Act. 1. Scoen. 1.

_ [...] we are come to London, fellow Ralph what shall we doe? or what course will our Master take with us?

Why, Dobson; he may doe what he will, and wee will doe what we list. A little instruction and practice will make us wicked enough, I dare warrant thee.

I hope we are not to learne that. But all this while the Plough stands still.

Sha, Dobson; thy mind's upon nothing but dirt.

Indeed heer's store of it, ankcle deepe.

What place is this Ralph? thou knowst London.

It should be COVENT-GARDEN; but 'tis much alter'd since I was here last.

A Garden call you it! 'Tis a very barren one.

I would I were at home againe, amongst the Creame-bowles.

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I cou'd be content to have the tother sm [...]cke at o [...]r Gillian the Dayry-Maids sugar-candy—

How, fellow Ralph! you kisse my Sweet-heart Gillian! pronounce it againe, and by the faith of a new made Serving-man, that puts his whole trust in his Live [...]y and the Quarter-dayes, I will kill thee presently, and chal­lenge thee the next Holi-day before the Congregation.

Kill me fi [...]st, and then challenge me! for a kisse or two! nay, good Dobsox; she has lips big enough to serve us both. Prethee lets not fall o [...]t and beat one another: these people would but laugh at us for't.

Indeed 'tis a jolly company. Dwell they all here abouts?

I scarce thinke they are all of one Parish, neither doe they goe to one Church. They come onely for an eve­ning recreation [...]o s [...]e COVENT-GARDEN.

Blessings on their hearts for it. 'Tis a goodly place.

And a god [...]y one too if rumour lie not.

What are all these things with rayles?

I thinke mewes for hawkes, or ayrings for gen­tles. Other hawkes are not here in any request.

Mewes for hawkes, thou wouldst make mee a Buzzard.

Dost thinke we shall dwell hereabouts?

I hope so: we shall then be n [...]ere the Cock-p [...]t, and see a Play now and then.

But tell me Ralph, are those Players the ragged fellowes that were at our house last Christmas, that bor­rowed the red blanket off my bed to make their Major a gowne; and had the great Pot-lid for Guy of Warwicks Buckler?

No, Dobson; they are men of credit, whose acti­ons are beheld by every one, and allow'd for the most part with commendations. They make no yearely Progresse with the Anatomy of a S [...]mpter-horse, laden with the sweepings of Long-lane in a dead Vacation, and purchas'd [Page 3] at the exchange of their owne whole Wardrobes. They buy not their Ordinary for the Copie of a Prologue; nor insinuate themselves into the acquaintance of an admiring Ningle, who for his free comming in, is at the expence of a Taverne Supper, and rinses their bawling throats with Canarye.

But I would I had stay'd still in the Countrey, now Sports are tollerated, in despite of Justice, Trouble­some's malicious Authoritie. I had rather see a Morris­dance and a May-pole, then ten Playes: what care I for wit which I understand not?

The duller Asse tho [...].

How, Asse to my face! provoke me no more with such foule language, lest I enter and act thy Tragedy.

Nay, prethee fellow Dobson; if we abuse our selves sometimes, 'twill be the better taken when wee a­b [...]se others.

To morrow Ile have you acco [...]tred in liveries, and put my selfe into a gentile garbe. I am resolv'd to for­sake the Countrey profession of mine Auncestors; and meane to turne Gallant. Ile sell some few dirty Acres, and buy a Knighthood: Ile translate my Farme of Dirt-all in­to the Mannor of No-place. Would I were acquainted with an honest Scrivener.

You wish an impossibility, unlesse the Pillory were more terrible.

But doe you meane to sell your Land?

Yes indeed; I shall be the likelier to goe to hea­ven when I forsake earth.

But 'tis a dangerous way through a Scriveners conscience.

What dost tell me of danger! 'Tis the Cowards bug-beare; a scar-crow to City gulls, that dare not weare swords for feare of being challeng'd.

Nay, my Master is as tall a man of his inches.

Yes, Dobson; thou hast seene me doe something. [Page 4] But sirrah, let it be your charge to finde out a good Inne; see Crop eat his meat.

Ile warrant Sir, hee'l cat his meate, and 'twere Good-friday.

Had he but cares then, hee might make a very good Puritan horse.

Indeed, their best vertue is to heare well.

But their doing sometimes, begets a hotter zeale in the Sister-hood.

I'le have a lodging heere. Prethee aske that Gentlewoman; shee seems an inhabitant.

The second Scoene.

Pray Master, know you hereabouts any conve­nient Lodgings?

Many Sir, for convenient persons.

Of credit, and unsuspicious.

It is not in my understanding; wherefore the satisfaction I can give you will be doubtfull. I know none of my neighbours better then my selfe. I have as hand­some Lodgings as any are in Covent Garden: my fore­roomes have a faire prospect, and my back-roomes a sweet ayre.

Which is not usuall backwards.

May we see them?

If you please to let that Taverne receive you till I have made them ready, I will returne and give you notic [...].

I'le sup there: shall I intreat your company?

I shall be ready to fulfill your desires.

And we our bellies: hitherto, we have had but a hungry journey of it.

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My friend, pray what's your Masters name?

What if it be not in my Commission to tell you?

My demands are civill and for no hurt. I must know before my house can give him entertainment.

But I must not tell you, till I have a mind to [...]. You may be the agent to an Informer: doe you not cor­respond with the Summer and Apparitour, to keepe your selfe off some deserv'd punishment.

I am a patient bearer.

Not unlikely, I have heard there are many such in Covent-Garden.

I meane with your unmanerlinesse.

If a downe-right▪ Countrey thing will please you.

A downe-right! you make me blus [...].

This interest then, and—

So Sir, the termes are not equall for such fami­liaritie.

Why then you must seeke you a more proporti­on'd Schoole-master to enter you farther, and teach you my Masters name. The Wine stayes, and I want it.

Good friend stay a little, and tell me thy Ma­sters name.

What agen! Fare you well, I have forgot it.

Nay, prethee friend: my knowledge of it may much concerne his, or (if not) thy good. My daughter Iynny's a handsome girle, he that pleaseth me best shall have her.

I rather thinke hee shall have her that pleaseth her best, else I shall doubt her for a woman. But how can s [...]e concerne our goods? your instance.

Nay, credit me upon my word, 'tis earnest.

A Womans word! 'tis not worth an ounce of feathers. Besides, you may be under covert barne. Have you not a Husband?

Yes indeede.

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What's his profession?

An under-Lawyer, an Attourney.

His word may be taken in the terme for a gown-facing or so: but to doe any man good, is worth a double fee, if he performe it. Mistris, if you must know my Ma­sters name, goe to Carterton in the Countie of Sussex, and there in the Church-Register you shall finde, that Roger the sonne of Rowland Dungworth of Dirtall Farme in the Parish of Carterton aforesaid, was baptised—But stay, I'le know first if he be resolved to continue a Christian; 'tis ordinary to change names with religion. Besides, hee means to be a Knight; and Dungworth will stink in the de­licate nostrils of a Lady: it may make the heraul [...]s give him a mock-coate with three kennell-rakers. Farewell sweet Mistris, and if my Master chance to lie at your house, I should be glad if I might lie over your Daughter.

Farewell good friend. The Gentleman to lye at my house! very good. I must project a profit out of the accident; a new Gowne, or a Beaver, or some com­position with a bond of assurance, when I procure him a good Wife. Perhaps hee shall have my Daughter Iynny. Who would thinke this little body of mine were so busie in stirring actions, Master Theodore Art-love!

The third Scoene.

Mistresse Tongall, you are delighting your selfe with these new erections.

Faire erections are pleasing things.

Indeed they are faire ones, and their uniformity addes much to their beauty.

How like you the Balconee's? They set off a Ladies person well, when she presents her selfe to the view [Page 7] of gazing passengers. Artificiall fucations are not dis­cern'd at distance.

Pray which is Sir Generous Worthie's house?

Your desires (I believe) are bent towards his faire Daughter. Let me ayd you: my neighbour-hood hath interested me in her acquaintance; I can make way; and truely Mr. Art-love I like you so well, that (were she worthy) you should have my daughter Iynnye. But doe you love Mistris Dorothy?

And would you not use me! hath so long pra­ctise in match-making made me politicke to contrive, and my conversation with your selfe and the rest of the Wits made me complementall, and doe you thinke I cannot fa­cilitate your entrance to Mistris Dorothy?

Why, you are an Heyre to a thousand pound a yeare. An officious lye may be dispens't with.

If you have such a tender conscience, so religi­ously scrupulous, you'l never be a Politician.

But heere's one will, and I must ayd him int▪ Mr. Littleword.

The fourth Scoene.

Friend Art-love, the good fortune of a petticote light upon thee, in the name of Venery what mak'st thou here? art' in quest of a smock-bedfellow.

Thy old humour still friend.

Prethee salute this little gentleman my Cousin: he hath more age and wit then his small proportion doth promise.

I shall be ready to serve him.

Your acquaintance will adde much to my hap­pinesse.

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He hath gotten leave of his Vncle to liue here in my tuition. Hee thrive's well in his conceit, a right Ier­ker; he begins to love a wench already.

Thy instruction and example will soone enable him that way.

Is not that a wench Cousin?

Try Cos. and satisfie your selfe.

My Little-word, if your salute be ended, pray re­signe. Nay, Mistris, I can kisse you without the helpe of a joyn'd stoole: please you to walke, and let my hand support you.

Whither pray you little sir?

To the next vaulting [...]schoole.

Alas, you cannot get up without a stirrop.

Yes, and ride too without falling; please you to trye my activenesse.

Nothing comes from thee but documents. I sweare I should love thee much better if thou hadst lesse vertue. I prethee leave thy Stoicisme, and become an Epi­cure with me. My little Cos. here shall prove with unde­nyable arguments that drinking and wenching are the one­ly vertues in a gentleman of the last edition: to be excel­lent at them is a master-piece of education. Besides, they are the onely acumens of wit.

Yes, to disease it.

Take heed thy iudgement be not brought in que­stion. Why diseas'd wits are—

Better play at small game then sit out. A young gamester may throw in and in.

Very seldome with three dice. Can your littlenesse cogge?

Faire play is a gamesters glory. I love to shake the boxe well, and than let them run their length.

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Iudge not of a man by his outward dimensions: My shape is not so defective to make you doubt perfor­mance: let's finde out a convenient place and try.

Alas little one, you'l lose your selfe: you'l never hit the way home.

Please you to drinke a pint or two of wine? there may be provocation in it.

Preserve your courtesie child, and your money: Lent's at hand, and then every street will afford boyes re­creation.

Why how now impudence! do you slout a man?

How, a man Cousin!

I want not so much of my full age to bee cal'd a boy.

But you must not fall out with the Gentlewoman.

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I desire rather to have fal'n in with her.

I would not have you so forward Cousin. You must be sure to deale with sound ware.

What care I? 'tis but the losse of a mans hayre; an excrementall ornament: wit consists not in't. A man may cover his baldnesse with a periwig, and the fashion take's away the suspition. I hope I came to London to learne wit and the fashion.

Come Mr. Little-word.

Adiew Mistris Tongall.

I tooke her rather for a Wag-taile.

What silent Gentleman's that?

His Character in his owne language is I and no; yet he speaks well in paper. He is a wit, but somewhat a dull one.

What serious affaire have they together?

There are hidden pollicies in the world. Thou hast a bookish humour; I a wenching one; and why may not his dulnes dreame of some rich match! Mris. Tongal's the onely match-maker in the Towne.

Art thou in love?

I can assoone credit an impossibility. Thou in love! why 'tis more improbable then the projection of draining Marsh-land with a wind-mill. But prethee what is shee?

The fifth Scoene.

Sure thou hast not boldnes enough to speake to her. Thou wouldst blush, and fall into some patheticall booke discourse, or tell her the story of Hero and Leander, to make her tendernesse whine. Tis not the way. Get accesse to her; and after one mannerly salute, double and treble thy kisses; tumble her a little, and if opportunity serve, offer the rest: Magick hath not a Philter like it.

Is not that a house (Cousin) where the Wen­ches are?

Yes, questionlesse.

I meane in the sense of—

Yonder Gentlemen observe us: let's be gone.

Not yet (Mistris Dorothy.) Now I have drunke a cup of Sack, I must be in love with one of them, him that seemes most worthy of a gentleuman.

You have fall'n my glove.

I'le fetch it.

Sure Cousin the gentleman is in love; he talks very madly.

Now I see thou art mad: but prethee strive to conceale it; the place is publique.

The sixth Scoene.

Pray you Sir, did you take up a Gentleumans glove?

It was my happinesse, and 'twould be much in­creased, if I might kisse the hand that wore it.

As I am a Gentleuman I shall be most carefull to give your deservings their due commendations.

May I be bold to enter with you?

You are a stranger Sir, and it may give occasion of jealousie. But I am my Ladies Gentleuman: I keepe the key of her secrets, and if you please, her closet shall conceale you; where you may dispose of Suckets and Eringoe's for your refreshment. I pray Sir, call not a gen­tleumans freenesse immodesty.

My behaviour shall deserve your good opinion.

Truely Sir, a man could not stand better in the conceit of a gentleuman at first sight, then you doe in mine. I hope your goodnesse will not misconster my readinesse to humble my desires to your disposing.

This is pretty foolery, Cousin.

Sir, you appeare so repleat with goodnesse, that I presume you cannot but answer the desires of a gentle­uman, who proft [...]ates her love at the feete of your ac­ceptance.

Out of fooles Paradise: thou art in it. But pray you Gentleuman protract not his satisfaction with these circumstantiall delayes. Whilst Mris. Dorothy and he are busie, you and I will tast the sweet-meats in your Ladies Closet.

I understand you not.

He meanes you should lie under him.

Fie little one, that you should so offend the chast eares of a Gentleuman. But to you Sir, the Load-stone of my heart, that turnes it selfe at your motions pointing still to the North of your Love.

Indeed Mistris 'tis a cold corner, pray turne it to the South, and let my needle run in your Diall.

And since the ardor of my desires have urg'd my blushes to discover them; let not your appearing worth suffer such a disparagement to conte [...]ne a Gentleumans willingnesse.

How's this! why friend, did she not seeme to come instructed (by direction) with [...]embassie As to prepare my love?

No, no, she loves thee her selfe. Take her. Me thinks shee's very beautifull; what pinken-eyes; what a sharpe chin! Why her features transcend Mopsa's in the Arcadia.

Hath she not studied it Cousin, thinke you? and [Page 15] is transported to a humour of loving every man she sees.

I have known it in the Countrey in an age-d [...]cayed wai­ting-woman.

I cannot answer her; my heart is bigg With other thoughts; which till I am deliver'd of, I suffer torments.

Vnfortunate Gentleuman as I am, to be thus re­jected.

Will you resigne your interest? I'le court her folly.

Pray Gentleuman could you love me a little? I'm very sportive.

Truly young Gentleman, I doe not know what I may doe when you come to your full growth.

Blirt my Ladies Gentleuman, who taught you to scoffe at a mans person?

Cry ye mercy little Sir; you may be the father of dwarfes. The sack begins to leave working and by this time my Ladie expects her gentleuman. Farewell, un­kind Sir.

Farewell loving Gentleuman. She hath preven­ted me. Sure friend she came but to mocke thee. 'Twas little lesse then downeright impudence.

Let's to the Taverne Sir, and drowne this passion in a cup of Canary.

Come, come; I was ordained to doe thee good. Thou knowst I had a Mistris, whose friends disliking my wildnesse, marryed her to the Father of the Gentlewoman whom thou lov'st (hornes be his punishment for it.) She loves me still; and I doe not despaire of making him Cuc­kold. Wee'l arme our selves with a quart or two, and then I'le bring thee to her.

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Act. 2. Scoen. 1.

NOw I protest Mr. Warrant, you wrong the love of a Gentleuman, in not imparting the cause of your dis­content. Come not fees in roundly? Doe not the Delin­quents understand, I'le speake a good word for you?

You are the onely object of my thoughts. 'Tis your beauty hath animated my presumptuous weaknes to expresse how much my desires are yours.

Alas Mr. Warrant how can a poore Gentleuman deserve it?

Yes, you have power of my Lady, and she much acquaintance at Court. A pardon might be got.

A pardon! blesse me, for what?

Not for murder; but for killing (yet not a Man) fairely in the field.

Are you earnest?

'Tis not yet done; onely I am resolv'd to doe it, were I but sure of my pardon.

If not a man, what then is it?

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A meere superfluous complement of state for­mality. One of my Ladyes raising. A fellow that hath crosse cape [...]'d himselfe out of a Taylor into a gentleman Vsher.

Who Mr. Spruce? but have you charng'd him?

Yes, with all [...] and circumstance. The weapon single Rapier; the place the P [...]azz [...]; the time this mooneshine night presently before supper.

And your quarrell my love. Wel [...] Mr. Warrant; I know a Gentleuman hath interest in a Lord at Court, who hath long beene inward with her. I'le warrant your par­don. But my Lady expects me.

Dearest part of my selfe: to get my pardon, here's Spruce, now will I affront him.

The second Scoene.

Our being my Ladi [...]s Gentleman Vsher, her [...] not protect you in the com­pet [...]on [...].

Warrant, [...] shred of basenesse to [...] favours, and mine owne de­servings. Mr. S. Secretary is my Ladies gentl [...]woman, and [...] by priviledge.

By priviledge Spruce! Thou art a Baboone of forma [...]ty, and an ap [...] of [...]-ship. When I have kill'd thee, and get my pardon, I will have thy skin stuhh't; and with a protection shew the [...] at countrey Faires and Mar­kets for a Ginney Pigmie.

Warrant, thou art the Epitome of my Masters au­thority, and the abridgement of [...] justiceship.

Spruce, thou art a very [...], bred in thy crosse­legg [...]d profession; that having suckt a little bloud of Gen­tility, instead of thy usuall bread bre [...]kfast, art growne to a fancy familiarity, with thy maintainers. T [...]ou buy'st thy [Page 18] laundry in Long-lane or Hounsditch with the impude [...]c of a cheater.

Warrant, thou lyest.

How [...]lie. That some-body were here to stand betwixt us. Come not neere me, lest I blast thee with the breath of my just indignation.

Keepe at distance Warrant, lest I [...]ame thee, and send thee from Constable to Constable in a Wheele­barrow.

For this Spruce I will not compassionate the good parts which my Lady commends in thee. Thy Fiddle­sticke shall not save thee; nor thy capring lift thee an inch from the ground which I have laid for thy destruction.

Warrant, thou art the very parings of a Pedan­ticke to flout the compleatnesse of education. Because thy dulnesse is capable of no more then to frame Hetroclites from mens names, and scribble a warrant or a mittimus by a president; yet thou art a Justices Clerke.

And thou a Ladies Gentleman Vsher, a bundle of complementall follyes stitcht up with how-dee's. I will send thee anon upon a visit to the Divell.

The third Scoene.

Fie Mr. Spruce and Mr. Warrant, how loud you are [...] my Ladie heares your noise, and is offended.

Yes, my Rapier and mine arme shall maintaine it upon his life, I love you best.

Indeed Mr. Spruce and I love you.

I'le maintaine it against the life of all the world, I love you best.

Truely Mr. Warrant and I love you.

He that offers to love her besides my selfe, dies.

Mr. Spruce and Mr. Warrant, send but for one [Page 19] bottle of Sack, and be friends; I'le love you both.

I'le brooke no Rivall.

Nor I; death must determine it.

Remember then, I must to the Cutlers.

Though I am but a waiting-uman, I haue more wit then to believe this is earnest. As if I did not know them to bee as arrant Cowards, as a Justices Clerke or Gentleman Vsher can be; and deserve rather to be whipt by a Satire, then rewarded for their valours with the love of a gentleuman. But Mr. Spruce doe you meane to fight?

Yes, and kill him too. I feare nothing but death and the Gallowes; from which you may save me.

As how? the meanes.

Begg me, I say beg me. Let not my good parts be made unusefull by an untimely turne at Tyburne. Me thinks I see the pittifull spectators condoling me. The fish-wives drowning their dead soles with salt water from their eyes; the Oyster-wives weeping for me in most la­mentable pickle. An hundred Chamber-maids running stark mad, and as many more falling into the greene sick­nesse with longing for me. Begg me therefore (I say) re­solve to begg me, and make great hast. It is my feare a­bove death, that otherwise some rich Citty Heyre will prevent you. Resolve therefore to be the first that shall begg me.

As I am a Gentleuman Mr. Spruce, if you kill him fairely in a duell; and upon no base advantage I'le doe it.

Confirme it then with a kisse, and inspire an Herculean valour into me.

By no meanes at this time. I'le kisse you at the gallowes. My Lady.

The fourth Scoene.

Neither can a Gentleuman be in love now and then out she is censur'd.

The fifth Scoene.

Welcome Mistris Tongall; welcome. You are the onely company in the neighbour-hood. A Ladie can ill be without you.

This Gentleman Madame, whom I presume to commend to your Ladiships acquaintance, is of worthy birth and education: the Littlewords are not moderne; be­sides their Auncestors were great Philosophers.

And the latter great fooles.

Goe, and talke to her. I'le tell your Ladiship a strange thing of the Little-words. In seven generations there was but one girle, and shee dyed an infant. Contra­riwise of the Tongalls there's but one man left, that's my Husband, and he's a Lawyer: now your Ladiship knowes hee gets nothing but wenches. Speake to her Mr. Little­word.

Is the Gentleman of so good education?

Extraordinary Madame; hee's a wit. I would my Iynny were worthy of him, he should seeke no further. I pray Mr. Littleword speake to her.

Can he Poetise Mris. Tongall?

Excellently Madame; hee hath things in print. His next dedication shall be to your Ladiship. Why doe you not goe and talke to her?

What estate hath he?

Five hundred a yeare present possession, more in reversion. This Gentleman, Mris. Dorothy, is my friend, and desire's to bee your servant. I have made way now, why doe you not speake to her? I am bold to commend him to your liking.

Pray you Mris. Tongall, what wages takes he?

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You mistake Mris. Dorothy; 'tis your love hee would serve you for.

That's a cold reward; a Livery would keepe him warmer.

Fie, that you will not speake to her. And how doth your Ladiship like an old man?

A cold bed fellow. But Religion and Conscience. Now 'tis done I must love him. Would hee were not jealous.

None are so confident (Madame) as cuckolds. But your Ladiships knowne vertue will soone put out the eyes of his suspition. Speake to her Mr. Littleword.

I would not now for all the Sacke in Spaine my loving humour were upon mee. This dumb Gentleman would make me forsweare the qualitie.

Sure Mris. Tongall your friend would make an excellent midwife; he can keepe secrets.

'Tis his modestie Mris. Dorothy. Blesse mee that you would not speake to her.

The sixth Scoene.

Madame, I am bold to commend this Gentleman, who will deserve your acquaintance.

As far as my power will extend to expression.

You are welcome Mr. Ierker and this Gentleman, and shall bee whilst your visits are seasonable. But you know I have a jealous husband.

There are medicines to cure it Madame.

May not I salute the Ladie Cousin?

'Tis but courtesie and manners.

I am bold with your Ladiships lip.

'Tis marvell you blush not. So bold and so young! [Page 24] By that time you come to your full growth pretty Gentle­man, you'l make up the number of the ten Worthies.

Madame, I am neither Infidell, Iew [...] nor good Christian; though I am little, I dare be your L [...]d [...]ships Champion in an active skirmish.

This 'tis to be backward: you'l never thrive in any thing unles you are more forward. Lose such an op­portunity with not speaking to her!

Secretarie.

Madame.

Goe, and direct the Cooke.

Shall I have another dumb servant! Are you not well Sir?

Aske your husband leave! by this hand I would not aske an Alderman leave to Cuckold him. So he might take example from a Citty kinde one, whose Wife long'd to kisse a Lord: upon which he grew so proud for being exalted above the rest of his neighbours, that he would suffer none to Cuckold him ever after but Lords.

Fie, Mr. Ierker! besides the words incivility, I did not expect such absurditie in a reputed wit. Could you not haue couch'd it better; shall I have leave to doe your Ladiship a piece of night service; or so. Come, come, forbeare these wicked sollicits, or I shall disclaime the promise of my favours reversion when my old Hus­band die's, if nature be not mercilesse, and I goe first.

The seventh Scoene.

Ha! what's here! Courtship on all hands?

My Husband.

My Father, and my Brother.

I like not this.

Mr. Ierker, you are welcome, I hope; having fail'd in his old, hee hath not a new suit; that as I made [Page 27] her a Ladie, shee should bestow an hornourable Crest up­on mee.

Let his jealousie conster it into truth.

He shall neuer be but a Vnicorne.

Madame, however I appeare in my wildnesse, I shall continue to your Ladiship in my first desires. So with this tribute of my devotion.

I would first kisse your hand.

My lip being too unworthy.

I take my leave Madame.

Farewell Mistris Tongall.

Son, schoole your Sister. Come with me Wife.

[Page 29]

Act. 3. Scoen. 1.

Come Mris Dorothy; here's a Moone would make a great bellied uman long for greene cheefe. Me thinks 'tis pleasant taking the ayre by Moone-shine.

But 'tis not so healthfull The night infects the ayre with unwholsome vapours.

A figg for these Physicall observations. I have knowne a Doctors prescriptions cast down a Gentleuman for three quarters of a yeare. But if ever I lie under any of them for the greene sicknes.

Fie upon thee.

Why I doe not meane naughtines. But what doe you thinke made me so earnest to have you hither?

Some wanton humour. You have d [...]unke a cup of Sacke, and want a handsome Ge [...]leman to bee in love with.

No such matter. Ile not drinke a drop more till towards supper. I brought you to see a Duell.

Blesse me; betwixt whom?

My Ladies Gentle-man, and Mr. Warrant.

They are unequally weapon'd. Mr. Spruce, though hee be a Tailor weares a—the foolish rime runs in my head. I had almost said a dagger, but 'tis a sword; and my Fathers Clerke hath onely his inkhorne.

And that's a terrible one. But I saw the Cutler bring him a sword; I saw it naked, which was enough to fright many a gentleuman. I saw him trie it on a bar of iron in the kitchin; and many more fearfull preparations.

[Page 31]

But will not you prevent them?

By no means, unlesse there were more dan­ger. 'Twill be mirth for this twelve-month, if our eyes (through this imperfect Moone-light) can but reach the sight of them. What confident daring will be betwixt them at some great distance?

And what's their quarrell?

The love of a Gentleuman, I assure you.

Your selfe perhaps.

No otherwise indeed. My beauty is the object of their valour. The Combatants will enter presently. The Knight of the Inkhorue, and the Knight of the Spanish Needle.

Both affecting the Lady of the Closet. But Mris. Secretary, what if my Lady Mothers Chamber-maid and Ioane in the Kitchen were here?

For you to make them Ladies, as you have done me. Indeed they might serve by Moone-light; the day perhaps would discover a greasie Gentry.

Fie; now you forget your selfe.

'Tis ordinary for a waiting-Gentleuman but newly made a Lady to forget her selfe. But see, I am pre­vented from proceeding. Let us observe.

The second Scoene.

'Tis a good sword; it cost me two pieces. No matter. Many a mans death hath cost more at the Phy­sitians. Who would be affraid to kill a man; when hee is sure of his pardon?

Hee is now in some deepe meditation of your beautie.

See Mistris, there's the other.

[Page 32]

That sure is Warrant. I'le goe this way. It shall never be said I went after a man to kill him, though I am confident Mistris Secretary will begg me.

They goe contrary wayes. Wee shall not see the fight. They meane to meete and end it at the An­tipodes.

But what should I thinke of killing him? I know hee dare as well take the wall of a drunken Consta­ble, or justle a Buffe-coat leading a wench, as meet me.

Me thinks I perceive them stand.

Yes, yes; 'tis Warrant: I smell him hitherto.

Is not that Spruce? certainly 'tis hee. Me thinks I see him tremble hitherto. Hee dare not come neere me; and I scorne to goe to him to kill him: It may hinder my pardon. Therefore he shall assault me first.

Why, they are fixt. Hath not feare congeal'd them into stones?

Dissolv'd them rather into gelley.

That some good fellow would but come and beat the cowardly Rascall.

That some Sharke would come now and take away his hat or cloake.

Now could I fancy in my imagination what they say. Mr. Warrant. O that I had this Coward Spruce here: I would dismember him; and then what Gentleuman would care a rush for him? Now Mr. Spruce hath studien the Arcadia. He sayes. Oh that I had this Warrant here It would cut him into atomes; that wheresoever the Sun shines, the trophces of my renowned victorie might bee visible.

That he would but come a little neerer.

That hee were but within twice my swords length.

I would I had but a leg or an arme of him, since he will not come, that I may kill him.

That I had but his head here; how I would shave it.

The third Scoene.

This is the vertue of Sack boy. Who would toile in durt for whay and butter-milke, or the windie juice of Pome-waters upon Sundayes? Now could I be as valiant as—nothing.

I could fight with an Army of Polecats, so they were not Women.

I could take the wall of three times three Tay­lors, though in the morning, and at a Bakers stall.

That were a way to have thy skin bodkind full of ilet holes.

If I should throw downe three or foure postes.

What then?

What then! why, I would not stay to take them up.

Who are these? observe.

Give me an armour of Sack; I am shot-free.

Whilst my Master paye's the reckoning.

Mistris Dorothy, I have fasten'd on a designe for rare sport. My friends.

Will you talke to strangers in the street?

What say you pretty paire of Wag-tailes? doe you want Play-mates?

Will you doe a courtesie for a Gentleuman?

Within dores, or without?

You seeme to be valiant.

They that trie us shall finde our mettall.

Perceive you not two men yonder in severall places?

Wee see somthing, but they may as well be flockes.

For any manhood that's in them. If you will but [Page 34] beat them a little, besides a Gentleumans thankes, some o­ther reward shall attend it.

How are we sure they are Cowards?

You may trust the word of a Gent [...]euman.

Come, come, thou standest doubting like a cow­ardly foo [...]e, These may bee Gentlewoemen of good fa­shion, and apt to take fire at valour. Who knowes what preferment's neere us? We have persons.

Why then forwards: call upon sack, Dobson, sack.

Who are these come towards me? my courage begins to have an ague.

Who may these be? my wish (I hope) some good fellowes to rob him.

What was our Commission Ralph? to beat them, and not kill them.

To kill them and not hurt them? Call upon Sacke, Dobson: I begin to be affraid. I can perceive his sword; he shakes it fearefully.

Draw thine-then; and sack, sack the walles of Troy.

The rogue Spruce hath sent them to beate mee. 'Tis so. I must shift for my selfe.

Sirrah, thou man of feare and trembling. Call upon Sacke, Dobson.

Alas, what meane you Gentlemen?

Not so gentle neither. Wee are fiery furious, and command thee in the name of Sack, resigne thy wea­pon, and submit to be corrected by our valour.

Kinde Gentlemen, I hope you'l not kill me. I'le doe any thing, rather then be kill'd.

A handsome beating shall asswage our fury.

Sweet Gentlemen, I'le doe any thing rather then be beaten.

'Tis so; they are robbing him, and I scorne to aid him. Teach the rogue to be such a coward: he might have come to me.

[Page 35]

Are you prepar'd Sir?

Mercifull Gentlemen; I have some money, a Cloake and a good Beaver: I'le give you all, and forgive you too, so you'l not beat me.

This was beyond our expectation.

Our mercy may bee brought to a composition. But should we be pittifull, could you be content, since you cannot fight in your owne defence, to lye in our defence.

I'le say or sweare any thing, rather then be kill'd or beaten.

That we did beat you?

That you left mee dead. I'le lye at a Surgeons these two moneths; and pretend that my skull was bro­ken in twelve places: that halfe my braines were putri­fied and taken out. I'le be mad all my life after to con­firme people in the beliefe of it.

Depart then, and praise us.

Yes, at the gallowes. I'le have you hang'd for ro [...]ing me: I shall teach you to attempt any thing on a Ju [...]ces Clerke.

Nay: pray you stay a little longer.

I am weary; wee'l imagine the rest done. I'le send my Brother forth to make them friends.

'Tis done sure. Now will I home, proclaime him a coward, and triumph. Ha [...]l doe they way-lay mee! the rogue hath hi [...]'d them to beat or rob me. An ague of feare is upon me. Now could I wish my selfe transform'd into a beast, and have foure legs. These two which have beene my most usefull members will surely faile.

Sirrah, you Raskall.

You mistake Sir, I am a Gentleman Vsher.

Then thou abuser of wit and good cloathes, be mannerly, and uncover to thy betters.

[Page 36]

I hope Gentlemen you d [...]e not meane to rob me? Trust me, I have no money, but a few farthings of my Ladies to give poore people.

We will be satisfied with a small diminution of your plentifull Wardrobe. Wee know you have more Cloakes and Beavers at home.

No I protest Gentlemen. I have but this onely case for my Carkasse: and 'twill not be quite paid for til the next quarter.

Why then Sir, we will beat you handsomly, and that shall allay our fury.

Nay kinde Gentlemen, I had rather stand to my Ladies bountie, then be beaten.

Why then thanke our mercy and depart, whilst we like honest theeves share our booty.

And I find out the Constable.

The fourth Scoene.

[Page 37]

Now we'e are enter'd Ralph. what if wee made this our professi [...]n? many a one lives by it.

And many a one is hang'd for it.

Thou art affraid of the gallowes?

Not much of the gallowes without a hangman.

I am resolv'd; I'le nor spare man, woman nor child, whilst the sack works.

For women and children let me alone: if I fall upon the one, Ile soone get the other.

The fifth Scoene.

Now for a daring Constable.

Without his staffe of authoritie, or a fortifica­tion of Sack. A Constable may be valiant when hee com­mands others what he cannot doe himselfe.

What! my paire of valiant Cowards! friends already.

How! Cowards! swallow that word, or it shall choake thee.

These fellowes have out-gone their Commission and rob'd them. I was a wise man to come abroad with­out a sword.

Hee hath never a sword. Sirrah, thou man of presumption, that hast profan'd our incomparable valour, redeeme thy forfeited life of our mercie with some gold or silver pictures out of thy silken pockets.

They'l rob me too: Why, Gentlemen; silke clothes have not money in them at all times.

He lookes terribly Dobson. Call upon Sack.

I will cleave him at one stroke.

Doe you meane to murther a Gentleman?

You have done a benefit I must acknowledge.

Why dost thou quake so Ralph?

Why dost thou tremble so Dobson? I dare bee whipt if these bee not some kin to the Gentle woman that sent us hither from the thing at yonder house.

Were you sent to rob or kill me?

Alas Gentlemen, we are very ingrums.

Meere Country Animals. Wee have valour to steale a May-pole, or rob the Parso [...]s Hens-nest: but to kill a man as far from our intents or daring, as pittie from an Executioner, or bashfulnesse from a Jingo.

Forbeare the rest. This affords me matter: Re­turne to that house, there leave your bootie and receive your reward; onely this I'le keepe.

With all our hearts: wee had rather any body should have them, then the hangman both them and us for them. Come Dobson, we have got the money yet; and a little sack will animate us againe. My soul's under foot; I must raise it: But if ever I quarrell againe by Moone­shine unlesse I am drunk, valour forsake me.

If you are the son of Sir Generous Worthy.

[Page 40]

Her beaurie is not worth your commenda­tions.

Have I found you? I shall search you deeper.

It seemes you love my Sister?

Your Riddle needs some Oedipus to solve it.

Alas sir, you are mov'd?

It seemes your guilt dare not denie the truth?

You will not fight with me that am her Brother?

There's Magick in those words.

Not against him that loves my Sister.

[Page 43]

Act. 4. Scoen. 1.

ANon, anon Sir, by and by.

Some more wine Boy. Is Mr. Art love return'd?

Not yet Sir.

Poore Gentleman; hee's complaining to the Moone, or studying the event of his love in the Starres. Mee thinks I could make a counterfeit expression of his passions to the life.

[Page 44]

That I might Poetize: you know 'tis the onely dancing Master to teach the Art of Measures; though I have knowne Poets scarce able to stand on their feet.

Then you would write Satyres Coz?

'Tis your dancing conceit. But the Grinkums Cousin cleaves not the feete.

Mr. Dasher, this freenesse hath doubled the favor; vizit us of your owne accord!

Gentlemen my selfe, and all that depends on my selfe, or on any thing that hath dependance on my selfe, is at your service.

I should desire your wife then.

Sweet young Gentleman, you are the Epitome of a faire body, and shall command the Commander of my selfe and family. I will but present a glasse of Greeke Sacke to the hands of a noble Lord, and returne to serve you.

You have a vertue Sir, I could wish communi­cated.

What's that Cousin?

To cozzen Cousin.

[Page 45]

And would you learne it?

The Theorie, but not the Practicke. I converse much in Tavernes; and the use should onely be a thrifty prevention.

As my observation hath taught me somthing in a baudy house, where they cannot change money.

Now Gentlemen dispose of your seruant.

Indeed Mr. Dasher our Wine's naught.

How I naught I who drew it? name but your drawer; he is punish't whilst you pronounce it. I'le not keepe an offensive mouse that eats the crums under my ta­ble, but shall pay his life to doe you service.

Why Cousin, the Wine's good.

I onely gave him matter for a complement.

'Tis pitty to abuse him that is so apt to abuse him­selfe. But what doe you muse on Cousin?

I am studdying a conceited health.

Why to the long standing of Banbury May-pole.

No Puritan will pledge that.

Yes, the Good-wives: they'l finde dancing a more wholsome exercise for the body, then some of their Doctrines for the Soule.

The second Scoene.

Ar't come friend, and Mr. Worthy?

Our mutuall loves.

I am bound to serve you Gentlemen, and I wish my roofe were worthier, and my disordered houshould order'd to your content.

[Page 46]

We are bound to thanke your readinesse.

Gentlemen, your servant will send his servants to wait upon you presently.

What accident brought you two together?

This jarres upon my heart-strings.

You must not wrong my Father.

But not to wrong my Father.

If he bee abusive, Cousin challenge him. I'le bee your second.

Hee's not a Crane Coz.

Nor I a Pigmie; you mock my love.

Your forwardnesse is dangerous.

I thanke you little one.

How little one I Is not that an affront Cousin?

'Tis as you take it Coz.

Fill some Wine boy: never a Drawer here?

What Gentlemen, none to attend you? (whooh) An unlook'd for happines [...] that my unworthy selfe is prefer'd.

[Page 48]

An inferiour servant may serve, Mr. Dasher.

I am the servant of my servant that shall serve you. And unlesse hee serve you he is not my servant. I'le tunre them all away presently for this neglect of your worthy Persons.

Men weare swords Sir.

And boyes too sometimes.

You'l answer it?

Answer what Child?

Little one! Boy! Child! I shall bee degraded next to an infant.

Fie Cousin, containe. The Gentleman cannot brooke it.

Yes Sir, hee can brooke any thing but wronging of his Father.

Let not your love appeare so full of flattery.

Nay, Coz; [...].

Bravely come off Sir.

I can come on Sir.

Now Sir, 'tis yours.

Mr. Dasher, your Wine [...]s highly commended.

I can assure you Gentlemen, the Grape from whence this Sacke was prest—

Grew in Spaine.

I would have fetcht it farther Gentlemen to doe you service. A voyage to the Indies should bee no more then a descending into my cellar, and up agen.

You have handsomely contracted your journey.

But Mr. Dasher, you have an eminent House, ex­traordinary Wine and entertainment; but no Signe at first to distinguish it.

Me thoughts Cousin, the Logger-heads was a pretty conceit.

Had there not beene a third.

Gentlemen; I intended a paire of Scales with a glasse of Wine in one Ballance, and a piece of gold in the other, or a jewell.

[Page 50]

An excellent conceit, to shew the value of good Wine.

Sweet Gentlemen, I am the servant of your noble wits. I must kisse the [...]a [...]re hand of an honourable Lord, who is now departing: I will then returne to be dispos'd by you.

The third Scoene.

Sir 'tis my father.

I did not think th'adst beene so good an Oratou [...].

Why Cousin, have Iustices power over a mans will?

We know your table's plentifully furnisht.

This was very good Sacke, neighbour. Pray send me home a dozen Bottles. And keepe good orders.

The best orders that can be kept in my hous [...] or any office of my house shall bee at your Worships ser­vice.

[Page 52]

[...]ogh; that complem [...]nt stinckes.

You are very cou [...]t [...]ou, neighbour. Will you goe along with me Gentlemen!

We are your servants. 'Tis a blest opportunity.

You shall now make tryall of my profest love.

The reckoning M. Dasher

Wee'l take the Barr [...] our way.

You'l doe mee honour to pay it there. Ten thousand welcomes wait upon you Gentlemen (whoo [...]) Come sirrah, be the Mercury of neatnesse, and nimbly set this disorder'd roome in order. Then give the gentleman below notice, that it is now ready to doe him service: Hee's like to be a bountifull guest. He talks of selling his Land, and being a Wit: but how can that agree together I yes, very well. A countrey Gentleman to s [...]ll his land, is as it were to change his copie: leave his knowne trade to project a better profit. Which changing of Copie here with us, ends many times in the citie freehold at Lud­gate.

The fourth Scoene.

Worthy Sir, I have now made ready a roome to entertaine your worthy person. My house was so cramd with Lords; and this especially with most choyce gentle­men, some of the admired wits, to which very name I owe respect and service.

'Tis a fine Chamber, it shines like a Gold-smiths shop in Cheap-side.

'Twould much inde [...]re mee to your kindnesse to bring mee acquainted with some of those Wits: you say they keepe their rendevous here many times. If I may [Page 53] mold my selfe capable I should gladly add to their number. Indeed, I have had but Countrey breeding.

City bringing up forfooth.

Yes; for we ridd like mad men.

Questionlesse, Sir, there are of the wits some mercenary ones, whom your money may command to be your servants. But these are of a nobler straine. Howsoe­ver, I will upon the next occasion shew my desire to doe you service.

Prethee Ralph, what be those Wits? A familie?

No Dobson, they be of all tribes. Some are Iewes, and some are Gentiles. Some are noble both in blood and condition, and some in neither. Some studie Arts of use; some of delight; some conceive well, but talke wickedly.

Those be the Women Ralph.

No interruptions. Some breake jests; some breake pates; some breake Tailours; and some breake their fasts with Duke Humphrey.

A wise house-keeper belike.

Some weare Plush that others pay for. Some love Sacke, and some love wenches. Few will dye of the Aldermans Gout, and some will never bee cur'd of their owne—

I understand thee Ralph. But how com'st thou to know all this?

Tut man; I liv'd in London before now; was servant to one that converst much with the wits, and kept an Academie of Musicke. I tell thee Dobson, I have pickt up mo [...]e learning among the crummes of a broken bisket, after one of their meetings at a Taverne, then would make twenty Ballad-makers commence Po [...]tasters; and with the over-plus indoctrinate ten Iustices Clerks, and an under-Sheriffe.

The fifth Scoene.

Sweet Mistris, you are welcome to my ex­pectation.

If my presumption to bring a worthy acquain­tance along with me, seem's not unmannerly.

You rather expresse kindnesse to a stranger that desires worthy company.

Sweet Mr. Dasher, you are the best Woman Vin­tener that ever lov'd a Gossips tale. You have so many good things to pleasure a woman with. You were wont to have an excellent neat tongue.

Sweet Mris. Tongall, my best tongue, and all is at your service.

Kind Master Dasher.

To your welcome Mistresse.

My humblenes receives your favour thankfully. My service to you Mr. Dasher.

I kisse the hand of your servant.

And make a legg. This Vintener sure hath had very mannerly breeding. he came not from the Bankes side, where the surly Watermen live.

Noble sir, I presume to present my desires to doe you service.

This Gentleman hath lesse manners. Hee an­swers nothing.

My friend (Sir) though he be of few words, is a fine wit, and a great observer.

A Wit, Mistris; I shall be the prouder of his ac­quaintance. But when I am a Witt, I shall preferre my talking before my observation.

I thank you Mr Little-word.

[Page 55]

Mr. Littleword and Mris Tongall! very good. Sure this woman had a French-man to her Father.

Indeed Mr. Dasher, 'tis excellent Sacke. If you were unmarried you should have my daughter [...]inny, for keeping such good Wi [...] in your house.

I retribute all due thanks for your kindnesse, that you would doe me so great an honour.

Mistris, you said I should have your daughter.

My friend, why so thou shalt. This Sacke makes my heart merry.

Who then shall my Master have?

Why my Daughter linny.

A right woman: so her tongue goe, no mat­ter what she sayes.

What will that Gentleman with his table-booke!

Let's have a health to some body.

Please you Sir, to my daughter Iinny.

Let it goe round then.

And hee that will not pledge it, shall not have her.

I hope we shall drinke now Ralph.

Else we lose both our share of the Sack, and our hopes of her daughter Iinny.

Some more Wine.

(Whooh) be nimble sirrah; and bring of my kingdome (that's my word for good wine) that it may wait on these Gentlemen.

William, thou art an honest fellow; and if thou bringst us good wine, thou shalt have my daughter Iinny from them all.

Sure this Gentleman write's what I speake. I hope 'twas not treason to say my Kingdome. I would I knew what he were.

The Vi [...]tener seem's troubled at this Gentle­mans table-booke.

'Tis his practise of observation. Hee is taking [Page 56] a humour for a Play: perhaps my talking of my daugh­ter Iinny.

I'le hatch some mirth from it. Sir, you must not take it ill, if I tell you of your errours. You have spoken somthing rashly.

Kind and worthy Sir, my life is your servant for this noble care.

That silent Gentleman is an intelligencer; a state spie. Hee' [...] informe against you. Therefore complie with him to prevent it. 'Tis his pollicie to say nothing him­selfe, that his observation may be the more, and his owne danger the lesse.

Sir, I owe your goodnesse all that ever I have beene, am, or shall be. He writes againe.

Now Mr. Little-word, you have some fine mat­ter there to worke upon.

To undoe me. Sir, I desire you will command all that is to bee commanded in my house to doe you ser­vice. Yes, yes; he writes againe.

That word command is a word of great dan­ger, I would you had not us'd it.

Alas Sir, Mris Tongall, 'twas not neighbourly done of you to bring an informer into my hous [...].

How, I bring an Informer! as I am a Matron, he's a Gentleman, a wit, and a rare Projector.

I believe it, to undoe a poore Vintener, that cannot complement a Gentleman into a ten pounds ex­pence; but his necke must be in danger. Sir, if I were a King I would be your servant. He writes againe.

Blesse me Sir, you have spoken treason.

Alas, Sir, I, am undone then.

Master, the Constable and other officers are com­ming up.

Yes, yes; to apprehend me.

'Tis for us, Dobson.

[Page 57]

The Constable▪ I hope wee are not suspected persons.

If I thought you were, you should never have my daughter Iinny.

The sixth Scoene.

By your leave Gentlemen.

You are welcome Sir, and I pray be gone.

But not without you Sir. You are suspected, and must answer—

Answer what? heere are neither Traitors nor [...].

I feare I shall be prov'd both.

No Sir, nor night-walkers that are taken up, and cast downe I have declar'd my selfe of as good carriage as any in the neighbour-hood; and my daughter Iinny waits upon an honourable Ladie.

Mr. Constable, I am your servant, I hope you suspect no Traitors in my house. If you doe, they shall wait upon you into the Cellar; and there commit what treason you will against as good Sack as is in the King of Spaines Dominions. The Gentleman writes still. I am ut­terly lost.

There are two suspected to be heere, that have broken the peace, and committed a robbery.

Denie it Ralph.

I tell you Constable, there are none heere, but can breake the peace, as well as you that are a Con­stable.

They shall obey your authority, and in the Vin­teners phraze wait upon you.

[Page 58]

I feare I must wait upon the Gallowes.

Being my servants, Ple goe likewise along with you.

Yes, yes; a meere plot to goe along, that hee may witnesse against me.

Feare nothing Ralph, the Gentlewomen will not see us hang'd.

But they may suffer us, and that's a word for hanging.

You seeme apprehensive of your owne danger. There's a reckoning to pay; if you but forgive it, [...]'le free you from this Gentlemans information.

Most gladly Sir, and bee your servant. But how shall I be sure of it?

You shall heare it from his owne mouth. You will not (Sir) informe any thing against this man! I pray say no.

No.

I am satisfied: and will be your servant in any thing but treason.

But be sure you speake to Mistris Dorothy. Nay I'le along with you too, and perhaps speake a good word.

I have acquaintance with the Iustice, and his Clerke knows my daughter Iinny.

Let mee bee your servant Mr. Constable, and light you downe. I hope my house will receive no scan­dall by this.

'Twas a beginning yet, and more may hit.

Thus in th' abus'd sense cheating is cal'd wit.

Act. 5. Scoen. 1.

THanks honest Nicholas. 'Tis time to cover: my La­dy will to supper so soone as my Master comes home. He brings strangers with him. This Butler is the kindest fellow to a Gentleuman; and deserves my love more for this bottle of Sacke, then Warrant or Spruce for fighting. Come thou inspirer of a diviner soule, that teachest my­steries, of which without thee none are capable: to bee valiant; to love; to Poetise: suffer a thirsty gentleuman to delight her drye pallat with thy sweet moisture, and re­fresh her spirits with thy comfortable operation. (Drinks) Excellent Sack, as I am a Gentleuman. Now am I in love with my old Master for buying it; wth the Vintener for selling it; with the Drawer for drawing it; nay, with the very Porter that brought it home: but most of all with kinde Nicholas for bestowing it upon mee; good heart, hee hath v [...]nt [...]'d a chiding if it should be mist. (Drinks.) What foolish Poets were they that made the more foo­lish gods drinke Nectar! Had Apollo presented Daphne but with a cup of such Sack, sh [...]e would have lov'd him, as I d [...]e Nicholas: but not to lye with him. A gentle­uman must not humble her selfe to a Butler. (Drinks.) My Ladie.

The second [...]

Madame.

Why doe you gaze upon me?

I would not for th'exchange your Ladiship were a man.

And why so?

I should runne madd, for love of your La­diship.

What humour have you got? you have sure beene tipling. Fie Secretary.

I hope your Ladiship hath a better opinion of your uman, then to be earnest because she jests.

You know Mr. Ierker?

A very handsome gentleman. I wonder no wor­thy Gentleuman is in love with him:

No Secretary; what thinke you of me?

[Page 61]

Doth your [...] truely and so doe.

And w [...]ll your Ladiship discover this to mee? Truely I meane not to bee degraded from your Ladiships uman, to hold the doore, and crye, my Master's comming.

How, call my Master! Did ever any Ladie en­joy a friend in a corner, and wish her Husband (who is sufficiently jealous alreadie) to see it! Now as I am a Gentleuman, and had rather bee a Ladie, 'tis not my mind.

But is your Ladiship earnest?

As earnest as resolves can make me.

But I am resolv'd not to obey your Ladyship. Shall I that am my Ladies Secretary as it were, be treache­rous to her secrets? Then let me not be counted a gentle­uman. If it please your Ladiship Ile tell him you intend such a thing that he may prevent it.

The third Scoene.

I have brought you some guests Wife. Send your entertainment be worth their labour.

I could wish it much better for Master Ierkers sake.

[Page 63]

You shall command a poore Gentleuman any thing; neither doe I expect reward. I onely desire you will accept it as an act of my love. But why should you be jealous of my Lady.

Aske me no idle questions, but doe it. Thou mayst bee a Lady thy selfe, if it lie in my power to raise thee.

Alas Sir, an old man raise a Gentleuman.

Wife, forgoe these fond thoughts, and with care apply your selfe to entertain these gentlemen. I'le to my closet.

[Page 64]

What said she Sir?

It seemes you did commend me!

I must thanke you Sir.

Pray daughter oversee the servants.

Mother beshrew your heart, she was in a good [...]eine. But come sir, wee [...]l pursue it.

It hath beene no small punishment for mee to [Page 65] hold my peace all this while. My Cousin is morall be­fore companie and counsel's my manners. But now I hope my tongue shall have libertie; and her's my Ladies gen­tleuman to exercise it with.

Your little Cousin may stay. How like you the plot?

They are going to it, and heer's a little one will tell. Pray sir, can you keepe counsell?

As well as a woman.

Indeed they and children are kin.

You need not feare your secrets.

Then I shall love you heartily. But pray Sir, no medling with a gentleumans apron. Here's that will helpe your growth: Please you to partake.

She abuseth me, I must fit her. What is't Mistris?

Sack I assure you Sir; and I hope you will love [...] poore gentleumans as she loves you.

If the Butler be not too deeply interested.

Secretarie.

Madame.

You forget your imployment.

I saw your Ladiship doe nothing yet.

Doe we not kisse!

I runne then, and dare not looke backe for feare of blushing.

What strange contrivement's this?

The fourth Scoene.

Nay, blush not Mr. Ierker, ours is no act of shame, but to be gloried in; youth to youth. Sir Generous are your hornes so lop-heavy they make you hang the head. Never droop at it man. A Lord may bee a Cuck­old and never the wiser: you have gotten the knowledge of what o [...] did but suspect before.

Then will my joyes be setled.

The fifth Scoene.

Whence growe's this exultation?

Doe you love him?

Supper not ready yet [...] my servants are musi­call; please you Gentlemen to dance a little. 'Tis a health­full exercise; bid them prepare their instruments. Come, come, settle to it.

The sixth Scoene.

Welcome neighbour Tongall: what meane these people?

I have brought them, an't please your Wor­shipp.

Whom, and't please you, Master Con­stable.

The theeves, and't please your Worship, that rob'd your worships Clerke.

Now Warrant.

How! I rob'd! the Constable is surely drunke. I was not rob'd.

How's that! did not you bring mee to the Ta­verne; shew mee the fellowes, and direct me to appre­hend them? Did you not promise me a share if they might be brought to a composition?

Who? I? verily I say I know thee not.

How! not know the Constable! Come Mr. Warrant, let mee understand the mysterie without being farther abus'd. You forget the place where wee had re­creation for nothing, onely promising the wenches favour upon occasion: against whom wee afterwards inform'd to get fees.

Is't noe otherwise? it shall raise some mirth.

Did not I tell thee Ralph, the Gentlewomen?

Well, 'tis a rare thing to bee a Justice. Were I but swel'd with a little authoritie, mee thinks I could [Page 70] crye, you Rogue, you Rascall, or you Constable, most gravely.

And 'tis as rare a thing to bee a Constable; to command in the name of authority, and bee drunke at midnight, without danger of the st [...]ks.

I shall respect him Mris. Tongall. Mr. Con­stable I doe conceive an abuse done to my person, in that you here traduce two strangers, pretending appointment, when none will accuse them; nor can I suddainly disco­ver the errour.

Now by all the painted authoritie of my staffe—

No swearing Constable; I have determin'd to conferre a power upon the accused, to judge both it and you; and the most offendors shall suffer what shall be due.

Whither shall I fall! from my Empire of com­mand, to obey a mock-Constable! [...] danger of exam­ple forbid it, that Clownes and fooles b [...] not made Justi­ces in earnest.

No more of this modestie: I'le have it so; and exercise your wit. I have knowne a Countrey fellow full of knavish clinches.

Yes Sir, 'tis ordinary in a Smith.

Then if I fit you not for a Justice.

And I for a Constable. You shall heare my tone.

And I for an offendor.

Can you write and read young gentleman?

Like a gentleman.

Then you shall be my Worships Clerke. And so I assume authoritie. (hem, hem)

Now shall we be jeer'd out of our skins.

Set a good face on't.

(hem, hem,) what are you sirrah?

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I am Dobson, the Constable and' [...] please your Worsh [...]p.

He lies and't please your Worship, I am the Constable.

You were the Constable; but your dignitie is justly taken from you, and conferr'd upon honest Iohn Dobson. Thou hast beene a raskall sirrah, a corrupt Con­stable. Thou hast converst with deeds of darknesse, ha­ting the all light, but wenches and a lanthorne: which a married Constable can never want at midnight. Thou hast watch't little and pray'd lesse: thou shalt therefore fast thy selfe into amendement. And so I commit thee with thy guard of Bill-men to the mercie of a Shrove-Tuesdayes rebellion. (hem, hem.)

Here's an other refendant, and't please your Worship.

N [...]w Sir, what are you?

A Justices Clerke.

Oh, I know you sirrah.

You write true Latine, not to be understood by the Wor­shipfull bench.

Your Worship is misinform'd. I cannot write true Orthographie without a Copie; and for Latine, I have lesse then the Dean [...] of Dunstable. I have read Igno­ramus: but finding hard words which were not in the Dictionary; I sweare I understand it no more then Igno­ramus himselfe.

Make his Mittimus and send him to schoole; (hem, hem,) what are you Sir?

A Gentleman Vsher.

You are a Malki [...] of mock-Gentry; made up of silke and vaine-glory. You begin to grow out of fa­shion. I will therefore have you stitcht into a case of com­plements, and commended to some thrifty house-keeping Ladie in the Countrey, where you may save her Ladiship [Page 72] the charge of a Taylour; and if you can read, serve for a house-Chaplaine in rainy weather. (hem, hem.) Bring that Countrey Gentleman before me.

You' [...] grow saucie sirrah.

Pray let's uphold the jest. I'le not spare mine owne person. Your servant's witty.

You are a Countrey Gentleman; a Gallant out of fashion all the yeare; but especially at Se [...]sions, and upon high Holi-dayes, when your sattin doublet drawes away the eyes of the simple, aud distracts their devoti­on almost into Idolatry: giving it more worship then the Heraulds ever gave your Auncestors. You intend as I understand to come forth in a new Edition: and whe [...] the Mercers and Tailors have new printed you; and that some gentile wit may be read in your Character to marry a Wife in the City. You shall then have a passe sealed up­on her by a Courtier; be ship't at Cuckolds haven, and so transported into Cornwall. (Hem, hem.) Now Sir, what are you? never a wise word to answere a Ju­stice?

He is my friend Sir; and if you abuse him, you shall not have my daughter Iinny.

There is a tempest in her tongue able to shake the foundation of the wisest Justice-ship.

My Ladie Sir.

Madame, I have heard complaints of your La­diship, that you rise early every morning before noone, and are readie before night, unlesse there bee a maske at Court. You are likewise a great frequenter of the balls, meerely out of charitie to the poore Fidlers.

He hits you home Wife.

And this is my Ladies Gentleuman.

Stop your eares Gentlewomen, here's a foule businesse towards. But you may tell the man, the time and place, though not the manner.

[Page 73]

Truely Sir, if I am with child, [...] but with a bottle of Sack.

Give it me; I'le keepe it. Many a Justi [...] in the City keepes children are none of his owne. (Drinks.)

A right Sack Justice.

And now for you Gentlemen. You are of the wits that give Poets Sack and old Bevers, and vent their conceits in Tavernes for your owne.

Please you Sir, these Gentlemen are my friends.

How's that! a Justice take bribes! the exam­ple is too frequent, and I will have it mended.

You begin now to overdoe.

Bribes have purchas'd more then the whole race of A [...]dermen since Luds time.

You are bitter now: 'tis time to resigne.

'Tis time indeed, when I will not take bribes to be a Justice Quondam.