THou haſt delivered my Letter?

Yes Sir, to Mr. Saveall your Unkles friend: But hee has ſtood your friend ſo long, and ſo often, to ſo little purpoſe in moving your Unkle for you, that he holds it utterly in vaine, to urge him any further, he told me.

Thou ſhould'ſt ha' told him, I would not be ſo anſwer'd.

Yes; and then he would have told me, let your Maſter take his courſe.

Then you ſhould ha' told him again, I have taken all the courſes I could, or as any Gentleman can to maintaine my ſelfe like one; But all my courſes are run out, and I have not breath, nor know any ground whereon to begin a new one, unleſſe that thing my Unkle ſets me up againe, nor have I any meanes to attaine to that, but by his Mediation.

Then would he ha' told me againe, what all your courſes have been. Namely, running into debt by all the wayes can be imagin'd, and cheating by all could be invented, then that the ſaid thing, (as you call it) your Unkle, before he caſt you quite off, had redeem'd you out of Priſon, and ſeverall holds, within the ſpace of 15. Moneths 14. times.

That was not once a Moneth then, or if it had, what had that been to him? 'twas I that ſuffer'd, thou ſhouldſt ha' told him, not he.

Hee would ha' told me then againe, That ſeverall Redemptions, coſt your Unkle at leaſt 2000 l. And that upon your laſt revolt when he quite gave you over for a caſt-away, two yeares ſince, he caſt the third thouſand with you, upon condition never to afflict him more. And then he Married in hope to get an heire.

I that Marrying ſpoy'ld all.

Becauſe you ſhould not after his death caſt away all the reſt of the thouſands, and ten thouſands which you might have liv'd to inherit, if your Unkles love or Mr. Savealls counſell could have prevay'd with you againſt the Divill, and Debauchednes.

Pox on't, let it all goe, let that wretched Unkle goe, and let Saveall goe for a punctuall aſſe as hee is. I confeſſe he has by his ſaving helpe peec'd mee with my Unkle a ſcore of times at leaſt. What had once more been to him?

Sir, it were better for you to thinke upon ſome courſe by our ſelfe, and me your Creature (that have ſtuck to you, or followed you through all fortunes) to maintaine Rich Lace, and Bravery upon you. And thinke in time too before this be worne out, upon ſome new wayes for your ſupplies—

On your poor Whore Sir (as you have brought her) ſhee's in worſe caſe then your ſelfe; your Cloaths are good enough—

I ther's the Devill. I would doe ſomething for her if I knew how. But what have I not done that can be done by a forlorn heire?

Why though the Dice, and all other Houſehold games, and all the Cheats belonging unto them have fayld you by your and their diſcoveries, till none dare venture ſo neare you as a Man hu • les a Die or Skirrs a Card. Though all your hidden wayes in Hide-parke races are trod out, and all your bowling booties beaten bare off o' the Grounds and Allies; and the ſweete Honey-combes of all your Cockpit coſenages cut off. Though all your Arts of borowing are croſt out of all Mens Bookes before you offer at 'em, while your old Debts ſtand fairely written, and all your Marts miſcarry of putting out for credit, Veniſon to Citizens, or early Cherries, Codlings and Apricocks to their Wives availe you nothing, cannot ſomething yet be found?

Nothing, nothing. All Projects are confounded.

Did your Father leave you nothing but wit to live upon for this? And did hee leave you that but for yeares, and not for Life? and is the terme expir'd?

Hold thy peace. I am caſting for ſomething to be done by me, that ſhall be worth, and coſt my life, to ſhame my Unkle.

There's a plot! Think of your poore whore Sir, how ſhall ſhe live, if you caſt away your ſelfe?

I muſt leave her once thou knowſt.

If you could leave her now, and betake your ſelfe handſomely to other Women, I have thought on a courſe.

What, quickly, what iſt?

To ſet up a Male bawdy houſe.

Fy upon' • .

You are handſome, lovely, and I thinke able to do one Mans worke, two or three ſuch Gentlemen more which I know, and can deſcribe to you, with the wayes I'le finde to bring in cuſtome ſhall fill your purſes—

And empt our bones. I ever had enough of one Miſtris Variety would deſtroy me. No Gentlemen can be able to hold it out. They are too weake to make common He whores.

For a little while Sir, till we have got a ſtock of rich cloathes; And then we will put Drey-men, and Wineporters, Corniſh Wraſtlers & ſuch like into thoſe cloaths; and make them Country Cavaliers. Have you not ſeen courſe ſnowt-faire drudges, clapt into bravery, that would doe more bodily ſervice in a Brothell then twenty Ladies Daughters? They are the Game-beares of a Bawdy-houſe, can play ten ſingle courſes for a cleane-bred Gentle-womans one, wee will hire fellowes for groates a peece a day, that ſhall (without the additaments of Clary, Cawdle or Cock-broth) get us forty peeces a Man before Night, or perhaps a hundred by next Morning, out of ſuch ſhee▪ cuſtomers, as an Aunt of mine ſhall finde ou • for us.

O baſe Villaine! No I'le never fall ſo deep below a Gentleman, as to be Maſter of a Baudy-houſe.

Very good decay'd Gentlemen have done a much; though I urge this, but for your paſtime ſir.

Send forth your Man.

Goe forth—

One Servant is not fit for all Offices, although you keepe no more; you preſumed indeed, I can no leſſe then call it a preſumption, although it were but unto mee you write; I ſpeak not this in the behalfe of any dignity in me; but that you ſhould overweene that I had ability to wraſtle any more with your overgratefull Unkle in your behalfe. Therein was your outrecuidance.

The miſerableſt Man on Earth! in having we • ried out my worthieſt friend, on whom the ſum of all my hopes was caſt.

No, I am not wearied; But ſtill in the ſame full ſtrength: yet my modeſty diſſwadeth mee from uſing ſtrength above reaſon, and my reaſon prevaileth with me not to ſtrive againſt a Torrent.

He is then inexorable, and I muſt periſh. But did you try him for me this laſt time?

I have both tryed, and tempted him to his vexation.

But did you urge that pious act of mine Which he once vow'd ſhould never be forgot, O • unrewarded by him?

I and my Man I'me ſure made four of the ſtowteſt purſes fly for't, that ever ſet our Country o' the skore: After they had him downe, and their points at his breſt and throat, hee crying out for helpe, when I came on by chance at a time too when I was in his diſpleaſure, nay he hated mee a whole yeare together before that, and yet I did it, and more then ſo—

Fare you well Sir, I thought to have ſaid all this for you, and more then ſo too. But—

Nay ſweet Mr. Saveall—

Good Mr. Careleſſe, as I can hear I would be heard ſometimes.

Ind • ed I cry you mercy, pray ſir ſpeake.

Poore Rogue! and he deſerv'd it, I'le be ſworne for a Theeves marke that he receiv'd; a cut o' the Cockſcombe that crackt his skull, ſo that • ee could never bear his drinke ſince, as hee could ha' done before. For ſir, as we came in, I having put by the thruſts of three of 'em, the fourth man with a full blow—

Fare you well Sir the ſecond time—

Nay curteous Mr. Saveall.

I came to ſpeake not with you altogether, but unto you for to be heard.

Sir I will heare you with all due reſpect.

Yet then I liv'd and could have done till now, meerly by being his Nephew, and ſuppos'd his heire, had not he married; but his Marriage turnd the hearts of all believing Citizens from me, where before a Taylor could have made mee run through all the credit i' the Town, When in a ſute Chinquant, and Ala-mode They could informe themſelves, whoſe heire I was, But to ſay truth I vex'd him into Wed-lock, for before he valud not a Wife at a batchelors Button.

Farewell to you the third time.

Sir, you ſhall ſee mee die firſt, and that inſtantly; That you may tell my Uncle I'le be no more his trouble, or charge, unleſſe in charity hee'l ſend to bury me.

You will not deſperately work a violent end upon your ſelfe?

I have dalyed too long, and tempted him too far I feare.

Lay down my Bed.

Your Wench is come indeed, but I hope you will not to bed before he be gone.

Lay down my bed I ſay. But firſt unbutton me.

Lord how his heart beats! pangs of death I fear.

Not ſo I hope. I will now come to the point Sir, Mr. Careleſſe be comforted.

I am, and well reſolv'd, I thanke my better Angell.

Your Unkle's friends with you.

Alas, how can that be?

I thought your ſpirit had been higher.

It will be Sir anon, I hope.

I have but dallied with you to ſearch your temper.

But you have ſearched too deep I feare ſir.

Ah!—

Your Unkle is friends with you, I ſay ſo farre as to make a further tryall of your nature, you may be yet his heire; for your Aunt deſpaireth of any Child by him, having fruitleſly been married now theſe two years.

Ah!—But good Sir, can this be?

It is, and I will bring you to him. And ſee that all be well.

Your noble friendſhip hath reviv'd me ſir, O run and fetch my cloake.

Tell Phebe I cannot ſtay to give her any ſatisfaction now, I muſt go ſee my Unkle firſt.

Poore Gentleman, how weakly he ſtandeth! The ſight of his Unkle will recover him. Come Mr. Careleſs let us goe.

Sir what do you thinke if I ſhould firſt according to the reformation of my mind cut off my undecent hair, and change this gariſh apparrell for a civill well worne Students ſute, I can be fitted preſently hard by.

No, the mind reformed is enough, your habit well becometh you.

Now Wit and't be thy will go with him. And I hope this will be his laſt hot fit of the Unkle.

Your Maſters gone forth it ſeemes.

Cal'd by his fortune, hee is ſo.

Shuns he the ſight of me? i'le overtake him.

O your patience ſweete Miſtris Phebe, a little patience.

Hee's gone to be happy, and to make you happy. I dare promiſe you a Sattin Gowen within this ſea'night.

For let me tell thee Miſtris Phebe bright Hee's reconciled to his Unkle Knight.

Away Pimpe, Flamſted, I came to be ſerious with him, to let him know the miſeries I ſuffer, by the wrongs hee has done mee, and that I can nor will no longer beare 'em.

Nor him neither will you? Take heede what you ſay Madam Marion▪

No nor him neither, you pandarly Paraſite, till • e make his vowes good, and me an honeſt Woman.

Birlady, a ſhrewd taske, and I fear an impoſſible worke.

Sirra, I will claw your ugly Face till thou undertak'ſt it with him, to make it eaſie.

O will you ſo?

How deſperatly valiant a Whore growes, when ſhe is ſo poore that her cloathes feare no tearing.

But by what meanes can you hope to bring this worke about?

You know I have a wealthy Kinſman in the City.

O Mr. Saleware, and he has a Wife too that bears it up bravely.

Pimpe impudent, ſhall I claw your Face into bluſhes at my injuryes, to be mockt out of my Maydenhead, when I was upon a good Match in the Countrey; Then with a promiſe of Marriage, to be intic'd from my friends into fooles Paradice (that was a new title for the City) and here to be uſed, and abuſed from Lodging to Lodging, by him that now flies me, for the decayes hee hath brought mee to? But my Kinſman has money though I have none, and for money there is Law to be found, and in a juſt cauſe he will not let me ſink, he ſayes: for I have told him all.

But not the how many times, the whens, the where's, and the wherewithalls, I hope have you?

Sirrah, I ſhall ſhew you and your Maſter too a way to more civility, ſince I am thus abuſed, and ſlighted.

You have ſchoold mee handſomely, and brought mee into ſenſe of your injuries: you have beene overwrong'd, but not over-wrought, nor over-worne, you doe excell in Beauty, Strength and Spirit, which makes you in your very anger now appeare ſo lovely, that I profeſſe my ſelfe your Creature. What would a kiſſe of this faire Hand now make mee do, and of thoſe Lipps what not?

Away you Creature.

Leave theſe temptations; doe not ſtrike me too deeply in love with you.

'Tis true I am your Creature, as I am my Maſters; And ſometimes the ſerving Creature, breakes his faſt with a bit off the Spit before the ſame meat is ſerv'd up to his Maſters table, but is never denyed to Diue upon his Maſters leavings, you cannot thinke what an appetite that frown gives me.

You are no ſaucy Raſcall.

Good wit too! My appetit • needs no Sauce; nor ſhall you need to make uſe of Law, or Friend againſt my Maſter, but my ſelfe.

You!

Be rul'd by me, if I doe not lay you downe, and joyne with you preſently in a courſe that ſhall content you, then—hang me Lady at your doore.—

What doe you meane?

In the next roome we ſhall finde Pen, Inke and Paper, you ſhall write him ſuch a Letter (as I will dictate to you) that ſhall ſo nettle him.

Nay I did intend to leave him part of my mind in writting before I went.—

O Coſen, I want you.—

A pox of this interupting Cuckold, hee hinders all Trading, but his Wives, zownds I was going with full ſpeed a Tilt, as the learned ſay, had not this horne-head come, we had writ lines together ſhould have put down Her • and Leander—

Harke you Miſtris Phebe, is this your Kinſman that you told me, you had told all the buſineſſe to?

Yes, ſir, I am the Gentleman, and ſhee has told me ſo much, Sir that I muſt tell you, to tell your Maſter from mee, and as I would tell him my ſelfe if hee were here perſonally preſent, hee is a moſt diſhoneſt Gentleman if he doe her not lawfull right by Marrying her; and that right I came to demand, and obtaine of him, or to denounce the Law againſt him.

How happy are you, that you came ſhort to tell him ſo, elſe hee would ha • ſo beaten you, as never was Citizen beaten, ſince the great Battaile of Finsbury-Field.

Your great words cannot make▪ mee feare his blowes (I am not daſht nor baſht) nor croſſe him out of my Booke, for feare of any ſuch payment. I have him there for foure ſcore pound as you know, though you are pleas'd to forget mee, But Sapientia mea mihi ſtultitia tua tibi.

Cry mercy Mr. Saleware, is it you? I hope Miſtris Saleware is well, your moſt exquiſite, and moſt courtly wife; the Flower-de-luce of the City.

Well wag well, you muſt not now put me off with my wife, ſhee's well and much reſpected; I come to ſpeake of, and for my diſtreſſed Kinſwoman, her whom your wicked Maſter has moſt wickedly dealt withall. Hee has deflower'd and deluc'd her, and led her from her Friends, and out of her Countrey into Fooles Paradice—By making her believe he would Marry her, and here he has put her on, and put her off, with hopes and delayes till ſhee is come to both woe and want; And (which may prove her moſt affliction, if hee be ſuffered to forſake her) ſhee is with child by him.

Say you ſo, Miſtris Phebe? here's ſmall ſhew of it yet.

Sirrah, I ſhall ſhew you and your Maſter too a way to more civility, if I be thus abuſed and ſlighted.

By the way Mr. Saleware, how many children have you by your moſt amiable wife?

Sir, that needs not to fall by the way of our diſcourſe.

But by the way I ſpeake of getting children. Or I pray tell me, did not you correct one of her children once, for which your wife reprehended you, and bad you correct your own? And how then ſhall my Maſter be ſure that this (if it be one) is his?

What an Aſinego's this? I ſhall finde a time ſir, to talke with your Maſter. In the meane time I tell you that my Kinſewoman is a Gentlewoman of as good blood as himſelf, and of the beſt in Herefordſhire.

Yes, Welſh-blood.

And ſhall find friends that ſhall not ſee her abus'd by you nor him. There is Law to be found for money, and money to be found for Friends, and Friends to be found in the Arches, and ſo tell your Maſter, come away Coſen.

But one word before you goe Sir, is this Gentlewoman, (who was but a Countrey Chamber-maide when my Maſter tooke her to his mercy) of ſuch boaſted blood, your Cozen by your owne, or by your Wives ſide I pray?

Sirrah, like a ſaucy companion as you are, though you meddle with me that am a Common-councell-Man; I charge you meddle not with my wife, you have had two or three jerks at her.

I was warn'd before Sir, in my own underſtanding: for ſhe is for great perſons.

Then know your diſtance Sir.

Yet give me leave to wait you down Sir, cud ſhoe did it tell it Kinſeman that it is got with Champkin.

You are a Pandarly Raſcall, and I'le be a terror both to you, and your Patron.

How can you thinke ſo?

Thinke! I ſee't apparently upon your Face, and heare it in your ſighes, your broken ſleepes to night, when your owne groanes wak'd you, declard no leſſe; But had I had the power of ſome wifes with their husbands I could have fetch'd it out of you waking once ( • thanke you) you tooke me in your arme, but when you found 'twas I you turn'd away as in a dreame.

Sure you dreame now, whence can this talke proceed elſe?

I muſt not give it over till I know the cauſe of your melancholly fit, doe you doubt my duty, or my loyalty? perhaps you do, and ſo make me the cauſe of your affliction.

May ſuch a thought within mee, ſtick mee to the endleſſe torments.

'Tis lately entertained, what e're it be; you came heart whole to Town, and Joviall. Ha' you been drawn for ſecurity into Bonds by any of my friends, for great ſumms, and forc'd to pay 'em?

Fie, fie.

Are any great friends of yours in queſtion, attainted, impriſoned, or run away?

Pſewh.

Or are you further griev'd about your Nephew, Careleſſe? I thought that your friend Saveall, and my ſelfe had made his peace with you; and that you had ſent for him, do you repent that?

No, no, ſweete heart, hee ſhall be welcome. And pray let me intreate you make no further inquiſition; If (as you ſuppoſe) there be a trouble in my thoughts, I ſhall ſoon paſſe it over.

Tell me, or I ſhall prove the greater trouble. I would thoſe few examples of women, that could not keepe their husbands counſells had beene burnt, and the woman too rather then I ſhould be diſtruſted thus, and ſlighted by a Husband—

Nay then you'l grieve me indeed.

There has beene many examples of diſcreet women that have not onely kept their husbands councells, but adviſe and help 'em in extremities, and deliver'd 'em out of dangers.

I pray content your ſelfe.

Be you content to tell me then what troubles you. And I pray you tell mee ſpeedily, now preſently; or (excuſe me in my vow,) it is the laſt requeſt that ever I will make to you, and the laſt queſtion I'le ever aske you, and (the eaſier to get it from you) I promiſe you by the continuance of my faith to you (which by this kiſſe I ſeale) Be it a deadly injury to my ſelfe, I will forgive it freely; not be troubled at it.

You are reſolv'd it ſeems to keepe your ſecret Unto your ſelfe, much good Sir may it doe you.

'Tis ſaid; and now your doome.

And can you be ſo mild? then farwell thought.

No upon my vow.

Thou ſhalt know all to purge me of my folly.

Well ſaid.

It is confeſs'd.

Faire dealing ſtill.

A Pepper-corne a quarter, if ſhee be Pepperproofe.

But ſhee at my very next approach, which was but yeſterday denyes me Egreſſe, except I make it a new purchaſe at the ſame former rate, and ſo for all times after.

Troth 'tis unreaſonable, a hundred pound a time? How rich would Citizens be, if their wives were all ſo paid, and how poore the Court and Country! But huſht, here comes Mr. Saveall with your Nephew, I take it; A handſome Gentleman, could hee be ſo debauch'd?

Sir, I have brought you home a Reformado▪ and doe intreat (for what I have ſaid unto him, and he hath fairely anſwered unto me) that words may not by you be multiplied.

Not a word of unkindneſſe, Nephew, you are welcome, give me your hand. George, thou art welcome.

I ſhall be George o' horſe-back once more I ſee. In all humility I thanke you Sir.

Nay now thou ſpeakeſt, and look'ſt too tamely George, I would have thee keepe and uſe the lively ſpirit that thou hadſt, but not to let it flie at randome, as it has done George.

Sir, I have learnt now by the inconveniences I have met with, in thoſe extravagant out fl • ghes, the better to containe it within the limits of your leave, and faire allowance hereafter.

Well ſaid, and againe welcome George. But (and this you ſhall give me leave to ſay Mr. Saveall) I remit your thanks for any inclination I had towards this reconcilement till I doe you ſome further kindneſſe; only you had good advocates, who pleaded friendly for you, Mr. Saveall, and your Aunt there before ſhe ever ſaw you whom you may thanke.

A man muſt be ſo tied now.

Pray take notice of her.

I cannot uſe reſpect enough Sir.

I like that modeſty.

Doubt him in nothing, for he is come home.

Madam as you are my gracious Patroneſſe, and my ſelfe ſo all unworthy, my duty checks me in my approach to you.

You are the more intirely welcome Coſen.

Shee Kiſſes like an old mans wife, That is, as a Child late ſterv'd at Nurſe, ſucks a freſh flowing Breaſt.

You muſt not Sir be baſhfull.

George, here's a Lodging for you in this houſe, and my Table has a place for you, ſend for your man to wait upon you.

Ha' you Wat ſtill?

Yes Sir, an honeſt true hearted civill fellow he is, as I have manag'd him, he can ſay grace now.

The world's well mended. To morrow you ſhall give me a note of your debts George, which I'le take order for, if I may preſume you have any.

Some driblets Sir, My credit has not lately wrong'd me much.

You ſpeake ſententiouſly, for credit ſought With Tradeſ-men, then their wares are dearer bought; So Gentlemen are wronged.

Then not to wrong our ſelves, lets in to Dance.

ALL Cheape-ſide, and Lombard ſtreete Madam, could not have furniſh'd you with a more compleat bargaine, you will find it in the wearing, and thanke me both for the goodneſſe of the ſtuffe, and of the Manufacture.

But now the price Miſtris Saleware. I grant your Commodity is good, The Gold and Silver Laces, and the Frienges are rich, and I hope well wrought. Has your Man made a note of the particulars, and their prices, at the rate of ready-money (for I buy ſo) and not as you would booke 'em to an under-ag'd heire, or a Court-Cavalier to expect payment two or three yeares hence; and finde it perhaps never. I come with Here is one for tother.

I know your Ladiſhips payment ſuch; And they are priz'd ſo Madam to a farthing.

Let mee ſee, broad plate Silver and Gold-lace, 206 Ounces halfe, and a dram, at five and ten pence the Ounce. 60 l. 5 s. 3 d. ob. 4. five and ten pence an Ounce is deare.

I proteſt unto you Madam that parcell of Lace for a Bed as you intend it, was beſpoken, and agreed for at ſix ſhillings the Ounce by a very great perſon: but becauſe ready money came not to fetch it off, Fortune reſerv'd it here for you, you could not have been ſo fitted on the ſodaine elſe within London walls; and I am glad the ſame fortune was ſo favourable to me, as by my hands to deſigne it for your Ladiſhips uſe and pleaſure. I hope Madam we ſhal hear of a young heir a comming ſhortly, and that will make it a rich and fortunate Bed indeed; And then Sir Olyv • r would thanke me too.

What a bold ſlut it is, well then the reſt of the particulars here of Laees, and Frienges, Loopes, and Buttons, makes the ſum of all an hundred pound eight ſhillings foure pence, halfe-penny. I am no good Arithmetician, but if any be overcaſt, and overpaid, you muſt allow reſtitution.

Yes, good Madam.

Is all put up into this Box?

All Madam.

Give mee my Purſe. Take you home that while I make payment for it; your Gold-weights Miſtris Salewa • e.

Here Madam all in readineſſe.

'Tis but light paines to weigh it Madam. But let me ſave your Ladiſhip that labour.

Nor ſhall it be your trouble, command your Servant I pray for a glaſſe of your beere—

Some beere for my Lady preſently.

That I may tell you in more privacy, what perhaps you would not have him heare: for Prentiſes though they are bound to keepe their Maſters ſecrets, are not all privy to their Miſtreſſes; that's more a Journeymans Office.

Your Ladiſhip is pleas'd.

Not very well with my ſelfe, for I have gone beyond my Commiſſion in this bargaine, and exceeded my Husbands allowance. Here's one hundred pounds eight ſhillings 4 d. ob. in the Bill, and he allowes me but the bare hundred pound.

The od money is but a ſmall matter Madam.

A great matter in an honeſt poore Countrey Ladies purſe, may ſerve her a whole Chriſtmas at Poſt and Pare, or Farthing gleeke, when the gay Gamſters wives o'the City may command the hundreds, out of the purſes of ſuch poore Ladies Husbands. But here is the odd money, eight ſhillings foure pence, half penny, and ſo all's paid.

What meanes your Ladiſhip?

Doe you not underſtand mee then? I'le tell you that which I thought fit to conceale from your ſervant; And from your husband too had hee been here, perhaps he knowes not on't. My husband left with you, or lent you the laſt Terme a hundred pound, which hee aſſign'd to me; and now I have it in Commodity. Had you forgot it, when it was to do you a good turne, when your abſent husband faild you, and you wanted it.

A good turne Madam?

Madam your Beere.

I' • e pledge you Miſtris Saleware.

I ſhall preſume then Madam—Drinks.

This was right caſt, was it not friend?

Your Ladyſhip will finde it ſo—La. Drinks.

And I hope you will finde your money ſo well beſtowd Madam, that you will vouchſafe always to know the Shop.

Ever upon the like occaſion, Miſtris Saleware, ſo moſt kindly farwell ſweet Miſtris Saleware.

The humbleſt of your ſervants Madam. Open the Boot for my Lady.

'Tis done my Coach-man does it.

I would the Devill were in your Coachmans Coat to take his carriage for his paines.

One word more Miſtris Saleware, can it be he?

Lay your comands on me good Madam.

Not to your trouble, I perceive a young Gentleman attends for conference with you. Is not his name Fitzgerrard?

No Madam, his name is Bellamie, much depending on the young Lord Lovely.

I thought I had known him, hee is a handſome youth. I cannot blame you now with him: but beware of old Knights that have young Ladies of their owne. Once more adieu ſweet Miſtris Saleware.

Moſt courteous Madam—and once more to the Devill. But on my life her chaſt Ladiſhip is taken with this beard-leſſe Bellamie. How ſhee ſhot eyes at him!

Now may your ſervant obtaine a hearing L •• y.

My eares are open Sir.

But you are ſad or angry, why ſeemes that brow to threaten a ſubjection over him that is your vanquiſh'd captive; or has Cupid plac'd his Bow there be • t at me, whoſe heart already lodges all his Arrowes, never to be reſtor'd but by your pity?

Fie, fie upon't! what talke is this? I am vex'd, and you would m •• me.

What has diſpleas'd you?

A croſſe buſineſſe that has happened in my Shop to day, I being none of the wiſeſt Chapwoman, have underſold a parcell of the beſt Commodities my husband had. And ſhould hee know't wee ſhould have ſuch a ſcwable.

Husbands ſhould be ſo ſerv'd that do impoſe Thoſe mercenary Offices on their wives.

Talke ſo, and I will heare you, your amorous notes ſound like Play-ſpeeches.

Servile, nay ſlav • ſh Offices, ranking their wives with their prentiſes.

They pretend onely that wee ſhould over-looke our ſervants, when they but ſet us there for ſhew to draw in cuſtome: but in making us ſuch over-ſeers they are overſeene themſelves; Shopkeepers-wives will be medling and dealing in their kinde, and as they are able, as wel as their husbands (ſome much better, and more profitable) but I was overreach'd I confeſſe.

No, the matter was not much (that never fretted me) but the manner has eene kild a Shee ſhop-keeper. I cannot be long-liv'd, here under a Pent-houſe, as my Lord (you know) told mee when he ſaid he would ſhut mee out of this ſervitude, and that I ſhould change my Coat, though my husband could not, before hee were an Alderman, and be rank'd with Ladies.

My Lord has ſtill the ſame regard of you.

So it appeares by the Tailor and the Mercer, whom he ſent foure dayes ſince to meaſure me out, and ſute mee to his Honour, and no returne of them found, yet his Land might ha • beene meaſur'd all and ſold, while a poore ſute is dreampt on, had he borne the mind of ſome Lord?

I doubt not but this paper will cleare that jealouſie. And while you reade I'le ſpeake that which I dare not utter through, Sighes and Bluſhes to an intire attention.

At the beare at the Bridge-foot ſix a clock, good.

Sir, I finde my Lords honorable appointments here, and have heard you all this while.

Now I could wiſh, and was in hope you had not.

You have ſchool'd mee fairely, I am humbled, Lady—

Pray attend you the tother end o' th' Shop, If I cannot handle a Cuſtomer, why dos • your Maſter truſt mee? Could a frowne fright you? Let a ſmile then cheare you.

I ſhall forget I have a Lord. I muſt forget him here.

Doe ſo, and if (I ſay) you love mee, ſpeake plainely what you▪ would have mee doe, or what you would doe with mee (I love to dant theſe young thing • that love before they can love to the purpoſe, or ſpeake to't▪ handſomely like a Boy that would faine be ſhooting at wild-fowle, before hee knowes how to diſcharge a Birding-piece) I would heare you ſpeake, you have often mu • tered and fribled ſome intentions towards me, but I would heare you ſpeake. Come, if you love me lay by the feare of the Lord that ſent you, and tell me roundly now, what you would have me doe?

I would intreat you—

Well; what?

That you would be pleas'd—

With what? or to doe what?

To weare this paire of Silke ſtockins for me▪

Is that all your ſute, 'tis granted, with my thanks to you; Have you no more to ſay?

Yes, I ſay you are the beautifull'ſt of Women; and that my Lord in your enjoyment is the happieſt—

Nay thinke not of your Lord, but aske me, ſomething.

How can you tell?

You will not wrong my Lord, ſo as to doe it.

Not in his ſight perhaps. What is it? come.

It is—

It is then, let it be ſo. Go to Schoole child.

Will that be a wrong to your Lord?

Yes, to weare any favours, but his own.

Dos he know this?

No, nor I would not that he ſhould (and given by me) for all the Rubies in Cheapſide, where I bought this but now, over the way.

Come ſir, I'le dally w'ye no longer, I know what you would have with me.

And now you will betray me: I am ſham'd then and undone.

No, but I have you o' • the hip. 'Tis plaine you would lie with me: deny it if you can.

O deare, did I ſay ſo now?

What need you when I know it, you would lie with me, and you ſhall. Take courage man.

But, in good earneſt, ſhall I? ſhall I?

Yes, in good earneſt, you'l finde it no trifling buſineſſe, when you come to't once. But ſir, upon condition.

Any condition Lady.

All purpoſe on't is loſt, and all comes out elſe.

Name your condition, I'le performe it if it be in the power of my life.

You ſaw here at your comming a faire Lady.

I tooke no notice of her.

But ſhe did of you, ſhe is calld the Lady Thrivewell.

The ſame, you have known her it ſeemes.

Seene her before ſhee was married.

I will be briefe with you, as you love mee ſhee loves you as eagerly, but with much more boldneſſe, you ſaw her whiſper mee, and how loth ſhee was to depart, when her eye was upon you.

I did obſerve it.

Shee is my noble friend, and the ſweeteſt Lady, I need not ſet her out. But though you thinke you ſuffer in your honour, in being an inſtrument twixt your Lord and mee, with the baſe blot of Pander ſticking on you, (theſe were your words) I have ingag'd my ſelfe for her to be your Pandareſſe; be ſo, I ſhall be even with you in buſineſſe if you account it ſo.

What dee meane Lady?

To urge againſt my ſelfe, for that ſweete Lady, which no Woman elſe I thinke would doe, that loves you ſo unfainedly as I. But 'tis my fate, and the injunction I muſt lay upon you, to make mee yours. That firſt you give your ſelfe to her Embraces; I'le give you means for your acceſſe to her, and your ſucceſſe with her, which done, and on your faith affirm'd to mee, 'tis ſo, I will perpetually bee yours more freely then your Lords.

You urge this but to try my conſtancy.

For that I'le ſatisfie you ſoon, my husband coming we muſt to night at the Beare—

My Lord writes ſo.

And there I will direct you in your progreſſe.

Ally how doſt? Mr. Bellamy how iſt? How dos my noble Lord? You are ſad methinks. Ha' you overbought any thing here, and ſo repent your bargaine? Or cannot my wife, and you agree upon't▪ you muſt uſe Mr. Bellamy kindly my ſweet Ally: hee is our nobleſt Lords moſt ſpeciall favorite, and muſt finde all faire dealing here, as well when I am abroad as at home ſweet heart.

You heare not mee complaine ſir, fare you well.

What an Aſſinego's this! He might ha' thank'd mee for my good words, though I meant him no good will, I hope thou haſt overreach'd him indeed.

Thomas your hopes are vaine, Thomas in ſeating mee here to overreach, or underreach any body. I am weary of this Mechanick courſe Thomas; and of this courſer habit, as I have told you divers and ſundry times Thomas, and indeed of you Thomas that confine me to't, but the bound muſt obey.

Never the ſooner for a haſty word, I hope ſweete Ally; Not of me nor of my ſhop I prethee at ſeaſonable times Love. But for thy habit (though this be decent on a Citizens wife) uſe thine owne fancy, let it be as Courtly, or as Lady-like as thou pleaſeſt, or my Lords deſires.

Then I am friends agen.

Troth, and I'le call thee friend, and I prethee, let that be our familiar and common compellation: friend it will ſound daintily, eſpecially when thou ſhalt appeare too gallant to be my Wife.

Then let it be ſo friend.

Intruth it ſhall, and I am very much taken with it. Friend I have found a Cuſtomer to day that will take off my rich parcell of broad Bed-lace, that my Lord Paylate beſpoke, and left on my hands, for lack of money.

I have ſold it already friend, with other Laces at a good rate.

And all for ready money friend?

Yes friend, a hundred pounds, and ſomewhat more.

I have diſpos'd of the money, the odd hundred pound for apparrell, friend, and other accommodations for my ſelfe.

Never the ſooner for a haſty word I hope friend.

I have done it friend, whereby to appeare more Courtly, and Ladilike as you ſay, to gaine you more cuſtome to your Shop.

Uuch friend—Is it ſo?

And friend you muſt not be angry, or thinke much of it, if you reſpect your profit friend.

I were no friend but a wretch if I would. No let it goe friend, and—Sapientia mea mihi is my word, I muſt not grudge at my friend in any thing.

Then friend, let your ſhop be your own care for the reſt of this day, I have ſome buſines abroad.

Whither ſweet friend?

Is that a friendly queſtion?

I am corrected friend, but will you not take a Man to wait upon you?

To watch me, ſhall I? and give you account of my actions? was that ſpoke like a friend?

Yet againe?

And agen, I am corrected friend?

Neither to ſupper, nor to bed perhaps.

Never the ſooner for a haſty word I hope.

But if I chance to ſtay, you cannot be a faithfull friend and aske mee where, or in what company, friendſhip you know allowes all liberty.

Better then wee know how to have payd, for that's the glory on't.

I need no more inſconſing now in Ram-alley, nor the Sanctuary of White-fryers, the Forts of Fullersrents, and Milford-lane, whoſe walls are dayly batter'd with the curſes of bawling creditors. My debts are payd; and here's a ſtock remayning of Gold, pure Gold harke how ſweetly it chincks.

Yes, and 'twill ring the changes ſhortly.

For neceſſaries Wat, for neceſſaries it ſhall change, and Ring all out, and 'twil ſo long as I have an Unkle, and know to mannage him, let money flie,

I can no faſter ſpend then he ſupply.

For neceſſaries ſir, but you muſt not now count Sack and Tobacco, Whores and Fidlers in abundance, neceſſaries.

Why pray?

Becauſe you'l have but little then for extraordinaries, That is to ſay in a Gentleman for charitable, and pious works and uſes.

The fellow's ſpoy'ld.

Not ſpoy'ld neither: For I would but wave your purpoſe of flying at all new Game, and neglect your poore whore, who now begins to be ſo violent for wrongs, ſhee can no longer beare, that ſhee intends to purſue you with her complaints hither to your Unkles Houſe.

My Unkles houſe? my houſe. Is not the firſt Mornings draught mine?

With great reaſon, for you are firſt dry in the morning.

Is not the queſtion firſt ask'd mee, what will you have to breakfaſt? what will pleaſe you for Dinner, and what for Supper? Has not my Unkle let out monies, and taken Bonds and Morgages in my name? doe not his Tenants crowch to mee, and his ſervants all call me young Maſter? And dos not my Unkle take care to marry mee to ten thouſand pound, and a thing like a wife?

You have got a brave poſſeſſion here, I muſt needs ſay; and I applaud your fortune moſt in this, tha • your young Aunt the noble Lady here, who you ſee feard would prove a cruell Stepdame to you, appeare • to be more friend to you then your Unkle. 'Tis a mo •• gracious Sun-ſhine in her.

Shee ſhall loſe nothing by't. I have thought a way to requite her.

But ſir, for Miſtris Phebe, will you take no order for the poore ſoule?

I do not like your zealous ſolicitation, but her • an order for her, in anſwer of her Malipert Letter yo • brought me laſt night. Give it her, and theſe five pieces upon condition that ſhee never come, write, or ſend to me againe, till I ſend to her.

That's ſomewhat hard Sir.

Nay look you Wat, you are a little miſtaken i • me. I muſt give over whoring, for ſpeciall cauſes there unto me moving.

O now I finde you. And 'twere richly wort • your patience, if you could winne the Widow by't, for whom you ſtood in faire election once, untill your laſt debauchment.

I ſhall ſtand fairer for her ſir, when I leave working but a weeke or two, ſhall I not?

Yes, if you leave it quite, but to forſake her whom you have brought low, to fall to others, were ſuch a thing—

Well ſir, it may be I will, it may be I wo'nt, what's that to you? carry you the Letter, and the Money, and try how that will worke with her.

I'le doe my beſt, but if ſhee ſhould exclaime, and bring on her Coſen Mr. Saleware to bee clamorous—

Her Cozen's a Cuckold, exclaime and clamorous! give me my money againe.

Nay I am gone ſir.

The Rogue's in faction with 'em; O noble Mr. Saveall, you have moſt fairely kept your minute with me, I have written my Letter, ſeald it and all, here to the Widow.

So early? that is well.

I have written no leſſe then ſix large Epiſtles this morning, and ſent'em now by my Man to be convey'd into the Country to Lords and Knights, with all the news ſpirituall, and temporall, forraine and domeſtick that could poſſibly fall into a private Gentlemans Collection.

Is it poſſible?

With ſuch dexterity, that if I would make a Trade on't, I could undoe all the Newes-mongers in Town that live by't.

It is a moſt commendable practiſe in a Gentleman, and it will mature your judgement in the both Common-wealth and State affaires, and in ſhort time invite you unto the chaire of Helme.

When I am once married, and ſetled, you ſhall ſee what an aſſe 'tis, he believes me.

How am I comforted in my Meditation for you, and how over-joy'd will your Unkle be at the uſe you make of your retirements!

I confeſſe it is (by reaſon of my unwontedneſſe to it) ſome difficulty for me to write to women; wherefore ſince you have ſo nobly undertaken the conveyance of this, let me beſeech you to apologize for the rudenes of my ſtile.

To the faire hands of the moſt acompliſh'd in vertue Mistris Anne Croſtill, preſent, I pray with my ſervice; The out-ſide hath no rudeneſſe on it, and (I doubt it not) ſhee ſhall finde within all ſweeteneſſe and urbanity.

As you may interpret it to her ſir.

Sir, what I have already ſaid, and do intend to ſay unto her from your Unkle, and my ſelfe on your behalfe, together with what you have here written, ſhall (I doubt it not) prepare ſo faire a way of proceeding for you; That at your viſit of her you may ſay, veni, vidi, vici, ſhe is your own.

And then—a ha, Mr. Saveall!

Expect your fortune modeſtly, and when it comes embrace it with diſcretion.

Sir, I am edified.

It is well if you be ſo; I will put my undertaking in action preſently, Pray for my good ſucceſſe.

I dare not tell him now I cannot; but I wiſh well for the Monies ſake; and let the Vintners pray, and all the decay'd Sparks about the Towne, whom I will raiſe out of aſhes into flame againe. Let them pray for my good wokes. O my young Lady aunts grave waiting Woman. If ſhee were not hers, and out of this houſe I ſhould take her for a Bawd now. But being hers, and here how much may I miſtake? all fleſh is frayle.

Not to diſturbe your morning Meditations, my Lady has ſent you—

And you have brought me, what ſweet Miſtris Cloſet?

A part of her Ladiſhip • own breakfaſt, it is very cordiall and comfortable to the ſpirits, I aſſure you, and delectable to the younger ſort, and profitable to the old.

One of Robert Greenes workes, or the mad Doctor that preaches boyld in't I thinke.

'Tis a compoſition of mine owne Sir, of many excellent decoctions, of moſt wholeſome reſtorative, and coſtly ingredients.

That it was ſent by her makes it more excellent, whoſe bounteous care of me, I muſt acknowledge exceeds all coſt in carving to me, and countenancing me at her Table, in gracing me in preſence of the Ladies that come to viſit her; in giving charge for decency in all things for my Chamber, my fires ſhining, my odours burning, my livery ſerv'd in, my ſoft and coſtly bed prepar'd and ſpread with perfum'd linnen—here's Ambergreece in this now—

O is it ſo, doe you finde that?

But though ſhee is my own Unkles wife, I could • 'ne ſay 'tis pity a young man had her not.

What a wag's this?

Shee is a moſt ſweet Lady.

Shee is a ſweete Lady indeed, I can beſt ſpeake it that have knowne her from the wombe hitherto: A ſweete infant ſhee was borne, and a ſweete babe I ſwadled it, and a ſweete child I nurs'd it, I traynd it up a ſweete child. It was in manners a ſweet child, at her Booke and Sample a ſweet child. I never whipt it but once, and then it was ſweete too, and ſprawl'd but a little, and whimper'd but a little it was ſo ſweet a child; And ſo ſhee grew upwards, and upwards towards woman, and a ſweet youngling ſhee was, and ſo grew upwards and upwards towards man, and then a ſweete Bride ſhee was, and now a moſt ſweet Lady ſhee is, (as you ſay, and I commend you for it) And ſo ſhe ſtands at a ſtay. For now ſhee growes no more upwards then upon her Wedding day, not upwards as I would have her upwards, here I meane young Gentlemen, could I but ſee a ſweet babe of hers once by my Maſter, I could be then content to ſleep with my Anceſtors.

I had rather ſee your Gibſhip hang'd up with Polcatts in a Warren, and your ſweet Lady with you, though I confeſſe that were ſome pitty. I hope her barrenneſſe, or his will preſerve her from my curſe.

I hope ſtill, and ſhee hopes ſtill; and I make him of this broth for every morning, and many other good ſtrengthning things (I cannot ſay for the ſame purpoſe) for I ſhall never ſee him have an heire by her.

Excellent! that's beſt of all.

Becauſe you then are heire, ſay you ſo? Is that your love to your Aunt?

No I proteſt Nurſe, I meant by the broth, the bottome was the beſt of all.

Then I cry mercy.

Cannot all thy art, and her coſt finde helpe for my Unkle, think'ſt thou, to get a child?

Helpe! what dee meane. He might have helpe and helpes enough, were ſhe not too vertuous.

Still thou miſtak'ſt me Nurſe.

Away wag away, your Aunt loves you too well to thinke ſo of her.

Nurſe as I hope to inherit any thing hereafter—

I ſhould but ſerve you well to tell her your good thought of her.

Nurſe, by this good—peece I thinke no harme.

Nay, nay.

Take it I ſay. And tell her if thou wilt, that I love her ſo well, that were ſhee not mine Unkles wife, I would get her an heire my ſelfe rather then be his.

Kinde young Maſter, now I am heartily ſorry that I mov'd you.

And for my Unkle were I his heire apparent, I rather wiſh he might live till all this World were weary of him, and the next affraid to take him.

Then I ſurvive him (Tonuge, a pox puniſh you for lying)

Now I live well, and merily good Nurſe,

Wealth and Eſtates, bring cares and troubles with'em,

Were all young heires of my contented mind,

Parents and Patrons would be better prayd for.

Good Gentleman.

Nurſe Cloſet.

O my Lady calls.

Preſent my thanks and beſt reſpects unto her.

I ſhould ha' told you firſt—I ha' forgot. My head is naught,

What member haſt thou good then?

My Lady deſires you—This talke has put me out—O this head! My Lady deſires you—

Deſires ſhee me Nurſe?

Refuſe me if I deſire not her as much, for all ſhe is my Unkles leavings.

My Lady deſires you.

And ſhee ſhall have me Nurſe—And ſhe were ten Unkles wives, and ſhe ten of mine Aunts.

O this head! nay now you will not heare mee, ſhee deſires you to goe abroad in the Coach with her.

Any whither, to Iſlington, Newington, Padington, Kenſington, or any of the City out-leaps (I know'em all) for a ſpirt and back againe, tell her I am up and ready for her, and could ha' been without her ſtirrup porredge, though I thanke her for her care. A man can not be too well prepar'd, or provided for ſo ſweete a Lady, in ſo much diſtreſſe. A very Andromeda, chain'd to a Rock.

What's this you ſay? I underſtand no word of it, I would take your anſwer right, though I falter'd in my Ladies meſſage.

The Devills in this overruning Tongue of mine, I could finde in my heart to worme him out with my teeth.

What muſt I tell my Lady Sir?

That I am more oblig'd to her Ladiſhip then I was to my Mother, ſhee has brought mee a new man into the World, and that my Being and my Life is hers.

I hope hee's a true convertite, did I ſend you to hold diſcourſe here, Cloſet?

Nor did I Madam but I could heare this Gentleman a whole day methinks. Hee ſpeakes ſo acknowledgingly of your Ladiſhips vertue, and goodneſſe towards him.

Good, I muſt weare her favours.

Or cannot you forbeare your ſtudy ſo long?

To doe you ſervice Madam, under whoſe commands I build my happineſſe.

Be not at the diſtance of complement with mee good Nephew.

I would not be thought inſolent deare Madam.

Come the Coachman grumbles at my ſtay, and 'twill be Dinner-time preſently, ſo the Cooke will be angry too.

You are all tenderneſſe to your ſervants Madam.

A ſweete Gentleman, and bountifull, if my Lady had been bleſt with ſuch a Husband, what a place had I had!

DOe you know the contents Mr. Saveall of the familiar Epiſtle you have brought me here?

No Lady, but I gueſſe it a faire expreſſion of the Writers affection to you, although hee deſired mee to crave your pardon for the rudeneſſe of his ſtile, it being the firſt that hee hath compoſed of that conſequence.

I finde ſhee is pleaſed, and my indeavour proſperous, for the young Gentleman, I am ſorry that I delaid a day in the delivering of it.

Pray read it out ſir, for I finde it ſo pleaſant that I could heare it a whole day together.

In the firſt place you ſhall give mee leave to wonder at your impudence (though it be but in your dreames) to have a thought that I ever intended, or can be drawne by perſwaſion, force, or the power of witchcraft to marry you—

Bleſſe mee! ſure if hee writ this, the Devill dictated to him.

On ſir, that's but his firſt charge.

Secondly, I am to tell you, that I am warme in mine Ʋnkles favour. And 'tis not a peece a time, or five peeces for a peece of pleaſure can undoe mee; and ſo I can have change, and ſcape the captivity of Wedlock.

This could no otherwiſe be done but by the Devill that ought him the ſhame.

What follows I pray, there's the firſt and ſecond point paſt? marke his method.

Lady, the injury done in it, to your ſelfe is unanſwerable, but my wrong in being his Meſſenger, I will make him anſwer.

Excuſe me Sir, he has done me a favour; I pray informe him ſo with my great thankes. But for what you conceive a wrong to your ſelfe, uſe your diſcretion, you have no more to ſay to me for him at this preſent, have you ſir?

Not for him but againſt him, I will un ſay all that I ſayd before intended for his good.

But i'le not heare you wrong your former love, and judgement of him ſo, which made ſo deepe impreſſion here, that I had lock'd his love up as a Jewell in my Breaſt, and you in ſtriving now to wreſt it thence may breake the Cabinet; I rather wiſh you'l be a friendly meanes to draw his preſence hither, that I my ſelf may mildly queſtion him.

Are you ſerious Lady?

I feare I ſhall not reſt before I ſee him, but doe not tell him that, leſt in this • ullen humour, hee force his abſence to afflict mee more; I'le hold you ſir no longer, deale for me as you can, I know you have a gueſſe at my deſire.

I'le doe you ſervice in it.

I gueſſe that her deſire is to doe ſome act of Revenge upon him. And (ſo it be not mortall) it were but Juſtice in her for ſo groſſe a ſcorne by him caſt upon a well reputed Gentleman. Yet is it obſerv'd in her that ſhee has a violent humour to do, and not to doe things oftentimes wilfully againſt all good councell or perſwaſion, ſhee has the ſpirit of contradiction in her, and an unalterable reſolution upon ſodaine intentions, a moſt incorrigible will ſhee has that will not bow nor breake. This croſſe abuſive Letter therefore may doe good upon her, however miſchievous hee might intend it. If ſhee meant well to him before, it may the faſter bring her on, but it amazes me that hee ſhould write ſo, bearing his Unkle, and my ſelfe in hand, that hee ſo fairely lov'd her, and beſought us to negotiate with her for him, ſhould ſhee forgive it, yet the wrong to us in his vile manners is unpardonable, and ſo ſir, I come to you.

O Mr. Saveall—

What doe you meane good ſir?

Hold I beſeech you, and ſir, though I loſe the Widow by my error (which was indeed but a meere accident) let mee not be ſo miſerable made as to loſe you, before you heare a ſhort Examination—

How could you erre ſo ſtrangely?

It was not ſo directed.

Do you thinke ſhee'l part with't ſir?

Cannot you beat it out of her ſir?

I cannot tell how to do that.

Thus ſir—i'le give you demonſtration, you malicious Rogue, you that conſpirſt with her to betray me, ſo good a Maſter I have beene to thee, and ſo good a friend to her, i'le recompence you both.

But what you Traitor you?

You put me in good minde, and if I do not ſomewhat.

I owe you ſomewhat for your laſt-nights abſence, too pernicious Villaine that kepſt thy ſelfe out o' the way o' purpoſe that I ſhould bee drunke, and abuſe my ſelf, and the houſe here all lay o' your abſence, There's ſomewhat more for that.

'Tis all upon account ſit.

Who knowes an honeſt Servingman that wants a good Maſter.

Was it your mans fault Mr. Careleſſe? if I be not reveng'd &c.

No faith, To ſpeak truth he was as much abus'd in it, as you in doing a thing as contrary to his vile conditions, as you did to your noble Name. But I crave onely your pardon, I know not what I doe beſides. This croſſe blow of chance ſtaggers my reaſon ſo—

Well ſir, ſince I have found the errour, my reaſon reconciles me to you, and ſince it grew out of your equall intent to caſt off the evill, as to embrace the good, I will re-mediate for you to the widow.

But yet ſhee'l know I have had a whore. Yet then you may ſay, 'tis ſuch a running Diſeaſe among young Gentlemen, that not one of a hundred has ſcap'd it, that have prov'd ſtay'd men afterwards, and very ſober husbands; As looke you yonders one may prove, whom now I have in good ſooth a great deſire to beate.

In your Aunts preſence, and your Unkles houſe; Though I were not his friend; could you be ſo outragious? I muſe I ſee him here though.

I make my ſelfe ſo, hee being dependent to my nobleſt Lord, whom I am bound to honour.

What Lord I pray, that I may honour him too.

The Lord Lovely.

That loves women above wine, wine above wealth, wealth above friend, and friends above himſelfe. There's no ſcandall in all that ſir.

It goes ſo of him indeed, but he loves honor above all thoſe.

Mr. Saveall a word.

Your ſervant Madam.

In the name of fleſh, for what dos his Lordſhip employ that Angle-worme to my Aunt? Hee has had her this houre in private conference, cloſe chamberd up together, not ſo much as Matron Nurſe in the roome with 'em, 'Tis a fine ſleeke thing, and almoſt pitty to hunt it, but ſure I muſt beat it, as place and time convenient may ſerve.

Pray • Mr. Saveall move you my Husband for it, I would not medle in his money matters willingly.

Five hundred pound for my Lord upon the mentioned ſecurity, I will break it to ſir Oliver.

Is that the buſineſſe after ſo much privacy? • very prety, my Aunts a woman too, and me Unkle may have as forked a fortune, as any of the City, that lend out money to hedge in Lordſhips.

I am his Lordſhips ſervant.

And I your Lordſhips good Madam. And yours Mr. Saveall.

I am for your way Mr. Bellamy.

And I ſir, and't pleaſe you.

George Careleſſe, I would ſpeak with you.

No good George, though I commend your curteſie, yet would I not you ſhould neglect your owne dignity.

Umh—I am under Government.

The young man, if you have modeſty will thinke you mock him, if not you'l make him become arrogant, know you not whoſe man he is?

No tis apparent, this over-ſlighting of him proclaimes ſhee loves him, whoſe follower Madam, and I know Lords followers, Knights fellows.

Not all Lords followers to all Knights George.

To as many as their faire Ladies will give way to, that are not faint-hearted.

I underſtand you not George; ſomething troubles you, you are not right to day.

I am only as I am in your favour Madam.

Come I know what perplexes you▪ and 'tis therefore that I deſire to talke with you; I am not angry with you, but let mee tell you George, although not openly I tooke notice of the pickle you came home in laſt night, after your Unkle was in Bed; to whom, mervayling at your abſence I excus'd you, as gone at my requeſt to viſit ſome Ladies with whom you ſtaid Supper, I told him, when you were with your Roucers.

But did you never go?

Indeed I did, and he was ſatisfied.

O my ſweet Lady Aunt • ! I was indeed amongſt'em, and deeply merry.

And drunke as deeply!

I will abuſe your goodneſſe ſo no more.

Say and hold George, for your own good.

What's now become of mee, I am under correction.

O my deare heavenly Aunt!

Firſt, at the doore you bounc'd like a Giant at the Gate of an inchanted Caſtle, before which could be opened offence was taken by you at your Sedan-men; for asking money (as appeard afterwards) more then you brought from the Taverne, and leaving their office fouler by a diſtemper'd ſtomach-full, then you found it. In the ſtrife for theſe ſad cauſes your Sword being ſeiz'd on, you being unable to uſe it, were found by my ſervants at Luggs with your brace of Corps bearers, in the dirt, and their poore hovill Chaire turnd on his ridge in the Kennell.

I'le never be drunk agen.

I hope you will ſay ſo, when you have heard all George; but by the way your late ſtock being ſpent, here are ten peeces towards a ſupply.

O ſweet golden Aunt!

Well ſir, the ſtriefe appeas'd, you were tane in. Then hay is there no Sack i'the houſe? Tis for you in you Chamber is replid, up you are had, where is the Rogue my man? not ſeene ſince Yeſterday; Fetch me a wench. Bleſſe us cries old Sim the Butler, wee have none i'th houſe, nor cannot ſend for any out o' dores. Doſt—tell me that? is not my Ladies Woman, my Ladies Chamber-maide, the Laundry-maide, the wench under the Cooke, my Ladies Nurſe old Winter plum, nor my Lady her ſelfe within? I know, or will know all the ſhee things in the houſe.

But why me up in your bedroll George?

P • eigh.

You remember none o' this!

Nor how you ſcar'd Chamber-maid, whom I ſent in love to ſee care taken for you, not dreaming of any ill thought in you, doe you remember how you told her, and what you would give her, when your Unkle died for a ſmall preſent curteſie? ſhe was faine to ſaisfie you with a falſe promiſe to ſteale to bed to you before foure men could force, or humor you into it.

What an unhallowed Raſcall was I!

'Tis well you conſider it now. And ſtill conſider George.

How ill exceſſe of Wine, Roaring and VVhoring becomes a Gentleman, and how well ſobrietie, curteſie, and noble action, and dangers wait upon the one ſort, and what ſafety accompanies the other!

Wine, Roaring and Whoring, I will lay that ſaying of yours Madam to my heart; but Wine is the great wheele that ſets the reſt a whirling.

True George, for had you not firſt beene • ullied with Wine, you would not have abus'd your ſelfe to ha tumbled in the dirt with your Litter-mules, nor offer'd to ſeduce my Chamber-maide. Suppoſe you had overcome her, how could you have come off but with ſhame to your ſelfe, and the utter ruine of the poore Wench?

Still ſhee corrects me for my medling with baſe matters and people, ſhee is not angry ſhee ſayes, though I call'd for her laſt night i'my drinke, ſhee gives me mony, I will now underſtand her, and whereunto all her former favours and her later admonitions are directed, and preſently appeare a gratefull Nephew.

Nay, bee not ſad upon it George, as I would win you from your faults, I would have you ſtill be cheerfull. If any thought troubles you, you may be free with me George.

How meane you?

Freely and wholly, the trueſt, faithfullſt ſervant, and I thinke the ableſt that any Lady of your lacks and longings ever beſtowd a favour on, though I ſay' • my ſelf. You'l ſwear't when you have tri'd me, and't be but hourely for a month together.

Is the man ſound troe?

I defy Surgeon, or the Potecary can come againſt mee.

Sound i' your ſenſes ſir, I meane.

O for blabbing Madam never feare mee, now I am reſolv'd to live ſoberly, and be onely yours. And with ſuch pleaſure, with ſuch ſafety, ſecreſie, and fulneſſe, I will ſo conſtantly ſupply you, that you ſhall not have time to dreame of the defects of your old man.

Doe you meane your Unkle, and not know whoſe wrong you unnaturally and ſinfully purſue?

No man living Madam can doe it for him, more naturally and leſſe ſinfully; I am of the ſame fleſh and blood, and bring his youth to your pleaſure, how can you thinke old Unkles children are got? or how came up the proverbe, Shee is one of mine Aunts, doe you thinke? You would have a child by him. All your Cawdells and Cock-broaths will never doe it, An old mans generative ſpirit runs all into braine, and that runs after covetouſneſſe too, get wealth, not children. Believe it, much Nephews helpe belongs to it, and then the children are not degenerate, I cannot thinke but many Unkles know it, and give way to it, becauſe ſtranger bloods ſhall not inherit their Lands, and ſo ſweet Aunt if I live not to inherit his, my ſon may, in your firſt born. There will be a ſweet comfort to you.

In earneſt? yes, And I pray ſo take it, and let it be a bargaine, and now preſently in the Chamber, I will make you my firſt payment for the purchace.

Fie, fie, you doe but ſay ſo?

That ſhall be tri'd preſently. Come ſweet Madam, I finde you are willing, and I ſweare I am reſolute, and will be as ſecret as your own woman, if you will not goe I proteſt i'le carry you.

Nay preythee George ſet me down a little.

Pſewgh—I need none o' theſe wheſings I.

But prathee tell mee, doſt thou not all this onely to trie me, or am I a Rogue thinke you, or wouldſt thou ſeriouſly that thine own naturall Unkle, thy bountifull Patron, nay thy father on the matter, ſhould ſuffer ſuch a wrong, and done by us?

Harke there againe, Madam have I not proved ſufficiently and plainely, that I ſhall in doing the feate for him doe him the greateſt right in the world, in getting him, and you an indubitable heire, and to give him both the comfort, and the glory of it?

Was ever ſuch a Reprobate?

And you can doe him no wrong (though you had not a Ladies priviledge) to Cuckold him, for aſſure your ſelfe hee Cuckqueanes you, now come Madam.

You ſpeake not on your knowledge.

I never was his Pimpe, but what I have heard, I have heard. Now come Madam.

I heard Mr. Saveall proteſt within theſe three days that hee thought my Husband the chaſteſt man (of a Gentleman) that he knows.

O did hee ſo, Madam, believe it they two have whor'd together, and that Saveall has pimpt for him oftener then you ever lay with my Unkle.

What! ſince he married me?

What an inhumane Villain's this▪

I'le tell you all now upon our inward acquaintance.

You have told too much already to have any acquaintance with me at all, nor ſhall you, unleſſe you preſently recant all that you have, or would have ſaid upon this ſubject.

Madam—

Stand further and replie not, leſſe I call in thoſe that ſhall ſadly ſilence you. Have you abus'd your Unkle, and the next beſt friend you have i' the World, in hope thereby to abuſe mee moſt, that was no enemy of yours till now you juſtly have provok'd me?

I tooke not a right courſe.

Was this the beſt conſtruction you could make of my love to you, or a fit requitall, to make me an inceſtuous Whore?

Yes, yes, a pox my courſe was right enough, but I undertooke her at an ill ſeaſon. Her ſpruce ſpringall left her but now, i'le tell her ſo Madam.

Come I perceive you are ſorry; and that's a part of ſatisfaction. Therefore for once I'le winke at your tranſgreſſion, eſpecially before others. Here's one you ſee.

I doe, the Devill blind her.

Madam—

But tempt me ſo againe, and i'le undoe you.

Nay be not ſad George, diſcover not your ſelfe, and you are ſafe, for once I tell you.

Shee'l come about I ſee.

But will you Cozen goe, and doe that for me?

Moſt readily good Madam, I have your full directions.

All Coſen, if you forget not.

I cannot be ſo negligent in your ſervice Madam, I finde by this fain'd errand ſhee dares not truſt her trollop there, I love her wit now too.

He is both ſchoold, and coold I hope. Now Cloſet what's your News?

Of a Citizen Madam that intreats to ſpeake with your Ladiſhip.

Doe you not know his Name, or Trade?

Yes, I had both eene now, but I have ſuch a Head.

If you have loſt 'em by the way pray go back and ſeeke 'em, or bring you his buſineſſe.

I ask'd his buſineſſe Madam, and told him hee might truſt mee with it without a hand to his booke, but he ſaid it could not be delivered, but by his owne word o' mouth to your Ladiſhip.

What ſtrange matter is it troe? or what Citizen, is not his Name Saleware?

Yes Madam, and he is a (O this head) a—

A Silkeman is he not?

Yes Madam the ſame.

I hope his impudent Wife has not told him all; if ſhee has, where's his remedy in this Womans Lawcaſe?

There's a Gentleman with him too Madam.

Then wee ſhall have it, 'Tis his Wife ſure, well I am prepar'd for the incounter. Bid 'em come up, if they grow violent or too bold with mee, i'le ſet my Nephew George upon 'em. 'Tis not his Wife, what Creature is it troe with me, Mr. Saleware?

Craving your pardon Madam, a few words in the behalfe of this poore Kinſewoman of mine, touching a Gentleman, who I heare lives in your Houſe, Mr. George Careleſſe, Madam, by whom ſhee has received much injury.

How ſir I pray?

Pray Madam read this Letter, weepe not, but hold up thy head Cuz, wee will not be daſht, nor baſht in a good cauſe; pray read you Madam.

Wherein appeares the injury to your Kinſwoman?

In flying from his Word, and Deed Madam. He has borne her in hand theſe two yeares, and uſe her at his pleaſure, detaining her from her choyce of many good fortunes, and at laſt ſends her this to make amends for all, and denies his act the next day, ſending his man to take the Letter from her, pretending 'twas directed to another. But never the ſooner for a haſty word Coſen, we will not be daſht nor baſht, I warrant thee.

I am the ſorrowfull one that is knowne by it Madam.

Never the ſooner for a haſty word Coſen.

I conceive the buſineſſe, and find the error, and my great doubt is over.

Weepe not I ſay.

What would you have me doe Mr. Saleware?

You have diſcretion Madam, and I made choice of your Ladiſhip to open this matter unto you, rather then to Sir Oliver himſelfe, whom I would not willingly exaſperate againſt his Nephew, you may be pleaſed in a milder way to temper him, and worke a ſatisfaction for my Kinſewoman; Sir Oliver and your ſelfe Madam, are noble Cuſtomers to my Shop, and for your ſakes I would not deale rigourouſly with your Kinſeman, if a gentle end may be made. But, if you cannot ſo compound it, the Law lies open, money and friends are to be found, a good cauſe ſhall not be ſterv'd, I will not be daſht not baſht, Sapientia mea mihi is my word, and ſo good Madam you know my mind.

'Tis pity a Gentlewoman ſhould ſuffer too much, and I like her ſo well at firſt ſight, that I am eaſily mov'd to doe good for her, is ſhee your Kinſewoman in blood Mr. Saleware, or your wifes?

Mine I aſſure your Ladiſhip, though my wife can boaſt as great and noble friends I thank fortune, as the wife of any Tradeſman that carries a head in the City, (but that's by the by) yet I came of a better houſe, and am a Gentleman borne, none diſprais'd.

Well Mr. Saleware, leave your Kinſewoman with me a little while, you ſhall not be ſcene in my act, i'le try what I can doe for her.

Well ſir, you neede not doubt my high Carriage.

Cloſet.

Madam.

Take▪ this Gentlewoman to your Chamber, and I charge you let none ſee her, or take notice of her, but your ſelfe and me, till I give order.

I ſhall be bound to your Ladiſhip, now to my Shop, to which I thanke my Wife ſhee has beene a Wildcat theſe two dayes, which muſt be borne with as wee are friends. And from my Houſe all Night, and yet no Greene-gooſe-faire-time; Nor though ſhee were ſo abſent muſt I be ſo unfriendly as to queſtion her, where, or with whom ſhee was; a new Article this twixt Man and Wife! But Sapientia mea mihi, ſtultitia ſua ſibi. Thus it muſt be where Man and Wife are friends, and will continue ſo in ſpight of chance, or high heeld ſhooes, that will awry ſometimes with any Women. Shee is not yet come home heere. WhatThe Shop diſcover'd, Alicia, & Bellamy. Ladies that, and not my Wife there to handle her handſomely for her Money? My ſervants are ſuch Aſſinegoes! ſtay, are mine eyes perfect? 'Tis ſhee, 'tis my Friendwife, and in the Courtly habit, which ſo long ſhee has long'd for. And my Lord Lovelies Gammed with her. His Lordſhip lay not at home to Night, neither at his Lodging, I heard that by the way. I cannot thinke my Lord and ſhee both ſate up all Night to ſee the Taylors at worke, and to haſten the finiſhing of thoſe Cloaths, if ſhee were with him which I would not be ſo unfriendly to inquire for the worth of a Wife. 'Twas right honorably done of him to ſend her home as gallantly attended as attir'd, if ſhee die—a—a—lie with him all Night, which I will not be ſuch a beaſt to believe although I kn • w it. I muſt come on her with a little wit though, for which I will precogitate.

Once more your ſtory, for I am not ſatisfied with thrice being told it.

Can a Woman take ſo much delight in hearing of another Womans pleaſure taken?

As it was given by you I can, for I am prepard by it to take pleaſure from you, and ſhall with greedineſſe expect it till I have it.

Then know I pleas'd her ſo, that ſhee proteſted, (and I believe her) her Husband never pleas'd her ſo.

Or any other man you ſhould ha' put her to that, her Husband's but a Bungler.

How know you that?

I doe but gueſſe.

Nay ſhee ſwore deeply, and I believ'd her there too, no man beſides her husband but my ſelfe had e're injoy'd her, but let me tell you Lady, as ſhee was amply pleas'd ſhe may thanke you.

For ſending you, I know ſhee did and will.

Indeed!

In reall deed, I can ſpeak now like an embolden'd Lover.

I had you ſtill in my imagination, and that enabled mee to be more gratefull to her Ladyſhip, which wrought her thankfulneſſe to you, expreſt in a hundred pieces, ſent by me, more then I tould before, which are your own ſhee ſayes, ſince tother morning ſhee was here with you.

That token confirmes all. Had I the ſpirit of Witchcraft, when puting upon chance for my Revenge, to find Reward! Have you the money?

Safe at my Chamber for you.

O you are cunning, leſſe I ſhould breake with you you thought to oblige me by't.

I'le rather run and fetch you twice the ſumme, I conceal'd it onely to give it you unexpectedly.

Sweete Bellamy I am yours, I could be ſorry now I have loſt ſo much of thee. This Kiſſe, and Name your time—

Would they had done whiſpering once, that I might enter ſafe in my manners.

To morrow night.

Shall you be ready ſo ſoone thinke you after your plentifull Lady-feaſt.

O with all fulneſſe both of Delight and Appetite.

And with all faith and ſecreſie I am undone elſe, you know my vowes unto my Lord.

And can you thinke I dare be found your meane, to break'em.

No more my husband comes. Pray Sir returne my thanks unto my Lord for his right noble bounty, and not mine alone, for ſo my husband in much duty bound alſo preſents his thanks unto his Lordſhip.

Yes, I beſeech you ſir.

I am your willing Meſſenger.

I take my leave.

Still this is an Aſſinego. I can never get him to ſtand a Conference, or a Complement with mee. But Sapientia mea mihi, what was that friend you made mee ſend thanks for to his Lordſhip, what new favour has hee done us, beſides his councell—Theſe Clothes, the coſt was mine you told mee, out of the odd hundred pound you tooke, what late Honour has hee done us?

I • t not enough I know Friend? will you ever tranſgreſſe in your impertinent inquiſitions?

I cry you mercy friend, I am corrected juſtly.

Will you never be governd by my judgement, and receive that onely fit for you to underſtand, which I deliver to you undemanded? Doe not I know the weight of your floore thinke you? Or doe it you on purpoſe to infringe friendſhip, or breake the peace you live in?

Never the ſooner for a haſty word, I hope Friend.

Did you not Covenant with mee that I ſhould weare what I pleaſed, and what my Lord lik'd, that I ſhould be as Lady-like as I would, or as my Lord deſir'd; that I ſhould come, and go at mine own pleaſure, or as my Lord requir'd; and that we ſhould be alwayes friends and call ſo, not after the ſillie manner of Citizen and Wife, but in the high courtly way?

All this, and what you pleaſe ſweete Courtlyfriend I grant as I love Court-ſhip, it becomes thee bravely.

O dos it ſo?

And I am highly honor'd; And ſhall grow fat by the envy of my repining Neighbours, that cannot maintaine their Wives ſo like Court-Ladies, ſome perhaps (not knowing wee are friends) will ſay ſhee's but Tom Salewares Wife, and ſhee comes by this Gallantry the Lord knowes how, or ſo. But Sapientia mea mihi, let the Aſſinegos prate while others ſhall admire thee, ſitting in thy Shop more glorious, then the Maiden-head in the Mercers armes, and ſay there is the Nonparrell, the Paragon of the Citie, the Flower-de-luce of Cheapſide, the Shop Court-ladie, or the Courtſhop Miſtris, ha' my ſweet Courtlie friend?

How do you talke? As if you meant to inſtruct'em to abuſe me.

Sapientia mea mihi.

To prevent that I will remove out of their walke, and keepe ſhop no more.

Never the leſſe for a haſty word I hope Friend.

Fie, 'tis uncourtly, and now i'le tell you Friend, unaskd, what I have done for you beſides in my late abſence, and all under one.

Under one! yes, I could tell her under whom if I durſt.

What's that you ſay Friend? mee thinkes you mutter.

No Friend, I was gueſſing what that other thing might bee that you have done for mee, all under one. You have taken the Houſe i'le warrant, that my Lord lik'd ſo.

By my Lords favour and direction I have taken it, And I will furniſh it ſo Courtly you'l admire.

Muſt I then give up Shop, or lie ſo far remote?

No you muſt keepe your Shop Friend, and lie here if you pleaſe.

And not with you but there?

But I ſhall have a Chamber in your houſe, and next to yours. Then in my Gowne and Slippers Friend at Midnight—or the firſt Cock.—

Softly for ſtumbling Friend, i'le doe you any honourable offices with my Lord, as by obtaining ſutes for you, for which you muſt looke out, and finde what you may fitly beg out of his power, and by courtly favour. But keepe your Shop ſtill Friend, and my Lord will bring and ſend you ſuch cuſtome, that your Neighbours ſhall envy your wealth, and not your Wife; you ſhall have ſuch commings in abroad and at home, that you ſhall be the firſt head nominated i' the next Sheriffe ſeaſon, but I with my Lord will keepe ▪you from pricking. Bee you a Cittizen ſtill Friend, 'tis enough I am Courtly.

Here's a new Courtlie humour, I ſee no remedy, unleſſe I run my ſelfe out of credit, defie the life of a Cittizen, and turn Courtly too.

What's that you ſay? doe you not mutter now Friend?

No, not a ſillable Friend, but may not I give up Shop and turne Courtly too Friend?

As you reſpect my Lord, and your own profit, you muſt be a Cittizen ſtill, and I am no more a Cittizens Wife elſe, and ſhee muſt be a Cittizens Wife, that wuſt doe all in all with my Lord Friends. Though my Lord loves the Clothes of the Court, hee loves the diet of the City beſt Friend, what ever I weare outwardly hee muſt finde me Cittizens Wife, which Friend, O hee's a ſweet Lord.

Well it ſhall be then as the ſweete Lord will have it, Sapientia mea mihi.

BEllamy thou art welcome, and for thy Nephew I muſt ever thanke thee, he is my beſt companion.

O my good Lord without boaſt be it ſpoken, I have ever beene right and ſtraight to your honour, and never did you an ill office in Man, Woman, or Child, what I have ſaid of 'em they have proved at first, or I have wrought 'em to at last. But what doe I ſpeake on't, I have ever beene for your Lordſhip, all things I have ſworne for you, I have fought for you, I have brok'd for you; I have pimpt for you, but what doe I ſpeake on't?

You need not Bellamy: for I know all.

Oh the Gentlemens Wives, and Farmers Daughters that I have preſented to you in your Summer Progreſſes, and winter Journeys about the Countries. But what doe I ſpeake on't—

Becauſe thou lov'ſt to champ upon the bit to pleaſe thy old coltiſh tooth ſtill, thou lov'ſt the memory of the former ſweets which now thou canſt not reliſh.

And here i' the City, I have pledg'd more of your ſeverall Miſtreſſes, then in my conſcience there be honeſt Women in't. But what doe I ſpeake on't?

I never had ſo many man.

Or if you had, what doe I ſpeake on't? and in my conſcience agen, I have drunke more to your Lordſhips health in my dayes, then any Wine-cellar in the City at this day, containes of Spaniſh French, and Rheniſh; but what doe I ſpeake of that either?

True Bellamy, fall then upon • ome other ſubject.

Yes, my good Lord, and I pray your Lordſhip tell mee, dos not my Nephew drinke and wench pretty handſomely? I would faine have him take after me, and not his drunken father.

How well hee ſhifts his ſubject, wicked old fellow!

Dos he not begin to fall to yet?

Not he.

Not a bit nor a ſoope? dos hee doe nothing by example? or has your Lordſhip left it? or dos he carry it like a Gentleman?

Pretty commendation for a young Courtier.

I would for my deſerved love to him have put him upon a faire young Widow of a great fortune, but could not make him looke upon her like a ſuitor.

Juſt ſuch a baſhfull puppy was my brother, his Father; I wonder how my Mother came by him; My Father was right, and ſhe was right, and I have beene right, but what doe I ſpeake on't?

True Bellamy, ſpeake of ſomewhat elſe.

The Boy will nere grow up to me, I thought to have left him ſomewhat, I muſt diſcard him.

If you do, he is in me provided for.

What can your Lordſhip love him for?

Come i'le tell thee, and be comforted. Hee has ſomething of thee in him. Hee will pimpe moſt conveniently.

That's ſomething indeed.

And for his modeſty which is a rare benefit of nature in him, I dare truſt him with a Miſtriſſe, as I would an Eunuch.

Benefit! A defect I feare, yet I may hope in time ſome Miſtris of your Lordſhips may tempt, and bring him forwards.

No I am confident—Now your news.

Some Miſtris is comming to him, but what doe I ſpeake on't?

Stay you at diſtance yet a while Friend, till I call you.

How now! How is it with my love? Ha! How comes a trouble on this Face, where my delights are ever wont to Revell?

O my Lord—

Say who has injur'd thee? Has thy husband taken up the uncivill boldneſſe to abuſe thee? or be it any other man, it ſhall be death, or an undoing to him.

My Lord, I am wrong'd, but would be loth to ingage your noble perſon in my quarrell, ſome ſervant of yours may do it.

Of what condition is thy wrong? tell mee; and who of my Servants thou wouldſt have to right thee?

I would have Bellamy, how thinke you? is hee faithfull to you?

How canſt thou queſtion it? Has hee not ever been ſo?

Your Lordſhip has well truſted him I know.

I doe not know the man, I truſt, or love ſo well.

But would your Lordſhip part with any Jewell, or choyce thing you love, and have intended onely for your own particular uſe, to him, or let him be your own partner in it?

Troth I thinke I ſhould; onely thy ſelfe excepted, but what's thy wrong I prithee, or wherein ſhould Bellamy right thee?

Bellamy has wrong'd mee to thinke me ſo unworthy as to be tempted to his luſt; Bellamy has wrong'd your honour in that ambitious attempt.

Thou amazeſt me.

And Bellamy muſt right me, and your honour; or you muſt caſt off him or me.

Muſt not▪ I be believ'd? you ſhall have inſtance then to make it truth, Friend Thomas.

Pray verifie unto my Lord the diſcovery you made laſt night of me, and Mr. Bellamy.

'Twas thus my Lord an't like your Lordſhip, my wife was forth at evening ant like your Lordſhip, as ſhee may have often beene ant like your Lordſhip, and may be as oft agen ant like your Lordſhip.

Well pray thee on.

Forth ſhee was ant like your Lordſhip, I ſtaid ſupper, and almoſt bed time for her ant like your Lordſhip; And had even given her over for all night ant like your Lordſhip, as I may of any night ant like your Lordſhip.

O • I pray thee.

Yes ant like your Lordſhip upon ſome private notice given to me an't like your Lordſhip, that ſhe was at a private lodging ant like your Lordſhip, with a private friend ant like your Lordſhip, over I went, and found her abed ant like your Lordſhip, and Mr. Bellamy even ready to go to bed to her ant like your Lordſhip.

Is this true?

As true as your Lordſhip lives ant like your Lordſhip.

How could you be betrayd ſo?

The Villaine fetch'd mee forth, and lodg'd mee there as by your appointment, and for your own pleaſure; but when 'twas late, and that your Lordſhip came not, thinking hee had an advantageous opportunity, hee ſoone diſcovers his love to me, and his treachery to your Lordſhip; I being in a ſtrait onelyAſide. (finding happy meanes to ſend for my husband to prevent him) made him a falſe promiſe being ſecure in my husband; and what had follow'd your Lordſhip underſtands.

I'le nere truſt man can bluſh and weepe agen.

Inſooth ant like your Lordſhip I thought all had been but waggery ant like your Lordſhip, to tempt mee unto jealouſy, and my wife knowing well enough that I was by, bade Sweet Bellamy come to Bed, O Wag!

What meſſenger brought you the notice Mr. Saleware?

A waterman my Lord, and like your Lordſhip, here's the letter, and like your Lordſhip.

You told me you had loſt it, when I ask'd • ort to burne it.

I thought I had Friend, but I found it now, and given it my Lord before I was aware Friend.

Hell take that Letter.

Now abotts on't for mee, if thou beeſt angry Friend.

You had better ha ſwallow'd it full of Ratsbane.

Nere the ſooner for a haſty word I hope Friend.

Mr. Saleware, if you will avoyd a new addition of hornes, come with this bearer over into Montagues cloſe, where you ſhall finde your Wife with a private Friend, at a private lodging; Hast thither, and aske for one Bellamy.

What Ridles this? This is Bellamies owne hand, I know it, why ſhould hee ſend to prevent himſelfe? or how could ſhee write his Character? This Woman is not right.

Doe you note my art my Lord, to write as in a Mans Name, when I wrought it my ſelf?

And did not I tell you Friend, it ſhould ha' been Anonima? Sapientia mea mihi.

Hee's not within my Lord, and has not beene to night.

His abſence is another circumſtance to a probability my Lord.

But hee was ſeene this morning to goe in at Sir Anthony Thrivewels.

Goe let my Coach be ready preſently.

My Lord I gave you an inkling of a familiarity betwixt him and the Lady Thrivewell, he has ſince declar'd their act of luſt to me, and urg'd it for an inſtance to my yeilding.

Can you affirme this?

Yes, to his face and hers.

O Mr. Saveall! welcome.

My Lord your ſervant Bellamy is receaving your money at Sir Anthony Thrivewells.

I thanke you.

But my Lord, there is fallen an unhappy accident betweene Sir Anthony, his Lady and his Nephew, in which your ſervant Bellamy alſo is concern'd; And your Lordſhip is much, and moſt humbly beſought by the Lady to heare, and examine the difference.

I was preparing thither. Oh Mr. Bellamy, you have not eaveſdropt, have you?

Will you pardon me my Lord?

Yes if thou haſt.

I have my Lord, and am overjoyd to heare ſo well of my Nephew.

I may heare more anon, your Lordſhip tho' knowes not of what ſo well as I doe know.

I Need not caſt thee off, or bid thee goe Now, and for ever from me, thine own ſhame Will force thee hence.

You are deceiv'd in that.

Shee was mine own before your wife became our coupler, in Engliſh plaine our Bawd.

Uſe no uncivill Language while you are well.

For which you have your witneſſes, this falſe Traytor, that brought you on.

By my direction George.

No Traytor neither fince you left to be my Maſter, wounded and turnd me off.

And this darke Lanthorne here, this old deceptio viſus, That juggled the wrong party into my Bed.

Ha, ha, ha.

Doe you grin Grim Malkin? But ſweete Madam, if your fine Springall Bellamy had lien there in my ſtead ſhe would ha • brought the right party; your Ladiſhips Lilly white ſelfe.

No more o' that good George.

Nay, it ſhall out, ſince you have wrought my ruine, I will be the deſtruction of you all; And therefore now heare mee O Knight, and firſt reſolve to make me rich in my reward, for wonders i'le unfold.

Canſt thou expect reward from mee for any thing that can by thee be utterd?

Reward? why not? why ſhould not you reward my good Offices as well as puniſh my ill? I muſt and will rely upon you for all the good that can befall mee; or if I muſt expect no further from you, i'le give't you gratis, And if you be any thing but a Wittall heare mee.

What doe you meane?

To ſet you out livelyer, then all your paintings: or dee heare, will you give mee a hundred pound a quarter for my ſilence?

Not a penny; if you ſeeke my undoing, heaven forgive you.

What (Villaine) canſt thou ſpeake to her prejudice?

That which (if you are no Wittall) you'l be leath to hear, but you ſhall have it.

Darſt thou talke ſo?

And ſince you hold my attempt at her, ſo haynous, you may be pleas'd to know I was incited to't by example of him I nam'd, that ſmooth Fac'd Bellamy.

Darſt thou accuſe her with him?

You may aske her bolſter there, her Madam Nurſe old Mother Cock broth.

O me.

I, O you aske her ſir, what ſhee did with him, or he with her, in their two houres privacy in her chamber, when hee came to take up five hundred pound for his Lord, There was a ſweet taking up, ſir ſhee confeſſed all to me, and on purpoſe, I dare be ſworn to embolden mee in my attempt to her Ladyſhip.

I confeſſe?

What did ſhee confeſſe?

That hee made uſe of your Bed with your wife, what language ſhall I utter't in? you were beſt fee it done before you believe it.

O me moſt miſerable if this be true!

Well, there's for them two.

Goe Cloſet till I call you.

Now for that Rogue (becauſe I muſt expect no further good of you, but this which is mine owne you ſay) i'le lay him open to you, you remember how once I ingratiated my ſelfe to you by reſcuing you from a Robbery and Murder (as you ſuppos'd) for which you took me into favour—

Yes, and have wiſh'd a thouſand times ſince, that I had loſt the thouſand pound I had about me then, and tane ſome wounds for't in exchange rather then by that reſcue to have taken thy Viperous ſelfe into my boſome.

This Rogue plotted that buſineſſe, 'twas a mere trick of his invention. The ſuppoſed Theeves were his companions, and wrought by him only to ſcare you and run away when wee came to your ſuccour, onely to indeare mee to you. There was no hurt meant, but the ſlap I gave him over the Pate to colour the buſineſſe, with little blood, I wiſh now I had cleft his braines.

Your wiſh tho' againſt your will is a good reward to him, for I love him the better for his wit in that plot, and care of his then Maſter.

Doe you ſo ſir? Then 'twas mine own invention, let him deny't if he can.

I cannot condemne the conceipt however; and am ſomething taken with the wit on't, would all the reſt were no worſe.

And now I have utterd my whole mind ſir, and you declard I muſt expect no further good of you, come away Phib, I have injur'd thee long, i'le make the • now amends for all; i'le marry thee, and ſell Tobacco with thee.

Let him not go ſir, I beſeech you in this deſperate way, nor till I anſwer to his accuſation.

Sir you ſhall ſtay, and make your ſelfe good before authority, or cleare my wife.

You'l have your houſe then known to have beene a bawdy-houſe?

The Courts of Princes and Religious Houſes May ſo have been abus'd.

Under ſuch Governeſſes.

You'l anon be ſilent, what's the matter? wee are buſy.

Miſtris Crostill, Madam is come in great haſt to viſit you, and a Kinſeman of your Ladiſhips with her.

At ſuch a time? excuſe your ſelfe.

They are here ſir, enterd againſt all reſiſtance.

I have a private ſute to you Madam.

Pray Mr. Thrivewell entertaine the Lady.

Another ſprunt youth.

He is a villaine, ſeekes my utter ruine,

You are undone for ever if you doe.

I tell you, ſhee's a Whore with Child by him, layes claime to him, and I think hee'l marry her.

Still you ſpeake better of him, and my love muſt not ſee him ſo loſt, ſir let me ſpeake with you.

Me Lady? I am buſy; I am buſy.

I bluſh for you, what would you ſay now, were it not too late?

Nay onely to your eare.

Stand off a while Phib.

How doe you meane?

Had I thought ſo, I had ſpoke well of him Againſt my conſcience.

I underſtand you not.

Can you ſo ſlight me?

But ſay on compoſition ſhee acquit you.

O but conſcience is conſcience.

You are then undone.

I care not ſir, for your ill will: no more ſhall hee.

Are you catch'd Widow? Future, for Unkles now?

Why anſwer you not me, in troth plight?

I'le give her a brace of hundred pounds.

The Woman will not take it.

The Woman ſhall take it, for now know ſir, I love you not ſo ill as to undoe you. This Woman has beene mine as much as yours, ſhee has done as much with mee for Offices, and Service I have done for her, as ſhee has done with you for Love and Money, let her deny't.

I have lately ſuſpected ſo.

And if her Friends will make her brace of hundreds a leaſh i'le marry, and honeſtifie her.

Honeſt Wat in good earneſt • Gentlewoman with your hand give him your conſent, and i'le ſupply you with the od hundred pound, for Wats love to his Maſter.

Will you?

Yes, and with your allowance; it ſhall be in lieu of the hundred I tooke in Commodity of her Kinſwoman Miſtris Saleware, which would never thrive with mee (as it may properly with them) as 'twas the price of luſt you know it was, and how untowardly things have chanc'd amongſt us ſince it was ſo; And now that I have declin'd it, you ſhall ſe • how ſweetly all will be reconcil'd.

Doe as you pleaſe.

Goe get you to the Prieſt preſently, and bring him hither for thy Maſter, Wat.

Madam you ſent for mee, though I had former cauſe to require a conference with you.

My cauſe my Lord, is almoſt ended among our ſelves. Pray let your former therefore be determin'd firſt, your Lordſhip may be pleas'd to ſit.

I deſire firſt by good Sir Anthony's patience, Madam a word with you in abſence of all the reſt, except this Gentlewoman.

With all reſpect my Lord.

No you ſhall ſtay, and all the reſt, ſpeake openly my Lord, I doe beſeech you.

My modeſty forbids.

I'le ſpeake it for you then; Good my Lord ſit judge▪ This Woman comes to accuſe me of incontinency with your ſervant Bellamy, is it not ſo?

I marry dos ſhee Madam to make her word good to my Lord that he would have lien with her too; And ſayes that Bellamy affirm'd to her that he did, I mary did he with your Ladiſhip.

Ha, ha, ha, I have a Nephew here affirm'd as much.

I am ſorry I ſaid ſo much, 'twas but my ſuſpition in the dayes of my wickedneſſe, I am honeſt now, and can thinke no ſuch matter—O is the parſon come—

I feare I ſhall be wretched.

I underſtand that Bellamy is in your houſe.

Forth comming my good Lord. Good Maſter Bellamy, fetch your Nephew, you'l finde him in my Chamber.

Where is my Siſter Amie?

Aske you mee?

Then I forc'd her not.

To hazard of my life I will my Lord.

That ſhee is loſt I am grieved; But for your ſtout demand i'le anſwer you at Weapons, time and place convenient.

I'le end your difference Coſen Fitzgerrard, here is your Siſter Amie my Lord, here is your ſervant Bellamy, whom I preferr'd to you as my Nephew, to be a Go-betwixt you and Miſtreſſes, which quality I now abhorre, as I could wiſh your Lordſhip would leave—Wenching for this inconſtant Womans ſake that would be proſtitute unto your ſervant. 'Twas a flat bargaine, and but a flat one, but for the non-performance her husband may thanke their party of Sex, not his wifes want of deſire.

Nere the ſooner for a haſty word I hope.

What further end ſhee had to ſerve your Lordſhip ſhe may relate her ſelfe.

Sweet let us ſpeake aſide.

What ayles my Friend? is not all this now but a plot to make me jealous?

I am diſcover'd and undone.

Nere the ſooner for a haſty word I hope Friend. Come leave your waggery, is not all this but a plot now to make me jealous?

Your Plot good Miſtris Saleware would not hold.

Yet the young Gentleman (ſuch as you ſee he is) has lien with mee of old, before I was married; doe not looke ſo diſmaydly, I will not detect you with my husband for a hundred pound—

Nor will I be jealous for a thouſand Madam, your plot's too weake Facks, but where's my injur'd Kinſwoman, Madam?

O Phebe Gin crack! ſhee is by this time righted, that is Married.

Sapientia mea mihi, agen then for that, that was my plot, and it held Madam.

Now doe you note the effect of all Sir Anthony?

I doe with my much joy.

Your Lordſhip councells well.

Hang feares and jealouſies, I would there were no greater in the Kingdome, then in Tom Salewares Coxcombe; But by your favour friend, we will be friends no more, but loving man and wife henceforward.

That ſhall be as you pleaſe.

See new Married couples, pleaſe your Lordſhip to take notice?

Unkle and Madam, I am come to call you to my houſe to Dinner, and your Lordſhip if you pleaſe, and all the reſt here, I want one, my Rivall Bellamy, where is he? wee'l be all friends to day; and at night ſweete heart,—at night, at night, at night—

Wee'l get the Boy that ſhall become a Knight

You promiſe luſtily.

And Phebe if thou beeſt not better provided already, if I get not thee with Squire, let me turne clown.

But where's this Bellamy, what new Ladies that?

This new Lady ſir, is that Bellamy you inquire for.

The ſame Gentleman that you accus'd your Aunt with.

That I confeſſe had line with her.

Ha, is't ſo ifaith? and (now I thinke on't) introth I thought ſo; would I have tax'd'her thinke you, but with a Woman? pray Mr. Bellamy let me ſalute your lips, and good Unkle now wee are Neighbours, and both good Houſe-keepers, let us not be ſtrangers to one another.

Well ſir, as I ſhall finde you by your wifes report I ſhall be ſtill your Unkle.

I ſhall be his heire in ſpight o' the Devill, and all his workes and mine.

Come Madam, I finde here's Muſick, let's leade the Brides a Dance to ſtirre their appetites to Dinner.

Deare Piſo peace.

That would be thought on.

Stay; who comes here?

Pray forbeare.

Looke there Fabritio, Venus can it be?

Come y'are deceav'd.

I pray thee peace.

They ſay ſhee's yet a Virgine.

Fie! 'twas not he.

Not hee! peace and ſtand cloſe.

Is ſhee ſo rare a Creature, this Novella?

You have not ſeene her often?

And all this Beauty, and this ſeeming vertue Offer'd to ſale?

I thought 'twas ſuch a peece.

Why Franciſco? Why?

Franciſco! is it hee?

Would he had her Piſo.

O here they pitch, ſtand cloſe, wee'l heare their Muſick.

Tis he, and I will ſpeake to him.

Good forbeare.

Franciſco muſt not ſo forget his Flavia.

What are you?

VVhat doe you meane?

Here ſtands the man denies it, ſpeake Fabritio.

I muſt embrace you ſir.

I underſtand you, Take mine honor of it.

Your ſervants are all here and ready ſir.

Up and ready too ſir.

Sirrah haſte you to Pantalonies houſe.

The rich Magnifico?

It ſhall be done ſir, pleaſe you give me paſſage.

See ſhee's here ſir.

Alas my Franciſco—

No I could weepe for that.

Deare Father—Father—

Sir, I beſeech you heare me—

My ſelfe will be your Keeper, Cook, and Carver.

Indeed you will be ſorry.

Sorry! for what?

For the miſtake you run away withall.

Didſt thou not ſay thou wept'ſt, becauſe to morrow was come ſo nigh?

Ha! I beginne to be now ſorry indeed.

Speake yet, and I will heare attentively.

What's this you ſay?

Well, on then, on.

Sweet Modeſty.

Happy ſucceſſe attend you ſir, whilſt I Reſt here in prayers for you.

With due reſpect.

Come lock the doore I ſay.

Now or never helpe me!

Yes, at ſixteene; you would die at ſixteene?

Elſe let thy pitty of my youth preſerve me.

Nay deare Astutta haſt thou thought a courſe?

Thou tortur'ſt me.

Madona Flavia▪ newes.

What I beſeech you?

From your elected Bridegroome, brave Fabritio.

How dos hee Nanulo?

That was well ſaid.

VVill you marre all? the reaſon?

Moſt readily.

Yes, and wiſh there a ſecond Maydenhead,

On the condition.

Now thou comforts me.

IS this Checquino's houſe, your Advocate?

For your revenge ſir.

Right my Nicolo.

I muſt acknowledge it.

Yet muſt I heare it—?

May I not aske what end your project aimes at?

Nor what, nor unto whoſe—

Then you would uſe me in ſome treachery Againſt my old one.

Thou art a Soothſayer.

Tis well done Nicolo: try the bottome of't—thrice

Cou'dſt thinke me ſuch a Villaine?

Is not Fabritio miſt at home this morning?

In good time ſir.

In good time may you I'le do ſomething for you▪

Honeſt, deſerving Nic.

I know her, and will fit you with directions.

Thou haſt given a hint, for which I will renown thee.

Prithee inquire not further, 'twas not he▪

The doubtfull light deceav'd you ſir.

I could unſhale a plot.

Nere doubt but doe't then,

My noble Nicolo out with't I ſay.

Take your free choyce.

On.

How Nicolo? but firſt what was th' affront?

But ſeekes Revenge How, how, good Nicolo?

I know it Nicolo. But what can follow?

But what diſguiſe ſhall ſhrowd the Hangman thither, whoſe own ſhape is as horrid as the Plague?

Sir, if I faile—

Sir—

I leave all to you ſir. And crave my diſmiſſion.

What! Has he done?

We have beene plotting too.

So to your ſeverall wayes.

I am for the Novella.

VVhat ſay you Borgio?

Why not it my perſon?

Still Borgio in your old morality!

Peace Borgio, peace.

I would give o're, would you; and change my Function.

O are you there Devill?

Your reaſon ſir?

You need not doubt me.

But one at once good Borgio.

Pray thee hold. No more.

Praythee ſpeake nearer home, who haſt thou hous'd?

I ſaw his punctuality paſſe by.

O like fierce Beaſts, from ſent of one another.

And I my ſelfe too blame—

Let us retire then.

Is this earneſt?

Yes in ſooth is it.

Nor a child neither ſir, that's leſſe.

You are better read then I ſir.

Why ſhould it trouble you ſir?

I am enough inſtructed.

O • ce more farewell—pray ponder on theſe things.

Feare not I ſhall.

Indeed and ſo I doe.

Indeed farwell then.

Good ſit beware idolatry.

Indeed i'le heare no more.

No Courtier Lady?

Sir, your further pleaſure

Yes, where I finde the worth exceed the price.

(I am betray'd. Hee brings the Money ſure)

What's this ſi • , to a thouſand double Duccatts?

To notes my voyce can maſter?

To come the cloſer to you, the Novella.

I am but weakly practis'd yet in that.

Some other then.

How like you it Lady?

You doe not flout me Lady?

Did ever woman talke ſo?

I dreampt as much. Shee has a devilliſh wit.

Be hand'd.

Is it perform'd ſir? have you done the feat?

Pox o' your Fates.