Part 9

_Wit._ It is your own, you may do what you please with it; Pardon my zeal, I would ha' sav'd you money; Give him all his own asking?

_O. K._ What's that to you, Sir? Be sparing of your own, teach me to pinch In such a case as this? go, go, live by your wits, go.

_Wit._ I practise all I can.

_O. K._ Follow you me, Sir, And, Master Constable, come from the knave, And be a witness of a full recompence.

_Wit._ Pray stop the Constables mouth, what ere you do Sir.

_O. K._ Yet agen? as if I meant not to do that my self, Without your counsel? As for you, precious kinsman, Your first years fruits in _Wales_ shall go to rack for this, You lie not in my house, I'll pack you out, And pay for your lodging rather.

[_Exeunt_ Knight, Ruin, _and_ Lady.

_Witty._ Oh fie Cozen, These are ill courses, you a Scholar too?

_Cred._ I was drawn into't most unfortunately, By filthy deboist company.

_Wit._ I, I, I. 'Tis even the spoil of all our youth in _England_. What were they Gentlemen?

_Cred._ Faith so like some on 'em, They were ev'n the worse agen.

_Wit._ Hum.

_Cred._ Great Tobacco [swivers], They would go near to rob with a pipe in their mouths.

_Wit._ What, no?

_Cred._ Faith leave it Cozen, because my Rascals use it.

_Wit._ So they do meat and drink, must worthy Gentlemen Refrain their food for that? an honest man May eat of the same Pig some Parson dines with, A Lawyer and a fool feed of one Woodcock, Yet one ne'er the simpler, t'other ne'er the wiser; 'Tis not meat, drink, or smoak, dish, cup, or pipe, Co-operates to the making of a Knave, 'Tis the condition makes a slave, a slave, There's _London_ Philosophy for you; I tell you Cozen, You cannot be too cautelous, nice, or dainty, In your society here, especially When you come raw from the University, Before the World has hard'ned you a little, For as a butter'd loaf is a Scholars breakfast there, So a poach't Scholar is a cheaters dinner here, I ha' known seven of 'em supt up at a Meale.

_Cred._ Why a poacht Scholar?

_Wit._ 'Cause he powres himself forth, And all his secrets, at the first acquaintance, Never so crafty to be eaten i'th' shell, But is outstript of all he has at first, And goes down glib, he's swallowed with sharp wit, Stead of Wine Vinegar.

_Cred._ I shall think, Cozen, O' your poach't Scholar, while I live.

_Enter_ Servant.

_Serv._ Master _Credulous_, Your Uncle wills you to forbear the House, You must with me, I'm charg'd to see you plac'd In some new lodging about Theeving Lane, What the conceit's, I know not, but commands you To be seen here no more, till you hear further.

_Cred._ Here's a strange welcome, Sir.

_Wit._ This is the World, Cozen; When a Man's fame's once poyson'd, fare thee well Lad.

[_Exit_ Cred. _and_ Servant.

This is the happiest cheat I e'er claim'd share in, It has a two-fold fortune, gets me coyne, And puts him out of grace, that stood between me, My fathers _Cambridge_ Jewel, much suspected To be his Heir, now there's a bar in's hopes.

_Enter_ Ruinous, _and_ Lady Gentry.

_Ruin._ It chinks, make haste.

_Lady._ The _Goat at Smithfield Pens_.

_Enter_ Cunningame.

_Wit._ Zo, zo, zufficient. Master _Cuningame_? I never have ill luck when I meet a wit.

_Cun._ A Wit's better to meet, than to follow then, For I ha' none so good I can commend yet, But commonly men unfortunate to themselves, Are luckiest to their friends, and so may I be.

_Wit._ I run o'er so much worth, going but in haste from you, All my deliberate friendship cannot equal.

_Cun._ 'Tis but to shew, that you can place sometimes,

_Enter_ Mirabell.

Your modesty a top of all your virtues. [_Exit_ Wit. This Gentleman may pleasure me yet agen; I am so haunted with this broad-brim'd hat, Of the last progress block, with the young hat-band, Made for a sucking Devil of two years old, I know not where to turn my self.

_Mir._ Sir?

_Cun._ More torture?

_Mir._ 'Tis rumor'd that you love me.

_Cun._ A my troth Gentlewoman, Rumor's as false a knave as ever pist then, Pray tell him so from me; I cannot fain With a sweet Gentlewoman, I must deal down right.

_Mir._ I heard, though you dissembled with my Aunt, Sir, And that makes me more confident.

_Cun._ There's no falshood, But payes us our own some way, I confess I Fain'd with her, 'twas for a weightier purpose, But not with thee, I swear.

_Mir._ Nor I with you then, Although my Aunt enjoyn'd me to dissemble, To right her splene, I love you faithfully.

_Cun._ Light, this is worse than 'twas.

_Mir._ I find such worth in you, I cannot, nay I dare not dally with you, For fear the flame consume me.

_Cun._ Here's fresh trouble, This drives me to my conscience, for 'tis foul To injure one that deals directly with me.

_Mir._ I crave but such a truth from your love, Sir, As mine brings you, and that's proportionable.

_Cun._ A good Geometrician, 'shrew my heart; Why are you out o'your wits, pretty plump Gentlewoman, You talk so desperately? 'tis a great happiness, Love has made one on's wiser than another, We should be both cast away else; Yet I love gratitude, I must requite you, I shall be sick else, but to give you me, A thing you must not take, if you mean to live, For a' my troth I hardly can my self; No wise Physitian will prescribe me for you. Alass, your state is weak, you had need of Cordials, Some rich Electuary, made of a Son an Heir, An elder brother, in a Cullisse, whole, 'Tmust be some wealthy _Gregory_, boyl'd to a Jelly, That must restore you to the state of new Gowns, French Ruffs, and mutable head-tires.

_Mir._ But, Where is he, Sir? One that's so rich will ne'er wed me with nothing.

_Cun._ Then see thy Conscience, and thy wit together, Would'st thou have me then, that has nothing neither? What say you to _Fop Gregory_ the first, yonder? Will you acknowledge your time amply recompenc'd? Full satisfaction upon loves record? Without any more suit, if I combine you?

_Mir._ Yes, by this honest kiss.

_Cun._ You're a wise Clyent, To pay your fee before-hand, but all do so, You know the worst already, that's the best too.

_Mir._ I know he's a fool.

_Cun._ You'r shrewdly hurt then; This is your comfort, your great wisest Women Pick their first Husband still out of that house, And some will have 'em to chuse, if they bury twenty.

_Mir._ I'm of their minds, that like him for a [first] Husband, To run youths race with [him], 'tis very pleasant, But when I'm old, I'd alwayes wish for a wiser.

_Cun._ You may have me by that time: For this first business, Rest upon my performance.

_Mir._ With all thankfulness.

_Cun._ I have a project you must aid me in too.

_Mir._ You bind me to all lawful action, Sir.

_Cun._ Pray wear this Scarf about you.

_Mir._ I conjecture now--

_Cun._ There's a Court Principle for't, one office must help another; As for example, for your cast o' Manchits out o'th' Pantry, I'll allow you a Goose out o'th' Kitchin.

_Mir._ 'Tis very sociably done, Sir, farewel performance, I shall be bold to call you so.

_Cun._ Do, sweet confidence,

_Enter Sir_ Gregory.

If I can match my two broad brim'd hats; 'Tis he, I know the Maggot by his head; Now shall I learn newes of him, my precious chief.

_Sir Greg._ I have been seeking for you i'th' bowling-Green, Enquir'd at _Nettletons_, and _Anthonies_ Ordinary, T'ha's vext me to the heart, look, I've a Diamond here, And it cannot find a Master.

_Cun._ No? That's hard y'faith.

_Sir Greg._ It does belong to some body, a ---- on him, I would he had it, do's but trouble me, And she that sent it, is so waspish too, There's no returning to her till't be gone.

_Cun._ Oh, ho, ah sirrah, are you come?

_Sir Greg._ What's that friend?

_Cun._ Do you note that corner sparkle?

_Sir Greg._ Which? which? which Sir?

_Cun._ At the West end o'th' Coller.

_Sir Greg._ Oh I see't now.

_Cun._ 'Tis an apparent mark; this is the stone, Sir, That so much blood is threatned to be shed for.

_Sir Greg._ I pray.

_Cun._ A tun at least.

_Sir Greg._ They must not find't i'me then, they must Goe where 'tis to be had.

_Cun._ 'Tis well it came to my hands first, Sir _Gregory_, I know where this must go.

_Sir Greg._ Am I discharg'd on't?

_Cun._ My life for yours now. [_Draws._

_Sir Greg._ What now?

_Cun._ 'Tis discretion, Sir, I'll stand upon my Guard all the while I ha't.

_Sir Greg._ 'Troth thou tak'st too much danger on thee still, To preserve me alive.

_Cun._ 'Tis a friends duty, Sir, Nay, by a toy that I have late thought upon, I'll u[n]dertake to get your Mistriss for you.

_Sir Greg._ Thou wilt not? Wilt?

_Cun._ Contract her by a trick, Sir, When she least thinks on't.

_Sir Greg._ There's the right way to't, For if she think on't once, shee'l never do't.

_Cun._ She does abuse you still then?

_Sir Greg._ A----damnably, Every time worse than other; yet her Uncle Thinks the day holds a Tuesday; say it did, Sir, She's so familiarly us'd to call me Rascal, She'll quite forget to wed me by my own name, And then that Marriage cannot hold in Law, you know.

_Cun._ Will you leave all to me?

_Sir Greg._ Who should I leave it to?

_Cun._ 'Tis our luck to love Neeces; I love a Neece too.

_Sir Greg._ I would you did y'faith.

_Cun._ But mine's a kind wretch.

_Sir Greg._ I marry Sir, I would mine were so too.

_Cun._ No rascal comes in her mouth.

_Sir Greg._ Troth, and mine has little else in hers.

_Cun._ Mine sends me tokens, All the World knows not on.

_Sir Greg._ Mine gives me tokens too, very fine tokens, But I dare not wear 'em.

_Cun._ Mine's kind in secret.

_Sir Greg._ And there mine's a hell-cat.

_Cun._ We have a day set too.

_Sir Greg._ 'Slid, so have we man, But there's no sign of ever coming together.

_Cun._ I'll tell thee who 'tis, the old womans Neece.

_Sir Greg._ Is't she?

_Cun._ I would your luck had been no worse for mildness; But mum, no more words on't to your Lady.

_Sir Greg._ Foh!

_Cun._ No blabbing, as you love me.

_Sir Greg._ None of our blood Were ever bablers.

_Cun._ Prethee convey this Letter to her, But at any hand let not your Mistriss see't.

_Sir Greg._ Yet agen Sir?

_Cun._ There's a Jewel in't, The very art would make her doat upon't.

_Sir Greg._ Say you so? And she shall see't for that trick only.

_Cun._ Remember but your Mistriss, and all's well.

_Sir Greg._ Nay, if I do not, hang me. [_Exit._

_Cun._ I believe you; This is the onely way to return a token, I know he will do't now, 'cause he's charg'd to'th' contrary. He's the nearest kin to a Woman, of a thing Made without substance, that a man can find agen, Some Petticoat begot him, I'll be whipt else, Engendring with an old pair of paund hose, Lying in some hot chamber o'er the Kitchin: Very steame bred him, He never came where _Rem in Re_ e'er grew; The generation of a hundred such Cannot make a man stand in a white sheet, For 'tis no act in Law, nor can a Constable Pick out a bawdy business for _Bridewell_ in't;

_Enter_ Clown (_as a Gallant_.)

A lamentable case, he's got with a Mans Urine, like a _Mandrake_. How now? hah? What prodigious bravery's this? A most preposterous Gallant, the Doublet sits As if it mock't the breeches.

_Clow._ Save you, Sir.

_Cun._ H'as put his tongue in the fine suit of words too.

_Clow._ How does the party?

_Cun._ Takes me for a Scrivener. Which of the parties?

_Clow._ Hum, simplicity betide thee-- I would fain hear of the party; I would be loath to go Farther with her; honor is not a thing to be dallied withall, No more is reputation, no nor fame, I take it, I must not Have her wrong'd when I'm abroad; my party is not To be compell'd with any party in an oblique way; 'Tis very dangerous to deal with Women; May prove a Lady too, but shall be nameless, I'll bite my tongue out, e'er it prove a Traitor.

_Cun._ Upon my life I know her.

_Clow._ Not by me, Know what you can, talk a whole day with me, Y'are ne'er the wiser, she comes not from these lips.

_Cun._ The old Knights Neece.

_Clow._ 'Slid he has got her, pox of his heart that told him, Can nothing be kept secret? let me entreat you To use her name as little as you can, though.

_Cun._ 'Twill be small pleasure, Sir, to use her name.

_Clow._ I had intelligence in my solemn walks, 'Twixt _Paddington_ and _Pancridge_, of a Scarfe, Sent for a token, and a Jewel follow'd, But I acknowledge not the receipt of any, How e'er 'tis carried, believe me, Sir, Upon my reputation I receiv'd none.

_Cun._ What, neither Scarfe nor Jewel?

_Clow._ 'Twould be seen Some where about me, you may well think that, I have an arme for a Scarfe, as others have, An Ear, to hang a Jewel too, and that's more Then some men have, my betters a great deal, I must have restitution, where e'er it lights.

_Cun._ And reason good.

_Clow._ For all these tokens, Sir, Pass i' my name.

_Cun._ It cannot otherwise be.

_Clow._ Sent to a worthy friend.

_Cun._ I, that's to thee.

_Clow._ I'm wrong'd under that title.

_Cun._ I dare sware thou art, 'Tis nothing but _Sir Gregories_ circumvention, His envious spite, when thou'rt at _Paddington_, He meets the gifts at _Pancridge_.

_Clow._ Ah false Knight? False both to honor, and the Law of Arms?

_Cun._ What wilt thou say if I be reveng'd for thee? Thou sit as Witness?

_Clow._ I should laugh in state then.

_Cun._ I'll fob him, here's my hand.

_Clow._ I shall be as glad as any Man alive, to see him well fob'd, Sir; but now you talk of fobbing, I wonder the Lady sends not for me according to promise? I ha' kept out o' Town these two dayes, a purpose to be sent for; I am almost starv'd with walking.

_Cun._ Walking gets men a stomach.

_Clow._ 'Tis most true, Sir, I may speak it by experience, for I ha' got a stomach six times, and lost it agen, as often as a traveller from _Chelsy_ shall lose the sight of _Pauls_, and get it agen.

_Cun._ Go to her, Man.

_Clow._ Not for a Million, enfringe my oath? there's a toy call'd a Vow, has past between us, a poor trifle, Sir; Pray do me the part and office of a Gentleman, if you chance to meet a Footman by the way, in Orange tawny ribbands, running before an empty Coach, with a Buzard i'th' Poop on't, direct him and his horses toward the new River by _Islington_, there they shall have me looking upon the Pipes, and whistling.

[_Exit_ Clow.

_Cun._ A very good note; this love makes us all Monkeyes, But to my work: 'Scarfe first? and now a Diamond? these should be sure signs of her affections truth; Yet I'll go forward with my surer proof: [_Exit._

_Enter_ Neece, _and Sir_ Gregory.

_Neece._ Is't possible?

_Sir Greg._ Nay, here's his Letter too, there's a fine Jewel in't, Therefore I brought it to you.

_Neece._ You tedious Mongril! Is't not enough To grace thee, to receive this from thy hand, A thing which makes me almost sick to do, But you must talk too?

_Sir Greg._ I ha' done.

_Neece._ Fall back, Yet backer, backer yet, you unmannerly puppy, Do you not see I'm going about to read it?

_Sir Greg._ Nay, these are golden dayes, now I stay by't, She was wont not to endure me in her sight at all, The World mends, I see that.

_Neece._ What an ambiguous Superscription's here! _To the best of Neeces._ Why that title may be mine, And more than her's: Sure I much wrong the neatness of his art; 'Tis certain sent to me, and to requite My cunning in the carriage of my Tokens, Us'd the same _Fop_ for his.

_Sir Greg._ She nodded now to me, 'twill come in time.

_Neece._ What's here? an entire _Rubye_, cut into a heart, And this the word, _Istud Amoris opus_?

_Sir Greg._ Yes, yes, I have heard him say, that love is the best stone-cutter.

_Neece._ Why thou sawcy issue of some travelling Sow-gelder, What makes love in thy mouth? Is it a thing That ever will concern thee? I do wonder How thou dar'st think on't! hast thou ever hope To come i' the same roome where lovers are; And scape unbrain'd with one of their velvet slippers?

_Sir Greg._ Love tricks break out I see, and you talk of slippers once, 'Tis not far off to bed time.

_Neece._ Is it possible thou canst laugh yet? I would ha' undertook to ha' kill'd a spider With less venome far, than I have spit at thee.

_Sir Greg._ You must conceive, A Knight's another manner a piece of flesh.

_Neece._ Back, Owles-face.

_Within. O. K._ Do, do.

_Neece._ 'Tis my Unckles voice, that. Why keep you so far off, _Sir Gregory_? Are you afraid, Sir, to come near your Mistriss?

_Sir Greg._ Is the proud heart come down? I lookt for this still.

_Neece._ He comes not this way yet: Away, you dog-whelp, Would you offer to come near me, though I said so? I'll make you understand my mind in time; [Your running] greedily, like a hound to his breakfast, That chops in head and all to beguile his fellows; I'm to be eaten, Sir, with Grace and leisure, Behaviour and discourse, things that ne'er trouble you; After I have pelted you sufficiently, I tro you will learn more manners.

_Sir Greg._ I'm wondring still when we two shall come together? Tuesday's at hand, but I'm as far off, as I was at first, I swear.

_Enter_ Gardianess.

_Gard._ Now _Cuningame_, I'll be reveng'd at large: Lady, what was but all this while suspition, Is truth, full blown now, my Neece wears your Scarfe.

_Neece._ Hah?

_Gard._ Do but follow me, I'll place you instantly Where you shall see her courted by _Cuningame_.

_Neece._ I go with greediness; we long for things That break our hearts sometimes, there's pleasures misery,

[_Exeunt_ Neece _and_ Gard.

_Sir Greg._ Where are those gad-flies going? to some Junket now; That some old _bumble-bee_ toles the young one forth To sweet meats after kind, let 'em look to't, The thing you wot on be not mist or gone, I bring a Maiden-head, and I look for one. _Which is only a Puppet so drest._ [_Exit._

_Enter_ Cunningame (_in discourse with a Mask't Gentlewoman_ _in a broad hat, and scarf'd_,) _Neece at another door._

_Cun._ Yes, yes.

_Neece._ Too manifest now, the Scarfe and all.

_Cun._ It cannot be, you're such a fearful soul.

_Neece._ I'll give her cause of fear e'er I part from her.

_Cun._ Will you say so? Is't not your Aunts desire too?

_Neece._ What a dissembling croane's that! she'l forswear't now.

_Cun._ I see my project takes, yonder's the grace on't.

_Neece._ Who would put confidence in wit again, I'm plagu'd for my ambition, to desire A wise Man for a husband, and I see Fate will not have us go beyond our stint, We are allow'd but one dish, and that's Woodcock, It keeps up wit to make us friends and servants of, And thinks any thing's good enough to make us husbands; Oh that Whores hat o' thine, o' the riding block, A shade for lecherous kisses.

_Cun._ Make you doubt on't? Is not my love of force?

_Neece._ Yes, me it forces To tear that sorcerous strumpet from th' imbraces.

_Cun._ Lady?

_Neece._ Oh thou hast wrong'd the exquisit'st love--

_Cun._ What mean you, Lady?

_Neece._ Mine, you'l answer for't.

_Cun._ Alas, What seek you?

_Neece._ Sir, mine own with loss.

_Cun._ You shall.

_Neece._ I never made so hard a bargain.

_Cun._ Sweet Lady?

_Neece._ Unjust man, let my wrath reach her, As you owe virtue duty; [Cun. _falls on purpose_. Your cause trips you, Now _Minion_, you shall feel what loves rage is, Before you taste the pleasure; smile you false, Sir?

_Cun._ How can I chuse? to see what pains you take, Upon a thing will never thank you for't.

_Neece._ How?

_Cun._ See what things you women be, Lady, When cloaths are taken for the best part of you? This was to show you, when you think I love you not, How y'are deceiv'd still, there the Moral lies, 'Twas a trap set to catch you, and the only bait To take a Lady nibling, is fine clothes; Now I dare boldly thank you for your love, I'm pretty well resolv'd in't by this fit, For a jealous ague alwayes ushers it.

_Neece._ Now blessings still maintain this wit of thine, And I have an excellent fortune coming in thee, Bring nothing else I charge thee.

_Cun._ Not a groat I warrant ye.

_Neece._ Thou shalt be worthily welcome, take my faith for't, Next opportunity shall make us.

_Cu[n]._ The old Gentlewoman has fool'd her revenge sweetly.

_Neece._ 'Lass, 'tis her part, she knows her place so well yonder; Alwayes when Women jumpe upon threescore, Love shoves e'm from the chamber to the door.

_Cun._ Thou art a precious she-wit. [_Exeunt._

_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._

_Enter_ Cunningame (_at one door_) Witty-Pate, Ruinous, L. Ruinous, _and_ Priscian (_at the other_.)

_Cun._ Friend, met in the harvest of our designs, Not a thought but's busie.

_Wit._ I knew it Man, And that made me provide these needful Reapers, Hooks, Rakers, Gleaners; we'll sing it home With a melodious Horne-pipe; this is the Bond, That as we further in your great affair, You'l suffer us to glean, pick up for crums, And if we snatch a handful from the sheaf, You will not look a churle on's.

_Cun._ Friend, we'll share The sheaves of gold, only the Love Aker Shall be peculiar.

_Wit._ Much good do you, Sir, Away, you know your way, and your stay; get you The Musick ready, while we prepare the dancers.

_Ruin._ We are a consort of our selves.

_Pris._ And can strike up lustily.

_Wit._ You must bring _Sir Fop_.

_Cun._ That's perfect enough.

_Ruin._ Bring all the _Fops_ you can, the more, the better fare So the proverb runs backwards. [_Exeunt_ Ruin. _and_ Pris.

_L. Ruin._ I'll bring the Ladies. [_Exit._

_Wit._ Do so first, and then the Fops will follow; I must to my Father, he must make one. [_Exit._

_Enter two_ Servants _with a Banquet_.

_Cun._ While I dispatch a business with the Knight, And I go with you. Well sed, I thank you, This small Banquet will furnish our few Guests With taste and state enough; one reach my Gown. The action craves it rather than the weather.

_1 Serv._ There's one stayes to speak with you, Sir.

_Cun._ What is he?

_1 Serv._ Faith I know not what, Sir, a Fool, I think, That some Brokers shop has made half a Gentleman; Has the name of a Worthy too.

_Cun. Pompey?_ Is't not?

_1 Ser._ That's he, Sir.

_Cun._ Alas, poor fellow, prethee enter him, he will need too.

_Enter second_ Servant _with a Gown_.

He shall serve for a Witness. Oh Gramercy: If my friend _Sir Gregory_ comes, you know him,

_Enter_ Clown.

Entertain him kindly. Oh Master _Pompey_, How is't man?

_Clow._ 'Snails, I'm almost starv'd with Love, and cold, and one thing or other; Has not my Lady sent for me yet?

_Cun._ Not that I hear, sure some unfriendly Messenger Is imploy'd betwixt you.