleeves,

If he were rich, he would build Churches, or

Doe such mad things. Seventhly, your wise poore men

Have ever beene contented to observe

Rich Fooles, and so to serve their turnes upon them:

Subjecting all their wit to the others wealth.

And become Gentlemen Parasites, Squire Bauds,

To feed their Patrons honorable humors.

Eightly, 'tis certaine that a man may leave

His wealth, or to his Children, or his friends;

His wit hee cannot so dispose, by Legacie,

As they shall be a Harrington the better for't.

He may intaile a Jest upon his house, though:

Or leave a tale to his posteritie,

To be told after him.

As you have done here?

T'invite your friend, and brother to a feast,

Where all the Guests are so mere heterogene,

And strangers, no man knowes another, or cares

If they be Christians, or Mahumetans!

That here are met.

Is't any thing to you brother,

To know Religions more then those you fight for?

Yes, and with whom I eat. I may dispute,

And how shall I hold argument with such,

I neither know their humors, nor their heresies;

Which are religions now, and so receiv'd?

Here's no man among these that keepes a servant,

To'inquire his Master of: yet i'the house,

I heare it buzz'd, there are a brace of Doctors;

A Foole, and a Physician: with a Courtier,

That feeds on mulbery leaves, like a true Silkeworme:

A Lawyer, and a mighty Money-Baud,

Sir Moath! has brought his politique Bias with him:

A man of a most animadverting humor:

Who, to indeare himselfe unto his his Lord,

Will tell him, you and I, or any of us,

That here are met, are all pernitious spirits,

And men of pestilent purpose, meanely affected

Vnto the State wee live in: and beget

Himselfe a thankes, with the great men o' the time,

By breeding Jealouses in them of us,

Shall crosse our fortunes, frustrate our endeavours,

Twice seven yeares after: And this trick be call'd

Cutting of throats, with a whispering, or a pen-knife.

I must cut his throat now: I'am bound in honour,

And by the Law of armes, to see it done;

I dare to doe it; and I dare professe

The doing of it: being to such a Raskall,

Who is the common offence growne of man-kind;

And worthy to be torne up from society.

You shall not doe it here, Sir.

Why? will you

Intreat your selfe, into a beating for him,

My courteous brother? If you will, have at you,

No man deserves it better (now I thinke on't)

Then you: that will keepe consort with such Fidlers,

Pragmatick Flies, Fooles, Publicanes, and Moathes:

And leave your honest, and adopted brother.

'Best raise the house upon him, to secure us;

Hee'll kill us all!

I love no blades in belts.

Nor I.

Would I were at my shop againe,

In Court, safe stow'd up, with my politique bundels.

How they are scatter'd!

Run away like Cimici;

Into the cranies of a rotten bed-stead.

I told you such a passage would disperse 'hem,

Although the house were their Fee-simple in Law,

And they possest of all the blessings in it.

Pray heaven they be not frighted from their stomacks:

That so my Ladies Table be disfurnish'd

Of the provisions!

No, the Parsons calling

By this time, all the covey againe, together.

Here comes good tydings! Dinners o' the boord.

Stay Mrs. Pleasance, I must aske you a question:

Ha' you any suites in Law?

I, Mr. Compasse?

Answer me briefly, it is dinner time.

They say you have retain'd brisk Mr. Practise

Here, of your Councell; and are to be joyn'd

A Patentee with him.

In what? who sayes so?

You are dispos'd to jest.

No, I am in earnest.

It is given out i'the house so, I assure you;

But keepe your right to your selfe, and not acquaint

A common Lawyer with your case. If hee

Once find the gap; a thousand will leape after.

Ile tell you more anone.

This Riddle shewes

A little like a Love-trick, o' one face,

If I could understand it. I will studie it.

VVHere's Mr. Doctor?

O Mr. Tim Item,

His learned Pothecary! you are welcome:

He is within at dinner.

Dinner! Death!

That hee will eat now, having such a busines,

That so concernes him!

Why, can any busines

Concerne a man like his meat?

O twenty millions,

To a Physician, that's in practise: I

Doe bring him newes, from all the points o' the Compasse,

(That's all the parts of the sublunary Globe.)

Of times, and double times.

In, in, sweet Item,

And furnish forth the Table with your newes:

Deserve your dinner: Sow out your whole bag full:

The Guests will heare it.

I heard they were out.

But they are piec'd, and put together againe,

You may goe in, you'l find them at high eating:

The Parson has an edifying stomack,

And a perswading Palate (like his name:)

Hee hath begun three draughts of sack in Doctrines,

And fower in Uses.

And they follow him.

No, Sir Diaphanous is a Recusant

In sack. He onely takes it in French wine,

With an allay of water. In, in, Item,

And leave your peeping.

I have a moneths mind,

To peepe a little too. Sweet Mas' Needle,

How are they set?

At the boords end my Lady—.

And my young Mrs. by her?

Yes, the Parson

On the right hand (as hee'l nor lose his place

For thrusting) and 'gainst him Mrs. Polish:

Next, Sir Diaphanous, against Sir Moath;

Knights, one againe another: Then the Souldier,

The man of warre, and man of peace the Lawyer:

Then the pert Doctor, and the politique Bias,

And Mr. Compasse circumscribeth all.

Nurse Keepe, nurse Keepe!

What noise is that within?

Come to my Mistris, all their weapons are out.

Mischiefe of men! what day, what houre is this?

Run for the cellar of strong waters, quickly.

Were you a mad man to doe this at table?

And trouble all the Guests, to affright the Ladies,

And Gentlewomen?

Pox upo' your women,

And your halfe man there, Court-Sir Amber-gris:

A perfum'd braggart: He must drinke his wine

With three parts water; and have Amber in that too.

And you must therefore breake his face with a Glasse,

And wash his nose in wine.

Cannot he drinke

In Orthodoxe, but he must have his Gums,

And Panym Drugs?

You should have us'd the Glasse

Rather as ballance, then the sword of Justice:

But you have cut his face with it, he bleeds.

Come you shall take your Sanctuary with me;

The whole house will be up in armes 'gainst you else,

Within this halfe houre; this way to my lodging.

A most rude action! carry her to her bed;

And use the Fricace to her, with those oyles.

Keepe your newes Item now, and tend this busines.

Good Gossip looke to her.

How doe you sweet charge?

She's in a sweat.

I, and a faint sweat mary.

Let her alone to Tim: he has directions,

Ile heare your newes Tim Item, when you ha' done.

Was ever such a Guest brought to my table?

These boistrous Souldiers ha' no better breeding.

Here Mr. Compasse comes: where's your Captaine,

Rudhudibras de Ironside?

Gone out of doores.

Would he had nere come in them, I may wish.

He has discredited my house, and boord,

With his rude swaggering manners, and endanger'd

My Neices health (by drawing of his weapon)

God knowes how farre; for Mr. Doctor does not.

The Doctor is an Asse then, if hee say so,

And cannot with his conjuring names, Hippocrates;

Galen or Rasis, Avicen. Averroes,

Cure a poore wenches falling in a swoune:

Which a poore Farthing chang'd in Rosa solis,

Or Cynnamon water would.

How now? how does she?

Shee's somewhat better, Mr. Item has brought her

A little about.

But there's Sir Moath your brother

Is falne into a fit o' the happyplexe,

It were a happy place for him, and us,

If he could steale to heaven thus: All the house

Are calling Mr. Doctor, Mr. Doctor.

The Parson he has gi'n him gone, this halfe houre;

Hee's pale in the mouth already, for the feare

O' the fierce Captaine.

Helpe me to my Chamber,

Nurse Keepe: Would I could see the day no more,

But night hung over me, like some darke cloud;

That, buried with this losse of my good name,

I, and my house might perish, thus forgotten —

Her taking it to heart thus, more afflicts me

Then all these accidents, for they'll blow over.

It was a barbarous Injury, I confesse:

But if you will be counsell'd, Sir, by me,

The reverend Law lies open to repaire

Your reputation. That will gi' you damages;

Five thousand pound for a finger, I have knowne

Given in Court: And let me pack your Jury.

There's nothing vexes me, but that he has staind

My new white sattin Doublet; and bespatter'd

My spick and span silke Stockings, o' the day

They were drawne on: And here's a spot i' my hose too.

Shrewd maimes! your Clothes are wounded desperately,

And that (I thinke) troubles a Courtier more,

An exact Courtier, then a gash in his flesh.

My flesh? I sweare had he giv'n me twice so much,

I never should ha' reckon'd it. But my clothes

To be de defac'd, and stigmatiz'd so foulely!

I take it as a contumely done me

Above the wisedome of our Lawes to right.

Why then you'l challenge him?

I will advise,

Though Mr. Practise here doth urge the Law;

And reputation it will make me of credit,

Beside great damages (let him pack my Jury.)

He speakes like Mr. Practise, one, that is

The Child of a Profession he's vow'd too,

And servant to the studie he hath taken,

A pure Apprentice at Law! But you must have

The Counsell o' the Sword; and square your action

Vnto their Cannons, and that brother-hood,

If you doe right.

I tell you Mr. Compasse,

You speake not like a friend unto the Lawes,

Nor scarce a subject, to perswade him thus,

Vnto the breach o' the peace: Sir you forget

There is a Court above, o' the Starre-Chamber,

To punish Routs and Riots

No, young Master,

Although your name be Practise there in Terme time,

I doe remember it. But you'l not heare

What I was bound to say; but like a wild

Young haggard Justice, fly at breach o' the Peace,

Before you know, whether the amorous Knight

Dares break the peace of conscience in a Duell.

Troth Mr. Compasse, I take you my friend;

You shall appoint of me in any matter

That's reasonable, so wee may meet faire,

On even termes.

I shall perswade no other,

(And take your learned Counsell to advise you)

Ile run along with him. You say you'l meet him,

On even termes. I doe not see indeed

How that can be, 'twixt Ironside and you,

Now I consider it. Hee is my brother.

I doe confesse (wee ha' call'd so twenty yeare:)

But you are, Sir, a Knight in Court, allied there,

And so befriended, you may easily answer

The worst successe: He a knowne, noted, bold

Boy o' the Sword, hath all mens eyes upon him;

And there's no London-Iury, but are led

In evidence, as farre by common fame,

As they are by present deposition.

Then you have many brethren, and neer kinsmen.

If he kill you, it will be a lasting Quarrell

T'wixt them, and him. Whereas Rud: Ironside,

Although he ha' got his head into a Beaver,

With a huge feather, 's but a Corriers sonne,

And has not two old Cordov'an skins, to leave

In Leather Caps to mourne him in, if he die.

Againe, you are generally belov'd, he hated

So much, that all the hearts, and votes of men

Goe with you, in the wishing all prosperity

Vnto your purpose; hee's a fat, corpulent,

Vnweildy fellow: you, a dieted Sparke,

Fit for the Combat. He has kild so many;

As it is ten to one his turne is next;

You never fought with any; lesse, slew any:

And therefore have the hopes before you.

I hope these things thus specified unto you,

Are faire advantages: you cannot encounter

Him upon equall termes. Beside, Sir Silkworme,

He hath done you wrong in a most high degree:

And sense of such an Injury receiv'd,

Should so exacuate, and whet your choller,

As you should count your selfe an host of men,

Compar'd to him. And therefore you, brave Sir,

Have no more reason to provoke, or challenge

Him, then the huge great Porter has to try

His strength upon an Infant.

Mr. Compasse,

You rather spur me on, then any way

Abate my courage to the Enterprise.

All Counsell's as it's taken. If you stand

On point of honour, not t'have any odds,

Ihave rather then disswaded you, then otherwise:

If upon termes of humour and revenge,

I have encourag'd you. So that I thinke,

I have done the part of a friend on either side:

In furnishing your feare with matter first,

If you have any: Or, if you dare fight,

To heighten, and confirme your resolution.

I now doe crave your pardon, Mr. Compasse:

I did not apprehend your way before,

The true Perimiter of it: you have Circles,

And such fine draughts about!

Sir I doe thanke you,

I thanke you Mr. Compasse heartily;

I must confesse, I never fought before,

And I'll be glad to doe things orderly,

In the right place: I pray you instruct me.

Is't best I fight ambitiously, or malitiously?

Sir, if you never fought before, be wary,

Trust not your selfe too much.

Why? I assure you,

I'am very angry.

Doe not suffer, though,

The flatuous, windy choller of your heart,

To move the clapper of your understanding,

Which is the guiding faculty, your reason:

You know not, if you'l fight, or no, being brought

Vpo' the place.

O yes, I have imagin'd

Him treblearm'd, provok'd too, and as furious

As Homer makes Achilles; and I find

My selfe not frighted with his fame one jot.

Well, yet take heed. These fights imaginary,

Are lesse then skirmishes; the fight of shadowes:

For shadowes have their figure, motion

And their umbratile action from the reall

Posture, and motion of the bodies act:

Whereas (imaginarily) many times,

Those men may fight, dare scarce eye one another,

And much lesse meet. But if there be no helpe,

Faith I would wish you, send him a faire Challenge.

I will goe pen it presently.

But word it

In the most generous termes.

Let me alone.

And silken phrase: the courtliest kind of Quarrell.

He'l make it a petition for his peace.

O, yes, of right, and hee may doe it by Law.

Come, bring him out into the aire a little:

There set him downe. Bow him, yet bow him more,

Dash that same Glasse of water in his face:

Now tweak him by the nose. Hard, harder yet:

If it but call the blood up from the heart,

I aske no more. See, what a feare can doe!

Pinch him in the nape of the neck now; nip him, nip him.

He feeles, there's life in him.

He graones, and stirres.

Tell him the Captaine's gone.

Ha!

He's gone Sir.

Gi' him a box, hard, hard, on his left eare.

O!

How doe you feele your selfe?

Sore, sore.

But where?

I'my neck.

I nipt him there.

And i' my head.

I box'd him twice, or thrice, to move those Sinewes.

I sweare you did.

What a brave man's a Doctor,

To beat one into health! I thought his blowes

Would eene ha' kild him: hee did feele no more

Then a great horse.

Is the wild Captaine gone?

That man of murther?

All is calme and quiet.

Say you so, Cosen Bias? Then all's well.

How quickly a man is lost!

And soone recover'd!

Where there are meanes, and Doctors, learned men,

And their Apothecaries, who are not now,

(As Chawcer sayes) their friendship to begin.

Well, could they teach each other how to win

I'their swath bands—.

Leave your Poetry good Gossip.

Your Chawcers clouts, and wash your dishes with 'hem,

Wee must rub up the roots of his disease,

And crave your peace awhile, or else your absence.

Nay, I know when to hold my peace.

Then do it.

Gi' me your hand Sir Moath. Let's feele your pulse.

It is a Pursinesse, a kind of Stoppage,

Or tumor o'the Purse, for want of exercise,

That you are troubled with: some ligatures

I'th neck of your Vesica, or Marsupium,

Are so close knit, that you cannot evaporate;

And therefore you must use relaxatives.

Beside, they say, you are so restive growne,

You cannot but with trouble put your hand

Into your pocket, to discharge a reckoning.

And this we sonnes of Physick doe call chiragra,

A kind of Crampe, or Hand-Gout. You shall purge for't.

Indeed your worship should doe well to' advise him,

To clense his body, all the three high wayes;

That is, by Sweat, Purge, and Phlebotomy.

You say well learned Tim, Ile first prescribe him,

To give his purse a purge once, twice a weeke

At Dice, or Cards: And when the weather is open,

Sweat at a bowling Alley; or be let blood

I' the lending veine, and bleed a matter of fifty,

Or threescore ounces at a time. Then put

Your thumbs under your Girdle, and have some body

Else, pull out your purse for you, till with more ease,

And a good habit, you can doe it your selfe.

And then be sure alwayes to keepe good diet;

And h' your table furnish'd from one end,

Vnto the tother: It is good for the eyes,

But feed you on one dish still, ha' your Diet-drinke,

Ever in Bottles ready, which must come

From the Kings-head: I will prescribe you nothing,

But what Ile take before you mine owne selfe:

That is my course with all my Patients.

Very methodicall, Secundùm Artem.

And very safe pro captu recipientis.

All errant learned men, how they 'spute Latine!

I had it of a Jew, and a great Rabbi,

Who every morning cast his cup of White-wine

With sugar, and by the residence i' the bottome,

Would make report of any Chronick malady,

Such as Sir Moath's is, being an oppilation,

In that you call the neck o' the money bladder,

Most anatomicall, and by dissection.

O Mr. Doctor, and his Pothecary!

Good Mr. Item, and my Mistris Polish!

Wee need you all above! Shee's falne againe,

In a worse fit then ever.

Who?

Your charge.

Come away Gentlemen.

This fit with the Doctor,

Hath mended me past expectation.

O Sir Diaphanous, ha' you done?

I ha' brought it.

That's well.

But who shall carry it now?

A friend:

Ile find a friend to carry it; Mr. Bias here

Will not deny me that.

What is't?

To carry

A Challenge I have writ unto the Captaine.

Faith but I will Sir, you shall pardon me

For a twi-reason of State: Ile beare no Challenges;

I will not hazard my Lords favour so;

Or forfeit mine owne Judgement with his honour,

To turne a Ruffian: I have to commend me

Nought but his Lordships good opinion;

And to't my Kallygraphy, a faire hand,

Fit for a Secretary: Now you know, a mans hand

Being his executing part in fight,

Is more obnoxious to the common perill—

You shall not fight Sir, you shall onely search

My Antagonist; commit us fairely there

Vpo' the ground on equall termes.

O Sir!

But if my Lord should heare I stood at end

Of any quarrell, 'twere an end of me

In a state course! I ha' read the Politiques;

And heard th'opinions of our best Divines.

The Gentleman hasreason! Where was first

The birth of your acquaintance? or the Cradle

Of your strickt friendshipmade?

We met in France, Sir.

In France! that Garden of humanity,

The very seed-plot of all courtesies:

I wonder that your friendship suck'd that aliment,

The milke of France; and see this sower effect

It doth produce, 'gainst all the sweets of travell:

There, every Gentleman professing armes,

Thinkes he is bound in honour to imbrace

The bearing of a Challenge for another,

Without or questioning the cause, or asking

Least colour of a reason. There's no Cowardize,

No Poultrounerie, like urging why? wherefore?

But carry a Challenge, die, and doe the thing.

Why, heare you Mr. Compasse, I but crave

Your eare in private? I would carry his Challenge,

If I but hop'd your Captaine angry enough

To kill him: For (to tell you truth) this Knight,

Is an impertinent in Court, (wee thinke him:)

And troubles my Lords Lodgings, and his Table

With frequent, and unnecessary visits,

Which wee (the better sort of Servants) like not:

Being his Fellowes in all other places,

But at our Masters boord; and we disdaine

To doe those servile offices, oft times,

His foolish pride, and Empire will exact,

Against the heart, or humour of a Gentleman.

Truth Mr. Bias, I'ld not ha' you thinke

I speake to flatter you: but you are one

O' the deepest Politiques I ever met,

And the most subtily rationall. I admire you.

But doe not you conceive in such a case,

That you are accessary to his death,

From whom you carry a Challenge with such purpose.

Sir the corruption of one thing in nature,

Is held the Generation of another;

And therefore, I had as leive be accessory

Vnto his death, as to his life.

A new

Morall Philosophy too! you'l carry't then.

If I were sure, 't would not incense his choller

To beat the Messenger.

O' Ile secure you,

You shall deliver it in my lodging; safely,

And doe your friend a service worthy thankes.

Ile venture it, upon so good Induction,

To rid the Court of an Impediment,

This baggage Knight.

Peace to you all Gentlemen,

Save to this Mushrome; who I heare is menacing

Me with a Challenge: which I come to anticipate,

And save the Law a labour: Will you fight Sir?

Yes, in my shirt.

O, that's to save your doublet;

I know it a Court trick! you had rather have

An Vlcer in your body, then a Pinke

More i' your clothes.

Captaine, you are a Coward,

If you not fight i' your shirt.

Sir I not meane

To put it off for that, nor yet my doublet:

Yo' have cause to call me Coward, that more feare

The stroke of the common, and life giving aire,

Then all your fury, and the Panoplie.

(Which is at best, but a thin linnen armour.)

I thinke a cup of generous wine were better,

Then fighting i' your shirts.

Sir, Sir, my valour,

It is a valour of another nature,

Then to be mended by a cup of wine.

I should be glad to heare of any valours,

Differing in kind; who have knowne hitherto,

Only one vertue, they call Fortitude,

Worthy the name of valour.

Which, who hath not,

Is justly thought a Coward: And he is such.

O, you ha' read the Play there, the New Inne,

Of Ionsons, that decries all other valour

But what is for the publike.

I doe that too,

But did not learne it there; I thinke no valour

Lies for a private cause.

Sir, Ile redargue you,

By disputation.

O let's heare this!

I long to heare a man dispute in his shirt

Of valour, and his sword drawne in his hand.

His valour will take cold; put on your doublet.

His valour will keepe cold, you are deceiv'd;

And relish much the sweter in our eares:

It may be too, i' the ordinance of nature.

Their valours are not yet so combatant,

Or truly antagonistick, as to fight;

But may admit to heare of some divisions,

Of Fortitude, may put 'hem off their Quarrell.

I would have no man thinke me so ungovern'd,

Or subject to my passion, but I can

Reade him a Lecture 'twixt my undertakings,

And executions: I doe know all kinds

Of doing the busines, which the Towne cals valour.

Yes, he has read the Towne, Towne-top's his Author!

Your first?

Is a rash head-long unexperience.

Which is in Children, Fooles, or your street Gallants

O' the first head.

A pretty kind of valour!

Commend him, he will spin it out in 's shirt,

Fine, as that thred.

The next, an indiscreet

Presumption, grounded upon often scapes.

Or th' insufficiencie of Adversaries,

And this is in your common fighting Brothers.

Your old Perdu's, who (after a time) doe thinke,

The one, that they are shot free; the other, sword free.

Your third?

Is nought but an excesse of choller,

That raignes in testy old men—.

Noble mens Porters,

And selfe conceited Poëts.

And is rather

A peevishnesse, then any part of valour.

He but reherses, he concludes no valour.

A history of distempers, as they are practiz'd,

His Harangue undertaketh, and no more.

Your next?

Is a dull desperate resolving.

In case of some necessitous misery, or

Incumbent mischiefe.

Narrownesse of mind,

Or ignorance being the root of it.

Which shou shall find in Gamesters, quite blowne up.

Banckrupt Merchants, undiscovered Traytors.

Or your exemplified Malefactors,

That have surviv'd their infamy, and punishment.

One that h ath lost his eares, by a just sentence

O' the Starre-Chamber, a right valiant Knave—

And is a Histrionicall Contempt,

Of what a man feares most; it being a mischiefe

In his owne apprehension unavoidable.

Which is in Cowards wounded mortally,

Or Theeves adjudg'd to die.

This is a valour,

I should desire much to see incourag'd:

As being a speciall entertainment

For our rogue People; and make oft good sport

Vnto 'hem, from the Gallowes to the ground.

But mine is a Judiciall resolving,

Or liberall undertaking of a danger—.

That might be avoided.

I, and with assurance,

That it is found in Noble-men, and Gentlemen,

Of the best sheafe.

Who having lives to lose,

Like private men, have yet a world of honour,

And publike reputation to defend—.

Which in the brave historified Greeks,

And Romans you shall reade of.

And (no doubt)

May in our Alder-men meet it, and their Deputies,

The Souldiers of the Citie, valiant blades,

Who (rather then their houses should be ransack'd)

Would fight it out, like so many wild beasts;

Not for the fury they are commonly arm'd with:

But the close manner of their fight, and custome,

Of joyning head to head, and foot to foot.

And which of these so well-prest resolutions

Am I to encounter now? For commonly,

Men that have so much choise before 'hem, have

Some trouble to resolve of any one.

There are three valours yet, which Sir Diaphanous,

Hath (with his leave) not touch'd.

Yea? which are those?

He perks at that!

Nay, he does more, he chatters.

A Philosophicall contempt of death,

Is one: Then an infused kind of valour,

Wrought in us by our Genii, or good spirits;

Of which the gallant Ethnicks had deepe sense:

Who generally held, that no great States-man,

Scholler, or Souldier, ere did any thing

Sine divino aliquo afflatu.

But there's a Christian valour, 'bove these too.

Which is a quiet patient toleration,

Of whatsoever the malitious world

With Injury doth unto you; and consists

In passion, more then action, Sir Diaphanous.

Sure, I doe take mine to be Christian valour—.

You may mistake though. Can you justifie

On any cause, this seeking to deface,

The divine Image in a man?

O Sir!

Let 'hem alone: Is not Diaphanous

As much a divine Image, as is Ironside?

Let Images fight, if they will fight, a God's name.

Where's Mr. Needle? Saw you Mr. Needle?

Wee are undone.

What ailes the frantick Nurse?

My Mistris is undone, shee's crying out!

Where is this man trow? Mr. Needle?

Here.

Run for the party, Mrs. Chaire the Mid-wife.

Nay, looke how the man stands, as he were gok't!

Shee's lost, if you not haste away the party.

Where is the Doctor?

Where a scoffing man is.

And his Apothecary, little better;

They laugh, and geere at all: will you dispatch?

And fetch the party quickly to our Mistris:

Wee are all undone! The Timpanie will out else.

Newes, newes, good newes, better then butter'd newes!

My Neice is found with Child, the Doctor tels me,

And falne in labour.

How?

The portion's paid!

The portion— o' the Captaine! Is he here?

H' has spi'd your swords out! put 'hem up, put up,

Yo' have driven him hence; and yet your quarrell's ended.

In a most strange discovery.

Of light gold.

And crack't within the Ring. I take the Omen,

As a good Omen.

Then put up your Sword,

And on your Doublet. Give the Captaine thankes.

I had beene slur'd else. Thanke you noble Captaine:

Your quarrelling caus'd all this.

Where's Compasse?

Gone,

Shrunke hence; contracted to his Center, I feare.

The slip is his then.

I had like t'have beene

Abus'd i' the busines, had the slip slur'd on me,

A Counterfeit.

Sir, we are all abus'd:

As many as were brought on to be Suitors;

And we will joyne in thankes, all to the Captaine,

And to his fortune that so brought us off.

Stay Mr. Needle, you doe prick too fast

Vpo' the busines: I must take some breath:

Lend me my stoole, you ha' drawne a stitch upon me,

In faith, sonne Needle, with your haste.

Good Mother, peice up this breach; Ile gi' you a new Gowne,

A new silke-Grogoran Gowne. Ile do't Mother.

What'll you doe? you ha' done too much already

With your prick-seame, and through-stitch. Mr. Needle,

I pray you sit not fabling here old tales,

Good Mother Chaire, the Mid-wife, but come up.

How now Nurse, where's my Lady?

In her Chamber

Lock'd up, I thinke: shee'll speake with no body.

Knowes shee o' this accident?

Alas Sir, no;

Would she might never know it.

I thinke her Ladiship

Too vertuous, and too nobly innocent,

To have a hand in so ill-form'd a busines.

Your thought Sir is a brave thought, and a safe one,

The child now to be borne is not more free,

From the aspersion of all spot, then she?

She have her hand in plot, 'gainst Mr. Practise.

If there were nothing else, whom she so loves?

Cries up, and values? knowes to be a man

Mark'd out, for a chiefe Justice in his cradle?

Or a Lord Paramount; the head o' the Hall?

The Top, or the Top-gallant of our Law?

Assure your selfe, she could not so deprave,

The rectitude of her Judgement, to wish you

Vnto a wife, might prove your Infamy,

Whom she esteem'd that part o' the Common-wealth,

And had up for honour to her blood.

I must confesse a great beholdingnesse

Vnto her Ladiships offer, and good wishes.

But the truth is, I never had affection,

Or any liking to this Neice of hers.

You fore-saw somewhat then?

I had my notes,

And my Prognosticks.

You read Almanacks,

And study 'hem to some purpose, I beleeve?

I doe confesse, I doe beleeve, and pray too:

According to the Planets at sometimes.

And doe observe the signe in making Love?

As in Phlebotomy.

And choose your Mistris

By the good dayes, and leave her by the bad?

I doe, and I doe not.

A little more

Would fetch all his Astronomie from Allestree.

I tell you Mr. Compasse, as my friend,

And under seale, I cast mine eye long since,

Vpo' the other wench, my Ladies woman,

Another manner of peice for handsomnesse,

Then is the Neice (but that is sub sigillo,

And as I give it you) in hope o' your aid,

And counsell in the busines.

You need counsell?

The only famous Counsell, o' the kingdome,

And in all Courts? That is a Jeere in faith,

Worthy your name, and your profession too,

Sharpe Mr. Practise.

No, upo' my Law,

As I am a Bencher, and now double Reader,

I meant in meere simplicity of request.

If you meant so. Th'affaires are now perplex'd,

And full of trouble, give 'hem breath, and setling,

Ile doe my best. But in meane time doe you

Prepare the Parson. (I am glad to know

This; for my selfe lik'd the young Maid before,

And lov'd her too.) Ha' you a Licence?

No;

But I can fetch one straight.

Doe, doe, and mind

The Parsons pint t' ingage him— the busines;

A knitting Cup there must be.

I shall doe it.

Tis an affront, from you Sir; you here brought me,

Vnto my Ladies, and to wooe a wife,

Which since is prov'd a crack'd commoditie;

Shee hath broke bulke too soone.

No fault of mine,

If she be crack'd in peeces, or broke round;

It was my sisters fault, that ownes the house,

Where she hath got her clap, makes all this noise.

I keepe her portion safe, that is not scatter'd:

The money's rattle not; nor are they throwne,

To make a Musse, yet 'mong the gamesome Suitors.

Can you endure that flout, close Mr. Bias,

And have beene so bred in the Politiques?

The injury is done you, and by him only;

He lent you imprest money, and upbraids it:

Furnish'd you for the wooing, and now waves you.

That makes me to expostulate the wrong

So with him, and resent it as I doe.

But doe it home then.

Sir, my Lord shall know it.

And all the Lords o' the Court too.

What a Moath

You are Sir Interest!

Wherein I intreat you,

Sweet Master Bias?

To draw in young States-men,

And heires of policie into the noose

Of an infamous matrimonie.

Yes,

Infamous, quasi in communem famam:

And Matrimony, quasi, matter of Money.

Learnedly urg'd, my cunning Mr. Bias.

With his lewd, knowne, and prostituted Neice.

My knowne, and prostitute: how you mistake,

And run upon a false ground, Mr. Bias!

(Your Lords will doe me right.) Now, she is prostitute,

And that I know it (please you understand me.)

I meane to keepe the portion in my hands:

And pay no monies.

Marke you that Don Bias?

And you shall still remaine in bonds to him,

For wooing furniture, and imprest charges.

Good Mr. Compasse, for the summes he has had

Of me, I doe acquit him: They are his owne.

Here, before you, I doe release him.

Good!

O Sir.

'Slid take it: I doe witnesse it:

Hee cannot hurle away his money better.

He shall get so much Sir, by my acquaintance,

To be my friend: And now report to his Lords

As I deserve no otherwise.

But well:

And I will witnesse it, and to the value;

Foure hundred is the price, if I mistake not,

Of your true friend in Court. Take hands, you ha' bought him,

And bought him cheap.

I am his worships servant.

And you his slave, Sir Moath. Seal'd, and deliver'd.

Ha' you not studied the Court Complement?

Here are a paire of Humours, reconcil'd now,

That money held at distance: or their thoughts,

Baser then money.

Out thou catife witch!

Baud, Beggar, Gipsey: Any thing indeed,

But honest woman.

What you please, Dame Polish,

My Ladies Stroaker.

What is here to doe?

The Gossips out!

Thou art a Traytor to me,

An Eve, the Apul, and the Serpent too:

A Viper, that hast eat a passage through me,

Through mine owne bowels, by thy retchlesnesse.

What frantick fit is this? Ile step aside

And hearken to it.

Did I trust thee, wretch,

With such a secret, of that consequence,

Did so concerne me, and my child, our livelihood,

And reputation? And hast thou undone us?

By thy connivence, nodding in a corner,

And suffering her begot with child so basely?

Sleepie unlucky Hag! Thou bird of night,

And all mischance to me.

Good Lady Empresse!

Had I the keeping of your Daughters clicket

In charge? was that committed to my trust?

Her Daughter.

Softly Divell, not so low'd,

You'ld ha' the house heare, and be witnesse, would you?

Let all the world be witnesse. Afore Ile

Endure the Tyrannie of such a tongue—

And such a pride–.

What will you doe?

Tell truth,

And shame the She-man-Divell in puff'd sleeves;

Run any hazzard, by revealing all

Vnto my Lady: how you chang'd the cradles,

And chang'd the children in 'hem.

Not so high!

Calling your Daughter Pleasance, there Placentia,

And my true Mistris by the name of Pleasance.

A horrid secret, this! worth the discovery;

And must you be thus lowd?

I will be lowder:

And cry it through the house, through every roome,

And every office of the Lawndry-maids:

Till it be borne hot to my Ladies eares.

Ere I will live in such a slavery,

Ile doe away my selfe.

Didst thou not sweare

To keepe it secret? and upon what booke?

(I doe remember now) The Practice of Piety.

It was a practice of impiety,

Out of your wicked forge, I know it now,

My conscience tels me. First, against the Infants,

To rob them o' their names, and their true parents;

T' abuse the neighbour-hood, keepe them in errour;

But most my Lady: Shee has the maine wrong:

And I wil let her know it instantly.

Repentance, (if it be true) nere comes too late.

What have I done? Conjur'd a spirit up

I sha' not lay againe? drawne on a danger,

And ruine on my selfe thus, by provoking

A peevish foole, whom nothing will pray of,

Or satisfie I feare? Her patience stirr'd,

Is turn'd to fury. I have run my Barke,

On a sweet Rock, by mine owne arts, and trust:

And must get off againe, or dash in peeces.

This was a busines, worth the listning after.

O Mr. Compasse, did you see my Mother?

Mistris Placentia, my Ladies Neice;

Is newly brought to bed o' the bravest boy!

Will you goe see it?

First, Ile know the father,

Ere I approach these hazards.

Mistris Midwife

Has promis'd to find out a father for it,

If there be need.

Shee may the safelier do't,

By vertue of her place. But pretty Pleasance,

I have a newes for you, I thinke will please you.

What is't Mr. Compasse?

Stay, you must

Deserve it ere you know it. Where's my Lady?

Retir'd unto her Chamber, and shut up.

She heares o' none o' this yet? well, doe you

Command the Coach; and sit your selfe to travell

A little way with me.

Whither, for Gods sake?

Where Ile intreat you not to your losse, beleeve it.

If you dare trust your selfe.

With you the world ore.

The newes will well requite the paines, I assure you.

And i' this tumult you will not be mist.

Command the Coach, it is an instant busines,

Wu' not be done without you. Parson Palate

Most opportunely met, step to my Chamber:

Ile come to you presently. There is a friend,

Or two, will entertaine you. Mr. Practise,

Ha' you the Licence?

Here it is.

Let's see it:

Your name's not in't.

Ile fill that presently;

It has the Seale, which is the maine: And registred,

The Clarke knowes me, and trusts me.

Ha' you the Parson?

They say hee's here, he 'pointed to come hither.

I would not have him seene here for a world,

To breed supition. Doe you intercept him,

And prevent that. But take your Licence with you,

And fill the blanke: or leave it here with me,

Ile doe it for you, stay you with us at his Church,

Behind the old Exchange, wee'll come i'th Coach,

And meet you there within this Quarter at least.

I am much bound unto you, Mr. Compasse,

You have all the Law, and parts of Squire Practise

For ever at your use. Ile tell you newes, too:

Sir, your Reversion's fall'n: Thin-wits dead,

Surveyor of the Projects generall.

When died he?

Eene this morning, I receiv'd it

From a right hand.

Conceale it Mr. Practise,

And mind the maine affaire, you are in hand with.

The Coach is ready Sir.

'Tis well faire Pleasance,

Though now wee shall not use it, bid the Coach-man

Drive to the Parish Church, and stay about there,

Till Mr. Practise come to him, and imploy him:

I have a Licence now, which must have entry

Before my Lawyers. Noble Parson Palate,

Thou shalt be a marke advanc't: here's a peece,

And doe a feat for me.

What, Mr. Compasse?

But run the words of Matrimony, over

My head, and Mrs. Pleasances in my Chamber:

There's Captaine Ironside to be a witnesse:

And here's a Licence to secure thee. Parson!

What doe you stick at?

It is after-noone Sir,

Directly against the Canon of the Church;

You know it Mr. Compasse: and beside,

I am ingag'd unto our worshipfull friend,

The learned Mr. Practise in that busines.

Come on, ingage your selfe: Who shall be able

To say you married us, but i'the morning,

The most canonicall minute o' the day,

If you affirme it? That's a spic'd excuse,

And shewes you have set the Common Law, before

Any profession else, of love, or friendship.

Come Mrs. Pleasance, wee cannot prevaile

With th' rigid Parson here: but Sir, Ile keepe you

Lock'd in my lodging, 'till't be done elsewhere,

And under feare of Ironside.

Doe you heare, Sir?

No, no, it matters not.

Can you thinke Sir

I would deny you any thing? not to losse

Of both my Livings: I will doe it for you,

Ha' you a wedding Ring?

I and a Poesie:

Annulus hic nobis, quod scit uterq; dabit.

Good!

This Ring will give you what you both desire.

Ile make the whole house chant it, and the Parish.

Why, well said Parson. Now to you my newes,

That comprehend my reasons, Mrs. Pleasance.

Goe, get a Nurse, procure her at what rate

You can: and out o' th' house with it, sonne Needle.

It is a bad Commoditie.

Good Mother,

I know it, but the best would now be made on't.

And shall: you should not fret so, Mrs. Polish,

Nor you Dame Keepe; my Daughter shall doe well,

When she has tane my Cawdle. I ha' knowne

Twenty such breaches piec'd up, and made whole,

Without a bum of noise. You two fall out?

And teare up one another.

Blessed woman?

Blest be the Peace-maker.

The Pease-dresser!

Ile heare no peace from her. I have beene wrong'd,

So has my Lady, my good Ladies worship,

And I will right her, hoping shee'll right me.

Good gentle Keepe, I pray thee Mistris Nurse,

Pardon my passion, I was misadvis'd,

Be thou yet better, by this grave sage woman,

Who is the Mother of Matrons, and great persons,

And knowes the world.

I doe confesse, she knowes

Something – and I know something–.

Put your somethings

Together then.

I, here's a chance falne out

You cannot helpe; lesse can this Gentlewoman;

I can and will, for both. First, I have sent

By-chop away; the cause gone, the fame ceaseth.

Then by my Cawdle, and my Cullice, I set

My Daughter on her feet, about the house here:

Shee's young, and must stirre somewhat for necessity,

Her youth will beare it out. She shall pretend,

T' have had a fit o' the Mother: there is all.

If you have but a Secretary Landresse,

To blanch the Linnen – Take the former counsels

Into you; keepe them safe i' your owne brests;

And make your Merkat of 'hem at the highest.

Will you goe peach, and cry your selfe a foole

At Granam's Crosse? be laugh'd at, and dispis'd?

Betray a purpose, which the Deputie

Of a double Ward, or scarce his Alderman,

With twelve of the wisest Questmen could find out,

Imployed by the Authority of the Citie?

Come, come, be friends: and keepe these women-matters,

Smock-secrets to our selves, in our owne verge.

Wee shall marre all, if once we ope the mysteries

O' the Tyring-house, and tell what's done within:

No Theaters are more cheated with apparances,

Or these shop-lights, then th' Ages, and folke in them,

That seeme most curious.

Breath of an Oracle!

You shall be my deare Mother; wisest woman

That ever tip'd her tongue, with point of reasons,

To turne her hearers! Mistris Keepe, relent,

I did abuse thee; I confesse to pennance:

And on my knees aske thee forgivenesse.

Rise,

She doth begin to melt, I see it—.

Nothing

Griev'd me so much, as when you call'd me Baud:

Witch did not trouble me, nor Gipsie; no

Nor Beggar. But a Baud, was such a name!

No more rehearsals; Repetitions

Make things the worse: The more wee stirre (you know

The Proverbe, and it signifies a) stink.

What's done, and dead, let it be buried.

New houres will fit fresh handles, to new thoughts.

Run to the Church, Sirrah. Get all the Drunkards

To ring the Bels, and jangle them for joy

My Neice hath brought an Heire unto the house,

A lusty boy. Where's my sister Loadstone?

Asleepe at afternoones! It is not wholesome;

Against all rules of Physick, Lady sister.

The little Doctor will not like it. Our Neice

Is new deliver'd of a chopping Child,

Can call the Father by the name already,

If it but ope the mouth round. Mr. Compasse,

He is the man, they say, fame gives it out,

Hath done that Act of honour to our house,

And friendship to pompe out a Sonne, and Heire,

That shall inherit nothing, surely nothing

From me at least. I come t' invite your Ladiship

To be a witnesse; I will be your Partner,

And give it a horne-spoone, and a treene dish;

Bastard, and Beggars badges, with a blanket

For Dame the Doxey to march round the Circuit,

With bag, and baggage.

Thou malitious Knight,

Envious Sir Moath, that eates on that which feeds thee,

And frets her goodnesse, that sustaines thy being;

What company of Mankind would owne thy brother-hood,

But as thou hast a title to her blood,

Whom thy ill nature hath chose out t' insult on,

And vexe thus, for an Accident in her house,

As if it were her crime! Good innocent Lady,

Thou shew'st thy selfe a true corroding Vermine,

Such as thou art.

Why, gentle Mr. Compasse?

Because I wish you joy of your young Sonne,

And Heire to the house, you ha' sent us?

I ha' sent you?

I know not what I shall doe. Come in friends:

Madam, I pray you be pleas'd to trust your selfe

Vnto our company.

I did that too late;

Which brought on this calamity upon me,

With all the infamy I heare; your Souldier,

That swaggering Guest.

Who is return'd here to you,

Your vowed friend, and servant; comes to sup with you,

So wee doe all; and 'll prove he hath deserv'd,

That speciall respect, and favour from you,

As not your fortunes, with your selfe to boote,

Cast on a Feather-bed, and spread o' th' sheets

Vnder a brace of your best Persian Carpets,

Were scarce a price to thanke his happy merit.

What impudence is this? can you indure

To heare it sister?

Yes, and you shall heare it;

Who will indure it worse. What deserves he

In your opinion, Madam, or weigh'd Judgement,

That, things thus hanging (as they doe in doubt)

Suspended, and suspected, all involv'd,

And wrapt in errour, can resolve the knot?

Redintigrate the fame, first of your house?

Restore your Ladiships quiet? render then

Your Neice a Virgin, and unvitiated?

And make all plaine, and perfect (as it was)

A practise to betray you, and your name?

Hee speakes impossibilities.

Here he stands,

Whose fortune hath done this, and you must thanke him:

To what you call his swaggering, wee owe all this.

And that it may have credit with you Madam,

Here is your Neice, whom I have married, witnesse

These Gentlemen, the Knight, Captaine, and Parson,

And this grave Politique Tell-troth of the Court.

What's she that I call Neice then?

Polishes Daughter;

Her Mother Goodwy' Polish hath confess'd it

To Granam Keepe, the Nurse, how they did change

The children in their Cradles.

To what purpose?

To get the portion, or some part of it,

Which you must now disburse intire to me, Sir,

If I but gaine her Ladiships consent.