Part 6

_Old K._ Make me not mad, use him with all respect, This is the man I swear.

_Neece._ Would you could perswade me to that; Alass, you cannot go beyond me Uncle, You carry a Jest well, I must confess, For a man of your years, but--

_Old K._ I'm wrought beside my self.

_Cun._ I never beheld comliness till this minute.

_Guar._ Oh good sweet Sir, pray offer not these words To an old Gentlewoman.

_Neece._ Sir.

_Cun._ Away fifteen, Here's Fifty one exceeds thee.

_Neece._ What's the business?

_Cun._ Give me these motherly creatures, come, ne'er smother it, I know you are a teeming woman yet.

_Guard._ Troth a young Gent. might do much I think, Sir.

_Cun._ Go too then.

_Guard._ And I should play my part, or I were ingrateful.

_Neece._ Can you so soon neglect me!

_Cun._ Hence I'm busie.

_Old K._ This cross point came in luckily, impudent baggage. Hang from the Gentleman, art thou not asham'd To be a Widows hind'rance?

_Cun._ Are you angry, Sir?

_Old K._ You're welcome, pray court on, I shall desire Your honest wise acquaintance; vex me not After my care and pains to find a match for thee, Lest I confine thy life to some out-chamber, Where thou shalt waste the sweetness of thy youth, Like a consuming Light in her own socket, And not allow'd a male creature about thee; A very Monky, thy necessity Shall prize at a thousand pound, a Chimney sweeper At Fifteen hundred.

_Neece._ But are you serious, Uncle?

_Old K._ Serious.

_Neece._ Pray let me look upon the Gentleman With more heed; then I did but hum him over In haste, good faith, as Lawyers Chancery sheets; Beshrew my blood, a tollerable man, Now I distinctly read him.

_Sir Gr._ Hum, hum, hum.

_Neece._ Say he be black, he's of a very good pitch, Well ankled, two good confident calves, they look As if they would not shrink at the ninth child; The redness i'th face, why that's in fashion, Most of your high bloods have it, sign of greatness marry; 'Tis to be taken down too with _May_-butter, I'll send to my Lady _Spend-tail_ for her Medicine.

_Sir Gr._ Lum te dum, dum, dum, de dum.

_Neece._ He's qualified too, believe me.

_Sir Gr._ Lum te dum, de dum, de dum.

_Neece._ Where was my judgement?

_Sir Gr._ Lum te dum, dum, dum, te dum, te dum.

_Neece._ Perfections cover'd mess.

_Sir Gr._ Lum te dum, te dum, te dum.

_Neece._ It smoaks apparantly, pardon sweet Sir, The error of my Sex.

_Old K._ Why, well [s]aid Neece, Upon submission you must pardon her now, Sir.

_Sir Gr._ I'll do't by course, do you think I'm an ass, Knight? Here's first my hand, now't goes to the Seal-Office.

_Old K._ Formally finisht, how goes this Suit forward?

_Cun._ I'm taking measure of the Widows mind, Sir, I hope to fit her heart.

_Guard._ Who would have dreamt Of a young morsel now? things come in minutes.

_Sir Gr._ Trust him not Widow, he's a younger brother, He'll swear and lie; believe me he's worth nothing.

_Guard._ He brings more content to a woman with that nothing, Than he that brings his thousands without any thing, We have presidents for that amongst great Ladies.

_Old K._ Come, come, no language now shall be in fashion, But your Love-phrase, the bell to procreation. [_Exeunt._

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

_Witty._ Pox, there's nothing puts me besides my wits, but this fourth, This last illiterate share, there's no conscience in't.

_Ruin._ Sir, it has ever been so, where I have practis'd, and must be. Still where I am, nor has it been undeserv'd at the years End, and shuffle the Almanack together, vacations and Term-times, one with another, though I say't, my wife is a Woman of a good spirit, then it is no lay-share.

_Pris._ Faith for this five year, _Ego possum probare_, I have had A hungry penurious share with 'em, and she has had as much As I always.

_Witty._ Present, or not present?

_Pris. Residens aut non residens, per fidem._

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter Old Knight and_ Sir Gregory.

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

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

_Old K._ Tush Nephew (I'll call you so) for if there be No other obstacles than those you speak of They are but Powder-charges without pellets, You may safely front 'em; and warrant your own danger.

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

_Old K._ And surely, Sir, that is a principle Amongst your principal Ladies, they require Valour, either in a friend or a Husband.

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Sir Gr._ And some Scholar she would have me besides, Tush, that shall be no bar, 'tis a quality in a Gentleman, but of the least question.

_Pris. Salvete Domini benignissimi, munificentissimi._

_Old K. Salvete dicis ad nos? jubeo te salvere_, Nay, Sir, we have _Latine_, and other metall in us too. Sir, you shall see me talk with this fellow now.

_Sir Gr._ I could find in my heart to talk with him too, If I could understand him.

_Pris. Charissimi, Doctissimique, Domini, ex abundantia._ _Charitatis vestræ estote propitii in me jejunum_ _Miserum, pauperem, & omni consolatione exulem._

_Old K._ A pretty Scholar by my faith, Sir, but I'll to him agen.

_Sir Gr._ Does he beg or steal in this Language, can you tell Sir? He may take away my good name from me, and I ne'er The wiser.

_Old K._ He begs, he begs, Sir.

_Pris. Ecce, ecce, in occulis lachrymarum flumen, in ore_ _Fames sitisq; ignis in vultu, pudor & impudentia,_ _In omni parte necessitas & indigentia._

_Old K. Audi tu bonus socius, tu es Scholasticus, sic intelligo,_ _Ego faciam argumentum_, mark now Sir, now I fetch Him up.

_Sir Gr._ I have been fetcht up a hundred times for this, Yet I could never learn half so much.

_Old K. Audi, & responde, hoc est Argumentum, nomen est_ _Nomen, ergo, quod est tibi nomen? Responde nunc,_ _Responde argumentum meum._ Have I not put him to't, Sir?

_Sir Gr._ Yes Sir, I think so.

_Witty._ Step in, the rascal is put out of his pen'd Speech, And he can go no farther.

_Old K. Cur non respondes?_

_Pris. Oh Domine, tanta mea est miseria._

_Witty._ So, he's almost in agen.

_Pris. Ut nocte mecum pernoctat egestas, luce quotidie_ _Paupertas habitat._

_Old K. Sed quod est tibi nomen: & quis dedit? Responde_ _Argumentum._

_Pris._ Hem, hem.

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

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

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

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

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

_Old K._ Stay, stay Sir I will talk a little with him first, Let me alone with both, I will try whether they Live by their wits or no; for such a man I love, And what? you both beg together then?

_Pris. Conjunctis manibus, profecto, Domine._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Witty._ Are you sure _Sebastian_ died there?

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

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

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

_Witty._ This should be no counterfeit, Sir.

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

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

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

_Witty._ A good Soldier cannot want those badges.

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

_Witty._ Nay, I'll have a bout with your Scholar too, To ask you why you should be poor (yet richly learn'd) Were no question, at least, you can easily Answer it; but whether you have learning enough, To deserve to be poor or no (since poverty is Commonly the meed of Learning) is yet to be tryed; You have the Languages, I mean the chief, As the _Hebrew_, _Syriack_, _Greek_, _Latine_, &c.

_Pris. Aliquantulum, non totaliter, Domine._

_Old K._ The _Latine_ I have sufficiently tried him in, And I promise you Sir, he is very well grounded.

_Witty._ I will prove him in some of the rest. _Toi[s] miois fatherois iste Cock-scomboy?_

_Pris. Kay yonkeron nigitton oy fouleroi Asinisoy._

_Witty. Cheateron ton biton?_

_Pris. Tous pollous strikerous, Angelo to peeso._

_Witty._ Certainly Sir, a very excellent Scholar in the _Greek_.

_Old K._ I do note a wondrous readiness in him.

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

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

_Pris. Hashagath rabgabosh shobos onoriadka._

_Witty. Colpack Rubasca, gnawerthem shig shag._

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Pris. Gratias, maximas gratias, benignissime Domine._

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

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

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

_Ruin._ May soldiers ever defend such charities.

_Pris._ And Scholars pray for their increase.

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

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

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

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

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

_Enter_ Witty-pate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

_Pris. Probatum fuit, profecto Domine._

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

_Pris. Cum hirundinis alis tibi regratulor._

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

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

_Actus Secundus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter Lady and Servants._

_Serv._ Nay Lady.

_Lady._ Put me not in mind on't, prethee, You cannot do a greater wrong to Women, For in our wants, 'tis the most chief affliction To have that name remembred; 'tis a Title That misery mocks us by, and the worlds malice, Scorn and contempt has not wherewith to work On humble Callings; they are safe, and lye Level with pitty still, and pale distress Is no great stranger to 'em; but when fortune Looks with a stormy face on our conditions, We find affliction work, and envy pastime, And our worst enemy than that most abuses us, Is that we are call'd by, Lady, Oh my spirit, Will nothing make thee humble? I am well methinks, And can live quiet with my fate sometimes, Until I look into the world agen, Then I begin to rave at my Stars bitterness, To see how many muckhils plac'd above me; Peasants and Droyls, Caroches full of Dunghils, Whose very birth stinks in a generous nostril, Glistring by night like Glow-worms through the High streets Hurried by Torch-light in the Foot-mans hands That shew like running Fire-drakes through the City, And I put to my shifts and wits to live, Nay sometimes danger too; on Foot, on Horseback, And earn my supper manfully e'r I get it, Many a meal I have purchas'd at that rate,

_Enter_ Priscian.

Fed with a wound upon me, stampt at midnight. Hah, what are you?

_Pris._ Now you may tell your self, Lady. [_Pulls off's beard._

_Lady._ Oh Mr. _Priscian_, what's the project, For you n'er come without one.

_Pris._ First, your Husband, Sir _Ruinous Gentry_ greets you with best wishes, And here has sent you your full share by me In five Cheats and two Robberies.

_Lady._ And what comes it too?

_Prisc._ Near upon thirteen pound.

_Lady._ A goodly share, 'Twill put a Lady scarce in Philip and Cheyney, With three small Bugle Laces, like a Chambermaid, Here's precious lifting.

_Pris._ 'Las you must consider, Lady, 'Tis but young Term, Attornies ha small doings yet, Then Highway Lawyers, they must needs ha little, We'ave had no great good luck to speak troth, Beauty, Since your stout Ladyship parted from's at _Highgate_, But there's a fair hope now for a present hunder'd, Here's mans Apparel, your Horse stands at door.

_Lady._ And what's the virtuous plot now?

_Prisc._ Marry Lady, You, like a brave young Gallant must be robb'd.

_Lady._ I robb'd?

_Pris._ Nay then--

_Lady._ Well, well, go on, let's hear Sir.

_Pris._ Here's a seal'd bag of a Hunder'd, which indeed Are Counters all, only some sixteen Groats Of white money i'th' mouth on't.

_Lady._ So, what Saddle have I?

_Pris._ Monsieur _Laroon_'s the _Frenchmans_.

_Lady._ That agen, You know so well it is not for my stride, How oft have I complain'd on't?

_Pris._ You may have [_Jockey's_] then, the little _Scotch_ one, You must dispatch. [_Exit_ Pris.

_Lady._ I'll soon be ready, Sir, Before you ha shifted Saddles, many Women Have their wealth flow to 'em, I was made I see To help my fortune, not my fortune me. [_Exit._

_Enter_ Cuningam.

_Cun._ My ways are Goblin-led, and the night-Elf Still draws me from my home, yet I follow, Sure, 'tis not altogether fabulous, Such Haggs do get dominion of our tongues So soon as we speak, the Inchantment binds; I have dissembled such a trouble on me, As my best wits can hardly clear agen; Piping through this old reed, the Guardianess, With purpose that my harmony shall reach And please the Ladies ear, she stops below, And ecchoes back my Love unto my Lips, Perswaded by most violent arguments Of self-love in her self; I am so self-fool, To doat upon her hunder'd wrinkl'd face; I could beggar her to accept the gifts She would throw upon me; 'twere charity, But for pities sake I will be a niggard And undo her, refusing to take from her; I'm haunted agen, if it take not now I'll break the Spell.

_Enter Guardianess._

_Guard._ Sweet _Cuningam_, welcome; What? a whole day absent? Birds that build Nests Have care to keep 'em.

_Cun._ That's granted, But not continually to sit upon 'em; Less in the youngling season, else they desire To fly abroad, and recreate their labours, Then they return with fresher appetite To work agen.

_Guard._ Well, well, you have built a Nest That will stand all storms, you need not mistrust A weather-wrack, and one day it may be The youngling season too, then I hope You'll ne'er fly out of sight.

_Cun._ There will be pains, I see to shake this Burr off, and sweetest, Prethee how fares thy charge? has my good friend Sir _Gregory_, the countenance of a Lover?

_Guard._ No by my troth, not in my mind, methinks (Setting his Worship aside) he looks like a fool.