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Bob. Gentleman of the house, it is to you: is he within sir ?

Rite. He came not to his lodging to night, sir, I assure

you.

Dow. Why do you hear? you.

Bob. The Gentleman-citizen hath satisfy'd me, I'll talk to no scavenger. Exeunt Bobadil and Matthew.

Dow. How scavenger? stay, sir, stay?

Rite. Nay brother Down right.

Dow. Heart! stand you away, and you love me. Kite. You shall not follow him now, I pray you brother, good faith you shall not; I will over-rule you.

Dew. Ha! scavenger? well, go to, I say a little; but by this good day (God forgive me I should swear) if I put it up so, say, I am the rankest coward ever liv'd; 'sdains an' I swallow this, I'll ne'er draw my sword in the sight of Fleet-Street again, while I leave; I'll sit in a barn, with Madge bowlet, and catch mice first. Scavenger?

Kite. Oh, do not fret yourself thus, never think on't. Dow. These are my brother's consorts; these! these are his comrades, his walking mates! he's a gallant, a cavaliero too, right hangman cut! Let me not leave, and I could not find in my heart, to swinge the whole gang of 'em, one after another, and begin with him first. I am griev'd it should be said he is my brother, and take these courses. Well, as he brews, so he shall drink, for George again. Yet, he shall hear on't, and that tightly too, an I leave, i' faith.

Kite. But, brother, let your reprehension, then,

Run in an easy current, not o'er high

Carried with rashness, or devouring choler;
But rather use the soft persuading way,
More winning, than enforcing the consent.

Dow. Ay ay, let me alone for that, I warrant vou,

[Bell rings.

Kite. How now? oh, the bell rings to breakfast. Brother, I pray you go in, and bear my wife Company till I come; I'il but give order

For some dispatch of business to my servant

Dow. I will-scavenger, scavenger!-[Exit Down-right.
Kite. Well, ho' my troubled spirit's somewhat eas'd,

It is not repos'd in that security

As I could wish: but, I must be content.
Howe'er I set a face on't to the world,

Would I had lost this finger at a venture,

So

So Well-bred had ne'er lodg'd within my house,
Why't cannot be, where there is such resort,
Of wanton gallants, and young revellers,
That any woman should be honest long.
Is't like, that factious beauty will preserve
The public weal of chastity unshaken,

When such strong motives muster, and make head
Against her single peace? no, no. Beware,
When mutual appetite duth meet to treat.
And spirits of one kind and quality,
Come once to parley, in the pride of blood:
It is no slow conspiracy that follows.
Well, to be plain, if I but thought, the time
Had answer'd their affections; all the world
Should not persuade me, but I were a cuckold!
Marry, I hope they ha' not got that start;
For opportunity hath bilkt 'em yet,

And shall do still, while I have eyes and ears
To attend the impositions of my heart.
My pres nce shall be as an iron-bar,
'Twixt the conspiring motions of desire :
Yea, every look or glance, mine eye ejects,
Shall check occasion, as one doth his slave,
When he forgets the limits of prescription.

Enter Dame KITELY.

Dame. Sister Bridget, pray you fetch down the rosewater above in the closet. Sweetheart, will you come in to breakfast?

Kite. An' she have over-heard me now?

Dame. I pray thee, good muss, we stay for you.
Kite. By heav'n I would not for a thousand angels.
Dame. What ail you, sweetheart? are you not well?
speak good muss.

Kite. Troth my head akes extremely, on a sudden.
Dame. Ch, the Lord!

Kite. How now? what?

Dame Alas, how it burns! muss, keep you warm, good truth it is this new disease! there's a number are troubled withal! for love's sake, sweetheart, come in, out of the air.

Kite. How simple, and how subtle are her answers!

A

A new disease, and many troubled with it!
Why, true: she heard me, all the world to nothing.

Dame. I pray thee, good sweetheart, come in, the air will do you harm in troth.

Kite. Fil come to you presently; 'twill away I hope.
Dame. Pray heaven it do

[Exit Dame.
Kite. A new disease? I know not, new or old.
But it may well be cal'd poor mo tais plague;
For, like a pestilence it doth infect

The houses of the brain. First, it begins

Solely to work upon the phantasy,
Filling her seat with such pestiferous air

As soon corrupts the judgment, and from thence,
Sends like contagion to the memory;
Still each to other giving the infection.
Which, as a subtile vapour, spreads itself,
Confusedly through every sensive part,
Till not a thou ht, or motion in the mind,
Be free from the black poison of suspect.
Ah, but what misery is it to know this?
Oi, knowing it to want the minds direction,
In such extremities? Well, I will once more strive,
(In spite of this black cloud) myself to be,
And shake that fever off, that thus shakes me.

[Exit.

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Enter BRAIN-WORM, disguis'd like a Soldier.

Brain. 'Slid, I cannot choose but laugh to see myself translated thus. Now must I create an intolerable sort of lies, or my present profession loses the grace; and yet the lie to a man of my coat, is as omnious a fruit as the fico. O, sir, it holds for good polity ever, to have that outwardly in vilest estimation, that inwardly is most dear to us. So much for my borrow'd shape. Well, the truth is, my old master intend to follow my young, dry foot over Morefield, to London this morning; now I knowing of this hunting match, or rather conspiracy, and to insinuate with my young master (for so must we that are blue-waiters and men of hope and service do) have got me afore in

this disguise, determined here to lie in ambuscade, and intercept him in the mid-way. If I can but get his clock, his purse, his hat, nay any thing to cut him of, that is, to stay his journey-Veni, vidi, vici, I may say with captain Caesar, I am made for ever, I faith. Well, now I must practise to get the true garb of one of these lanceknights, m arm here, and my- -young master! and his cousin Mr Stephen, as I am a true counterfeit man of war, and no soldier! [Retires.

Enter Ed. KNO'WELL and Master STEPHEN.

E. Know. So, sir, and how then coz?
Step. S'foot, I have lost my purse, I think.

E. Know. How? lost your purse! where? when had you it?

Step. I cannot tell, stay.

Brain. 'Slid I am afraid they will know me, would I could get by them.

E Know. What? ha' you it?

Step. No, I think I was bewitch'd, I———

E. Know. Nay do not weep the loss: hang it, let it go. Step. Oh, it's here; no, an' it had been lost, I had not car'd, but for a jet-ring mistress Mary sent me.

E. Know. A jet-ring? oh, the poesy, the poesy?

Step. Fine i' faith! Though fancy sleep, my love is deep. Meaning that though I did not fancy her, yet she loved me dearly.

E. Know. Most excellent!

Steb. And then I sent her another and my poesy was; The deeper, the sweeter, I'll be judg'd by St Peter.

E. Know. How, by St Peter? I do not conceive that. Step Marry St Peter to make up the metre.

E. Know. Well, there the saint was your good patron, help'd you at your need; thank him, thank him.

Brain. I cannot take leave of 'em so; I will venture come what will. Gentlemen, please you exchange a few crowns, for a very excellent good blade, here. I am a poor gentleman, a soldier; one that, in the better state of my fortunes, scorn'd so mean a refuge, but now it is the humour of necessity to have it so. You seem to be gentlemen, well affected to martial men, else I should rather die with silence, than live with shame, however vouchsafe to remember

:

member, it is my want speaks, not myself. This condition agrees not with my spirit.

E Kno. Where hast thou serv'd?

Brain. May it please you, sir, in all the late wars of Bobemia, Hungaria, Dalmatia,. Poland, where not, Sir? I have been a poor servitor by sea and land, any time this fourteen years, and followed the fortunes of the best commanders in Christendom. I was twice shot at the taking of Aleppo, once at the relief of Vienna; I have been at Marseilles, Naples, and the Adriatic gulph; a gentlemanslave in the galley's thrice, where I was most dangerously shot in the head, through both the thighs, and yet, being thus maim'd, I am void of maintenance, nothing left me but my scars, the noted marks of my resolution.

Step. How wilt you sell this rapier, friend?

Brain. Generous sir, I refer it to your own judgment; you are a gentleman, give me what you please.

Step. True, I am a gentleman, I know that, friend: but what though? I pray you say, what would you ask? Brain. I assure you, the blade may become the side or thigh of the best prince in Europe.

E Kno. Ay, with a velvet scabbard.

Step. Nay, and't be mine, it shall have a velvet scabbard, coz, that's flat: I'd not wear it as 'tis and you would give me an angel.

Brain. At your worship's pleasure, sir; nay, 'tis a most pure Toledo.

Step. I had rather it were a Spaniard! but tell me, what shall I give you for it? An' it had a silver hilt

E Kno. Come, come, you shall not buy it; hold, there's a shilling, fellow, take thy rapier.

Step. Why, but I will buy it now, because you say so; and there's another shilling, fellow, I scorn to be out-bidden. What, shall I walk with a codgel, like a higgin-bottom? and may have a rapier for money?

E Kno. You may buy one in the city.

Step. Tut, I'll buy this i' the field, so I will; I have a mind to't because tis a field rapier. Tell me your lowest price.

E Kno. You shall not buy it, I say.

Step. Ay this money but I will, though I give more than

'tis worth.

E Kno. Come away, you are a fool.
VOL. 1.

H

Step.

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