Ingine, Wittipol, Manly, Fitz-dottrel, Pug.
Yonder he walks, Sir, I'll go lift him for you.
Wit.
To him, good Ingine, raise him up by degrees,
Gently, and hold him there too, you can do it.
Shew your self now a Mathematical Broker.
Ing.
I'll warrant you for half a piece.
Wit.
'Tis done, Sir.
Man.
Is't possible there should be such a Man!
Wit.
You shall be your own Witness, I'll not labour
To tempt you past your faith.
Man.
And is his Wife
So very handsome, say you?
Wit.
I ha' not seen her
Since I came home from travel: and they say,
She is not alter'd. Then, before I went,
I saw her once; but so, as she hath stuck
Still i' my view, no Object hath remov'd her.
Man.
'Tis a fair Guest, Friend, Beauty: and once lodg'd
Deep in the Eyes, she hardly leaves the Inn.
How do's he keep her?
Wit.
Very brave. However,
Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way.
In every dressing, he do's study her.
Man.
And furnish forth himself so from the Broker?
Wit.
Yes, that's a hir'd Suit he now has on,
To see the Devil is an Ass, to day, in.
(This Ingine gets three or four pound a week by him),
He dares not miss a new Play, or a Feast,
What Rate soever Clothes be at; and thinks
Himself still new, in other Mens old.
Man.
But stay,
Do's he love Meat so?
Wit.
Faith, he do's not hate it.
But that's not it. His Belly and his Palate
Would be compounded with for Reason. Marry,
A Wit he has, of that strange Credit with him,
'Gainst all Mankind; as it doth make him do
Just what it list: it ravishes him forth,
Whither it please, to any Assembly or Place,
And would conclude him ruin'd, should he scape
One publick Meeting, out of the belief
He has of his own great, and Catholick strengths,
In arguing and Discourse. It takes, I see:
H' has got the Cloak upon him.
[Ingine hath won Fitz-dottrel, to 'say on the Cloak.
Fit.
A fair Garment,
By my Faith, Ingine!
Ing.
It was never made, Sir,
For threescore pound, I assure you: 'Twill yield thirty.
The Plush, Sir, cost three pound ten shillings a yard!
And then the Lace and Velvet.
Fit.
I shall, Ingine,
Be look'd at, prettily, in it! Art thou sure
The Play is play'd to day?
Ing.
O here's the Bill, Sir.
I' had forgot to gi't you.
[ He gives him the Play -Bill.
Fit.
Ha? the Devil!
I will not lose you, Sirrah! But, Ingine, think you,
The Gallant is so furious in his folly?
So mad upon the Matter, that he'll part
With's Cloak upo' these terms?
Ing.
Trust not your Ingine,
Break me to pieces else, as you would do
A rotten Cain, or an old rusty Jack,
That has not one true Wheel in him. Do but talk with him.
Fit.
I shall do that, to satisfie you, Ingine,
And my self too. With your leave, Gentlemen.
[ He turns to Wittipol.
Which of you is it is so meer Idolater
To my Wives Beauty, and so very prodigal
Unto my patience, that, for the short Parley?
Of one swift hours quarter, with my Wife,
He will depart with (let me see) this Cloak here,
The price of Folly? Sir, are you the Man?
Wit.
I am that vent'rer, Sir.
Fit.
Good time! your Name
Is Wittipol?
VVit.
The same, Sir.
Fit.
And 'tis told me,
Yo' have travell'd lately?
VVit.
That I have, Sir.
Fit.
Truly,
Your Travels may have alter'd your Complexion;
But sure, your Wit stood still.
VVit.
It may well be, Sir.
All Heads ha' not like growth.
Fit.
The good Man's Gravity,
That left you Land, your Father never taught you
These pleasant Matches?
VVit.
No, nor can his Mirth,
With whom I make 'em put me off.
Fit.
You are
Resolv'd then?
VVit.
Yes, Sir.
Fit.
Beauty is the Saint,
You'll sacrifice your self into the Shirt too?
VVit.
So I may still cloth, and keep warm your Wisdom?
Fit.
You lade me, Sir!
VVit.
I know what you will bear, Sir.
Fit.
Well, to the Point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,
To speak unto my Wife?
VVit.
Only to speak to her.
Fit.
And in my presence?
VVit.
In your very presence.
Fit.
And in my hearing?
VVit.
In your hearing: so
You interrupt us not.
Fit.
For the short space
You do demand, the fourth part of an hour,
I think I shall, with some convenient study,
And this good help to boot, bring my self to't.
[ He shrugs himself up in the Cloak.
VVit.
I ask no more.
Fit.
Please you, walk to'ard my house,
Speak what you list; that time is yours: My Right
I have departed with. But not beyond
A Minute, or a Second, look for. Length,
And drawing out, ma' advance much to these Matches.
And I except all kissing. Kisses are
Silent Petitions still with willing Lovers.
VVit.
Lovers? How falls that o' your phantsie?
Fit.
Sir,
I do know somewhat, I forbid all Lip-work.
VVit.
I am not eager at forbidden Dainties.
Who covets unfit things, denies himself.
Fit.
You say well, Sir, 'Twas prettily said, that same.
He do's indeed. I'll have no touches therefore,
Nor takings by the Armes, nor tender Circles
Cast 'bout the Wast, but all be done at distance.
Love is brought up with those soft migniard handlings:
His pulse lies in his palm; and I defend
All melting joynts and fingers, (that's my bargain)
I do defend 'em, any thing like Action.
But talk, Sir, what you will. Use all the Tropes
And Schemes, that Prince Quintilian can afford you:
And much good do your Rhetoricks heart.
You are welcome, Sir.
Ingine,
God b' w' you.
Wit.
Sir, I must condition |
To have this Gentleman by, a Witness.
Fit.
Well,
I am content, so he be silent.
Man.
Yes, Sir.
Fit.
Come, Devil, I'll make you room straight. But
I'll shew you
First, to your Mistris, who's no common one,
You must conceive, that brings this gain to see her.
I hope thou'st brought me good luck.
Pug.
I shall do't, Sir.