Wittipol, Manly.
INgine, you hope o' your half piece? 'Tis there, Sir.
Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?
[Wittipol knocks his Friend o' the Breast.
Man.
I am directly in a fit of wonder
What'll be the issue of this Conference!
VVit.
For that ne'er vex your self till the Event.
How like yo' him?
Man.
I would fain see more of him.
VVit.
What think you of this?
Man.
I am past degrees of thinking.
Old Africk, and the new America,
With all their Fruit of Monsters cannot shew
So just a Prodigy.
VVit.
Could you have believ'd,
Without your sight, a mind so sordid inward,
Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad,
To all the shew that ever Shop or Ware was?
Man.
I believe any thing now, though I confess
His Vices are the most Extremities
I ever knew in Nature. But why loves he
The Devil so?
VVit.
O Sir! for hidden Treasure,
He hopes to find: and has propos'd himself
So infinite a Mass, as to recover,
He cares not what he parts with, of the present,
To his Men of Art, who are the Race, may coyn him.
Promise Gold Mountains, and the covetous
Are still most prodigal.
Man.
But ha' you faith,
That he will hold his Bargain?
VVit.
O dear, Sir!
He will not off on't. Fear him not. I know him.
One baseness still accompanies another.
See! he is here already, and his Wife too.
Man.
A wondrous handsome creature, as I live!