THE devil IS AN ass.  
A comedy ACTED IN THE year, 1616. BY HIS Majesty's SERVANTS.  
The Author BEN: JOHNSON.  HOR. de ART. POET. 
Fucta voluptatis Causa, sint proxima veris.  
Imprinted at London, 1641.   

THE PERSONS OF THE PLAY.  
SATAN. 
The great devil.  PVG. 
The less devil.  iniquity. 
The vice.  FITZ-DOTTREL. 
A Squire of Norfolk.  Mistress FRANCES. 
His wife.  Mere-craft. 
The Projector.  EVERILL. 
His Champion.  WITTIPOL. 
A young Gallant.  MANLY. 
His friend.  engine. 
A broker.  trains. 
The Projectors man.  GVILT-HEAD. 
A Goldsmith.  PLUTARCHUS. 
His son.  Sir POULE EITHER-SIDE. 
A Lawyer, and justice.  Lady EITHER-SIDE. 
His wife.  Lady Tail-bush. 
The Lady Protectress.  pitfall. 
Her Woman.  AMBLER. 
Her Gentleman usher.  SLEDGE. 
A Smith, the Constable.  SHACKLES. 
Keeper of Newgate.  sergeants. 
  
The Scene, LONDON.   

The Prologue.  
THe devil is an ass. That is, today,  
The name of what you are met for, a new Play,  
Yet grandees, would you were not come to grace  
Our matter, with allowing us no place.  
Though you presume SATAN a subtle thing,  
And may have heard he's worn in a thumb-ring;  
Do not on these presumptions, force us act,  
In compass of a cheese-trencher. This tract  
Will ne'er admit our vice, because of yours.  
anon, who, worse than you, the fault endures  
That yourselves make? when you will thrust and spurn,  
And knock us o'the elbows and bid, turn;  
As if, when we had spoke, we must be gone,  
Or, till we speak, must all run in, to one;  
Like the young adders, at the old ones mouth?  
Would we could stand due North; or had no South,  
If that offend: or were Muscovy glass,  
That you might look our Scenes through as they pass.  
We know not how to affect you. If you'll come  
To see new Plays, pray you afford us room,  
And show this, but the same face you have done  
Your dear delight the Devil of Edmonton.  
Or, if, for want of room, it must miscarry,  
'Twill be but justice, that your censure tarry,  
Till you give some. And when six times you ha' seen't,  
If this Play do not like, the Devil is in't.   

THE devil IS AN ass.  


Act. I. Scene. I.  Devil. Pug. Iniquity. 
HOh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, hoh, &c.  
To earth? and why to earth, thou foolish Spirit?  
What wouldst thou do on earth?  Pug. 
For that, great Chief!  
As time shall work, I do but ask my month.  
Which every petty puny Devil has;  
Within that term, the Court of Hell will hear  
Something may gain a longer grant, perhaps.  Sat. 
For what? the laming a poor Cow, or two?  
Entering a Sow, to make her cast her farrow?  
Or crossing of a Market-woman's Mare,  
'Twixt this and Totnam? these were wont to be  
Your main achievements, Pug, you have some plot, now,  
Upon a tonning of Ale, to stale the yeast,  
Or keep the churn so, that the butter come not;  
Spite o'the housewife's cord, or her hot spit?  
Or some good rib, about Kentish Town,  
Or Hogsden, you would hang now, for a witch,  
Because she will not let you play round Robin:  
And you'll go sour the citizen's Cream 'gainst Sunday?  
That she may be accused for't, and condemned  
By a Middlesex Jury; to the satisfaction  
Of their offended friends, the Londoners wives  
Whose teeth were set on edge with it? Foolish fiend,  
Stay i'your place, know your own strengths, and put not  
Beyond the sphere of your activity.  
You are too dull a Devil to be trusted  
Forth into those parts, Pug, upon any affair  
That may concern our name, on earth. It is not  
Every one's work. The state of Hell must care  
Whom it employs, in point of reputation,  
Here about London. You would make, I think  
An Agent, to be sent, for Lancashire,  
Proper enough; or some parts of Northumberland,  
So yo'had good instructions, Pug.  Pug. 
O Chief!  
You do not know, dear Chief, what there is in me.  
Prove me but for a fortnight, for a week,  
And lend me but a Vice, to carry with me,  
To practise therewith any playfellow,  
And, you will see, there will come more upon't,  
Than you'll imagine, precious Chief.  Sat. 
What Vice?  
What kind wouldst th'have it of?  Pug. 
Why, any Fraud;  
Or Covetousness; or Lady Vanity;  
Or old Iniquity: I'll call him hither.  〈◊〉 
What is he, calls upon me, and would seem to lack a Vice?  
〈◊〉 words be half spoken, I am with him in a trice;  
〈◊〉 there, and everywhere, as the Cat is with the mice:  
True vetus iniquitas. Lackest thou Cards, friend, or Dice?  
I will teach thee cheat, Child, to cog, lie, and swagger,  
And ever and anon, to be drawing forth thy dagger:  
To swear by Gogs-nownes, like a lusty juventus,  
In a cloak to thy heel, and a hat like a penthouse.  
Thy breeches of three fingers, and thy doublet all belly,  
With a Wench that shall feed thee, with cock-stones and jelly.  Pug. 
Is it not excellent, Chief? how nimble he is!  Ini. 
Child of hell, this is nothing! I will fetch thee a leap  
From the top of Paul's-steeple, to the Standard in Cheap:  
And lead thee a dance, through the streets without fail,  
Like a needle of Spain, with a thread at my tail.  
We will survey the Suburbs, and make forth our sallies,  
Down Petticoat-lane, and up the smock-alleys,  
To Shoreditch, Whitechapel, and so to Saint Kathern's.  
To drink with the Dutch there, and take forth their patterns:  
From thence, we will put in at Customhouse key there,  
And see, how the Factors, and Prentices play there,  
False with their Masters; and geld many a full pack,  
To spend it in pies, at the Dagger, and the Wool sack.  Pug. 
Brave, brave, Iniquity! will not this do, Chief?  Ini. 
Nay, boy, I will bring thee to the Bawds, and the Roisters,  
At Belinsgate, feasting with claret-wine, and oysters,  
From thence shoot the Bridge, child, to the Cranes i'the Vintry,  
And see, there the gimlets, how they make their entry!  
Or, if thou hadst rather, to the Strand down to fall,  
'Gainst the Lawyers come dabbled from Westminster-hall  
And mark how they cling, with their clients together,  
Like Ivy to Oak; so Velvet to Leather:  
Ha, boy, I would show thee.  Pug. 
Rare, rare!  Div. 
Peace, dotard,  
And thou more ignorant thing, that so admirest.  
Art thou the spirit thou seem'st? so poor? to choose  
This, for a Vice, t'advance the cause of Hell,  
Now? as Vice stands this present year? Remember,  
What number it is. Six hundred and sixteen.  
Had it but been five hundred, though some sixty  
Above; that's fifty years agone, and six.  
(When every great man had his Vice stand by him,  
In his long coat, shaking his wooden dagger)  
I could consent, that, than this your grave choice  
Might have done that, with his Lord Chief, the which  
Most of his chamber can do now. But Pug,  
As the times are, who is it, will receive you?  
What company will you go to? or whom mix with?  
Where canst thou carry him? except to Taverns?  
To mount up on a joint-stool, with a Jew's-trump,  
To put down Cokeley, and that must be to Citizens?  
He ne'er will be admitted, there, where Vennor comes.  
He may perchance, in tail of a sheriff's dinner,  
Skip with a rhyme o'the Table, from New-nothing,  
And take his almain-leap into a custard,  
Shall make my Lad majoress, and her sisters,  
Laugh all their hoods over their shoulders. But,  
This is not that will do, they are other things  
That are received now upon earth, for Vices;  
Stranger, and newer: and changed every hour.  
They ride 'em like their horses off their legs,  
And here they come to Hell, whole legions of'em,  
Every week tired. we, still strive to breed,  
And rear 'em up new ones; but they do not stand,  
When they come there: they turn 'em on our hands.  
And it is feared they have a stud o'their own  
Will put down ours. Both our breed, and trade  
Will suddenly decay, if we prevent not.  
Unless it be a Vice of quality,  
Or fashion, now, they take none from us. Carmen  
Are got into the yellow starch, and Chimney-sweepers  
To their tobacco, and strong-waters, Hum,  
Meath, and Obarni. we must therefore aim  
At extraordinary subtle ones, now,  
When we do send to keep us up in credit.  
Not old Iniquities. Get you e'en back, Sir,  
To making of your rope of sand again.  
You are not for the manners, nor the times:  
They have their Vices, there, most like to Virtues;  
You cannot know 'em, apart, by any difference:  
They wear the same clothes, eat the same meat,  
Sleep i'the selfsame beds, ride i'those coaches.  
Or very like, four horses in a coach,  
As the best men and women. Tissue gowns,  
Garters and roses, fourscore pound a pair;  
Embrothered stockings, cutwork smocks, and shirts,  
More certain marks of lechery, now, and pride,  
Then ere they were of true nobility!  
But Pug, since you do burn with such desire  
To do the Commonwealth of Hell some service;  
I am content, assuming of a body,  
You go to earth, and visit men, a day.  
But you must take a body ready made, Pug,  
I can create you none, nor shall you form  
yourself an airy one, but become subject  
To all impression of the flesh, you take,  
So far as humane frailty. So, this morning,  
There is a handsome Cutpurse hanged at Tyburn,  
Whose spirit departed, you may enter his body:  
For clothes employ your credit, with the Hangman,  
Or let our tribe of Brokers furnish you.  
〈◊〉 look, how far your subtlety can work  
Though those organs, with that body, spy  
Amongst mankind, (you cannot there want vices,  
And therefore the less need to carry 'em wi'you)  
But as you make your soon at night's relation,  
And we shall find, it merits from the State,  
You shall have both trust from us, and employment.  Pug. 
Most gracious Chief!  Div. 
Only, thus more I bind you,  
To serve the first man that you meet; and him  

He shows Fitz-dottrel to him, coming forth.  I'll show you, now: Observe him. Yon is he,  
You shall see, first after your clothing. Follow him:  
But once engaged, there you must stay and fix;  
Not shift, until the midnight's cock do crow.  Pug. 
Any conditions to be gone.  Div. 
Away, then.   

Act. I. Scene II.  Fitz-dottrell. 
ay, they do, now, name Bretnor, as before;  
They talked of Gresham, and of Doctor Foreman,  
Franklin, and Fiske, and Savory (he was in too)  
But there's not one of these, that ever could  
Yet show a man the Devil, in true sort.  
They have their crystals, I do know, and rings,  
And virgin parchment, and their dead-men's sculls  
Their ravens wings, their lights, and pentacles,  
With characters; I ha' seen all these. But—  
Would I might see the Devil. I would give  
A hundred o'these picture, to see him  
Once out of picture. May I prove a cuckold,  
(And that's the one main mortal thing I fear)  
If I begin not, now, to think, the Painters  
Have only made him. 'Slight, he would be seen.  
One time or other else. He would not let  
An ancient gentleman, of a good house,  
As most are now in England, the Fitz-dottrel's,  
Run wild, and call upon him thus in vain,  
As I ha'done this twelvemonth. If he be not,  
At all, why, are there Conjurers? If they be not,  
Why, are there laws against 'em? The best artists  
Of Cambridge, Oxford, Middlesex, and London,  
Essex, and Kent, I have had in pay to raise him;  
These fifty weeks, and yet h'appears not. 'Sdeath,  
I shall suspect, they, can make circle only,  
Shortly, and know but his hard names. They do say,  
he'll meet a man (of himself) that has a mind to him.  
If he would so, I have a mind and a half for him:  
He should not be long absent. 
He expresses a longing to see the Devil.  Pray thee, come  
I long for thee. An' I were with child by him,  
And my wife, too; I could not more. Come, yet,  
Good Belzebub. Were he a kind devil,  
And had humanity in him, he would come, but  
To save one's longing. I should use him well,  
I swear, and with respect (would he would try me)  
Not, as the Conjurers do, when they ha' raised him.  
Get him in bonds, and send him post, on errands.  
A thousand miles, it is preposterous, that:  
And I believe, is the true cause he comes not.  
And he has reason. Who would be engaged,  
That might live freely, as he may do? I swear,  
They are wrong all. The burnt child dreads the fire.  
They do not know to entertain the Devil.  
I would so welcome him, observe his diet,  
Get him his chamber hung with arras, two of'em,  
I' my own house; lend him my wives wrought pillows:  
And as I am an honest man, I think,  
If he had a mind to her, too; I should grant him,  
To make our friendship perfect. So I would not  
To every man. If he but hear me, now?  
And should come to me in a brave young shape,  
And take me at my word? ha! Who is this?   

Act. I. Scene. III.  Pug. Fitz-dottrell. 
SIr, your good pardon, that I thus presume  
Upon your privacy. I am borne a Gentleman,  
A younger brother; but in some disgrace,  
Now, with my friends: and want some little means,  
To keep me upright, while things be reconciled.  
Please you, to let my service be of use to you, Sir.  Fit. 
Service? 
He looks and surveys his feet; over and over.  'fore hell, my heart was at my mouth,  
Till I had viewed his shoes well: for, those roses  
Were big enough to hide a cloven foot.  
No, friend, my number's full. I have one servant,  
Who is my all, indeed; and, from the broom  
Unto the brush: for, just so far, I trust him.  
He is my Wardrobe man, my Cater, Cook,  
Butler, and Steward; looks unto my horse:  
And helps to watch my wife. H'has all the places,  
That I can think on, from the garret downward,  
E'en to the manger, and the currycomb.  Pug. 
Sir, I shall put your worship to no charge,  
More than my meat, and that but very little,  
I'll serve you for your love.  Fit. 
Ha? without wages?  
I'll hearken o''at ear, were I at leisure.  
But now, I'm busy. Prithee, friend forbear me,  
an thou hadst been a Devil, I should say  
Somewhat more to thee. Thou dost hinder, now,  
My meditations.  Pug. 
Sir, I am a Devil.  Fit. 
How!  Pug. 
A true Devil, Sir.  Fit. 
Nay, now, you lie:  
Under your favour, friend, for, I'll not quarrel.  
I looked o'your feet, afore, you cannot cozen me,  

He views his feet again.  Your shoe's not cloven, Sir, you are whole hoofed.  Pug. 
Sir that's a popular error deceives many:  
But I am that, I tell you.  Fit. 
What's your name?  Pug. 
My name is Devil, Sir.  Fit. 
sayst thou true.  Pug. 
Indeed, Sir.  Fit. 
'Slid! there's some omen in'is! what countryman?  Pug. 
Of Derbyshire, Sir, about the Peake.  Fit. 
That Hole  
Belonged to your Ancestors?  Pug. 
Yes, devil's arse, Sir.  Fit. 
I'll entertain him for the name's sake. Ha?  
And turn away my t'other man? and save  
four pound a year by that? there's luck and thrift too!  
The very Devil may come hereafter, as well.  
Friend, I receive you: but (withal) I acquaint you,  
Aforehand, if y'offendoffend me, I must beat you.  
It is a kind of exercise, I use.  
And cannot be without.  Pug. 
Yes, if I do not  
Offend, you can, sure.  Fit. 
Faith, Devil, very hardly:  
I'll call you by your surname, 'cause I love it.   

Act. I. Scene. IIII.  Ingine. Wittipol. Manly. Fitz-dottrell. Pug. 
YOnder he walks, Sir, I'll go lift him for you.  Wit. 
To him, good Engine, raise him up by degrees,  
Gently, and hold him there too, you can do it.  
Show yourself 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 altered. Then before I went,  
I saw her once; but so, as she hath stuck  
Still i'my view, no object hath removed her.  Man. 
'Tis a fair guest, Friend, beauty: and once lodged  
Deep in the eyes, she hardly leaves the Inn.  
How does he keep her?  Wit. 
Very brave. However,  
Himself be sordid, he is sensual that way.  
In every dressing, he does study her.  Man. 
And furnish forth himself so from the Brokers?  Wit. 
Yes, that's a hired suit, he now has on,  
To see the Devil is an Ass, today, in  
(This Engine 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 men's old.  Man. 
But stay,  
does he love meat so?  Wit. 
Faith he does 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 ruined, should he scape  
One public meeting, out of the belief  
He has of his own great, 
Engine hath won Fitz-dottrel, to say on the cloak.  and Catholic strengths,  
In arguing, and discourse. It takes, I see:  
H'has got the cloak upon him.  Fit. 
A fair garment,  
By my faith, Engine!  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, Engine,  
Be looked at, prettily, in it! Art thou sure  
The Play is played today?  Ing. 
o here's the bill, Sir.  
ay, 
He gives him the Play-bill.  had forgot to gi't you.  Fit. 
Ha? the Devil!  
I will not lose you, Sirrah! But, Engine, think you,  
The Gallant is so furious in his folly?  
So mad upon the matter, that he'll part  
With's cloak upo' those terms?  Ing. 
Trust not your Engine,  
Break me to pieces else, as you would do  
A rotten Crane, or an old rusty Jack,  
That has not one true wheel in him. Do but talk with him.  Fit. 
I shall do that, to satisfy you, Engine,  
And myself too. 
He turns to Wittipol . With your leave, Gentlemen.  
Which of you is it, is so mere Idolater  
To my wife's 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 venturer, Sir.  Fit. 
Good time! your name  
Is Wittipol?  Wit. 
The same, Sir.  Fit. 
And 'tis told me,  
You've traveled lately?  Wit. 
That I have, Sir.  Fit. 
Truly,  
Your travels have altered your complexion;  
But sure your wit stood still.  Wit. 
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?  Wit. 
No, nor can his mirth,  
With whom I make 'em, put me off.  Fit. 
You are  
Resolved then?  Wit. 
Yes, Sir.  Fit. 
Beauty is the Saint,  
You'll sacrifice yourself, into the shirt too?  Wit. 
So I may still clothe, and keep warm your wisdom?  Fit. 
You lade me Sir!  Wit. 
I know what you will bear, Sir,  Fit. 
Well, to the point. 'Tis only, Sir, you say,  
To speak unto my wife?  Wit. 
Only, to speak to her.  Fit. 
And in my presence?  Wit. 
In your very presence.  Fit. 
And in my hearing?  Wit. 
In your hearing: so,  
You interrupt us not.  Fit. 
For the short space  
You do demand, the fourth part of an hour,  

He shrugs himself up in the cloak.  I think I shall, with some convenient study,  
And this good help to boot, bring myself to't.  Wit. 
I ask no more.  Fit. 
Please you, walk toward my house,  
Speak what you list; that times 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.  Wit. 
Lovers? How falls that o'your fancy?  Fit. 
Sir.  
I do know somewhat, I forbid all lipwork.  Wit. 
I am not eager at forbidden dainties.  
Who covets unfit thinks, denies himself.  Fit. 
You say well, Sir, 'Twas prettily said, that same,  
He does, indeed. I'll have no touches, therefore,  
Nor takings by the arms, nor tender circles  
Cast 'bout the waist, but all be done at distance.  
Love is brought up with those soft miniard handlings;  
His pulse lies in his palm: and I defend  
All melting joints, 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 Rhetoric's heart. You are welcome, Sir.  
Engine, 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 show you  
First, to your Mistress, who's no common one,  
You must conceive, that brings gain to see her.  
I hope thou'st brought me good luck.  Pug. 
I shall do't. Sir.   

Act. I. Scene. V.  Wittipol. Manly. 
engine, 
Wittipol knocks his friend o'the breast.  you hope o'your half piece? 'Tis there, Sir.  
Be gone. Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed?  Man. 
I am directly in a fit of wonder  
What'll be the issue of this conference!  Wit. 
For that, ne'er vex yourself, till the event.  
How like you himhim?  Man. 
I would fain see more of him.  Wit. 
What think you of this?  Man. 
I am past degrees of thinking.  
Old Afrique, and the new America,  
With all their fruit of Monsters cannot show  
So just a prodigy.  Wit. 
Could you have believed,  
Without your sight, a mind so sordid inward,  
Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad,  
To all the show, 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?  Wit. 
O Sir! for hidden treasure,  
He hopes to find: and has proposed 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 coin him.  
Promise gold-mountains, and the covetous  
Are still most prodigal.  Man. 
But ha' you faith,  
That he will hold his bargain?  Wit. 
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!   

Act. I. Scene. VI.  Fitz-dottrell. Mistress Fitz-dottrell. Wittipol. Manly. 
COme wife, this is the Gentleman. Nay, blush not.  Mrs. Fit. 
Why what do you mean Sir? ha' you your reason?  Fit. 
Wife,  
I do not know, that I have lent it forth  
To any one at least without a pawn, wife:  
Or that I'have eat or drunk the thing, of late,  
That should corrupt it. Wherefore gentle wife,  
Obey, it is thy virtue: hold no acts  
Of disputation.  Mrs. Fit. 
Are you not enough  
The talk, of feasts, and meetings, but you'll still  
Make argument for fresh?  Fit. 
Why, careful wedlock,  
If I have a longing to have one tale more  
Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart?  
Why shouldst thou envy my delight? or cross it?  
By being solicitous, when it not concerns thee?  Mis. Fit. 
Yes I have share in this. The scorn will fall  
As bitterly on me, where both are laughed at.  Fit. 
Laughed at, sweet bird? is that the scruple? Come, come,  

A Niaise is a young Hawk, ta'en crying out of the nest.  Thou art a Niaise. Which of your great houses,  
(I will not mean at home, here, but abroad)  
Your families in France, wife, send not forth  
Something, within the seven year, may be laughed at?  
I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks,  
Nor seven days, nor hours: but seven year wife.  
I give 'em time. Once within seven year,  
I think they may do something may be laughed at.  
In France, I keep me there, still. Wherefore, wife,  
Let them that list, laugh still, rather than weep  
For me; Here is a cloak cost fifty pound, wife,  
Which I can fell for thirty, when I ha' seen  
All London in't, and London has seen me.  
Today, I go to the Blackfriars Playhouse,  
Sit i'the view, salute all my acquaintance,  
Rise up between the Acts, let fall my cloak,  
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit  
(As that's a special end, why we go thither,  
All that pretend, to stand for't o'the Stage)  
The Ladies ask who's that? (For, they do come  
To see us, Love, as we do to see them)  
Now, I shall lose all this, for the false fear  
Of being laughed at? Yes, wiss. Let 'em laugh, wife,  
Let me have such another cloak tomorrow.  
And let 'em laugh again, wife, and again,  
And then grow fat with laughing and then fatter,  
All my young Gallants, let 'em bring their friends too:  
Shall I forbid 'em? No let heaven forbid 'em:  
Or wit, if't have any charge on 'em. Come, thy ear, wife,  
Is all I'll borrow of thee. Set your watch, Sir,  
Thou, only art to hear, not speak a word, Dove,  
To ought he says. That I do gi'you in precept,  
No less than council, on your wifehood, wife,  
Not though he flatter you, or make court, or Love,  
(As you must look for these) or say, he rail;  
whate'er his arts be, wife, I will have thee  
Delude 'em with a trick, thy obstinate silence;  
I know advantages; and I love to hit  

He disposes his wife to his place, and sets his watch.  These pragmatic young men, at their own weapons.  
Is your watch ready? Here my sail bears, for you:  
Tack toward him, sweet Pinnace, where's your watch?  Wit. 
I'll set it, Sir, with yours.  Mis. Fit. 
I must obey.  Man. 
Her modesty seems to suffer with her beauty,  
And so, as if his folly were away,  
It were worth pity.  Fit. 
Now, thouart right, begin, Sir.  
But first, let me repeat the contract, briefly.  
I am, Sir, to enjoy this cloak, I stand in,  
Freely, and as your gift; upon condition  
You may as freely, 
He repeats his contract again.  speak here to my spouse,  
Your quarter of an hour always keeping  
The measured distance of your yard, or more,  
From my said Spouse: and in my sight and hearing.  
This is your covenant?  Wit. 
Yes, but you'll allow  
For this time spent, now?  Fit. 
Set 'em so much back.  Wit. 
I think, I shall not need it.  Fit. 
Well, begin, Sir,  
There is your bound, Sir. Not beyond that rush.  Wit. 
If you interrupt me, 
Wittipol begins.  Sir, I shall discloak you.  
The time I have purchased, Lady, is but short;  
And, therefore, if I employ it thriftily,  
I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon.  
I am not here, to tell you, you are fair,  
Or lovely, or how well you dress you, Lady,  
I'll save myself that eloquence of your glass,  
Which can speak these things better to you than I,  
And 'tis a knowledge, wherein fools may be  
As wise as a Court Parliament. Nor come I,  
With any prejudice, or doubt, that you  
Should, to the notice of your own worth, need  
lest revelation. she's a simple woman,  
knows not her good:( whoever knows her ill)  
And at all caracts. That you are the wife,  
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soul,  
In stead of salt, to keep it sweet; I think,  
Will ask no witnesses, to prove. The cold  
Sheets that you lie in, with the watching candle,  
That sees, how dull to any thaw of beauty,  
Pieces, and quarters, half, and whole nights, sometimes,  
The Devil-given elfin Squire, your husband,  
Doth leave you, quitting here his proper circle,  
For a much-worse i'the walks of Lincoln's Inn,  
Under the Elms, t'expect the fiend in vane, there  
Will confess for you.  Fit. 
I did look for this gear.  Wit. 
And what a daughter of darkness, he does make you,  
Locked up from all society, or object;  
Your eye not let to look upon a face,  
Under a conjurer's (or some mould for one,  
Hollow, and lean like his) but, by great means,  
As I now make; your own too sensible sufferings,  
Without the extraordinary aids,  
Of spells, or spirits, may assure you, Lady.  
For my part, I protest 'gainst all such practice,  
I work by no false arts, medicines, or charms  
To be said forward and backward.  Fit. 
No, I except:  Wit. 

He offers to discloak him.  Sir, I shall ease you.  Fit. 
Mum.  Wit. 
Nor have I ends, Lady,  
Upon you, more than this: to tell you how Love  
Beauty's good Angel, he that waits upon her  
At all occasions, and no less than Fortune,  
Helps th'adventurous, in me makes that proffer,  
Which never fair one was so fond, to lose;  
Who could but reach a hand out to her freedom.  
On the first sight I loved you: since which time,  
Though I have traveled, I have been in travel  
More for this second blessing of your eyes  
Which now I'have purchased, then for all aims else.  
Think of it, Lady, be your mind as active,  
As is your beauty: view your object well.  
Examine both my fashion, and my years  
Things, that are like, are soon familiar:  
And Nature joys, still in equality.  
Let not the sign o'the husband fright you, Lady.  
But ere your spring be gone, enjoy it. Flowers,  
Though fair, are oft but of one morning. Think,  
All beauty doth not last until the Autumn.  
You grow old, while I tell you this. And such,  
As cannot use the present, are not wise,  
If Love and Fortune will take care of us,  
Why should our will be wanting? This is all.  
Wha do you answer, Lady?  Fit. 
Now, the sport comes.  

she stands mute.  Let him still wait, wait, wait: while the watch goes,  
And the time runs. Wife!  Wit. 
How! not any word?  
Nay, then, I taste a trick in't. Worthy Lady,  
I cannot be so false to mine own thoughts  
Of your presumed goodness, to conceive  
This as your rudeness, which I see's imposed.  
Yet, since your cautelous jailor, here stands by you,  
And yo'are denied the liberty o'the house;  
Let me take warrant, Lady, from your silence,  
(Which ever is interpreted consent)  
To make your answer for you: which shall be  
To as good purpose, as I can imagine,  
And what I think you'd speak.  Fit. 
No, no, no, no.  Wit. 

He sets Mr. Manly his friend in her place.  I shall resume, Sir.  Man. 
Sir, what do you mean?  Wit. 
One interruption more, Sir, and you go  
Into your hose and doublet, nothing saves you.  
And therefore hearken. This is for your wife.  Man. 
You must play fair, Sir.  Wit. 
Stand for me, good friend.  
Troth, Sir, 'tis more than true, that you have uttered  

And speaks for her.  Of my unequal, and so sordid match here,  
With all the circumstances of my bondage.  
I have a husband, and a two-legged one,  
But such a moonling, as no wit of man  
Or roses can redeem from being an Ass.  
he's grown too much, the story of men's mouths  
To scape his lading: should I make't my study,  
And lay all ways, yea, call mankind to help,  
To take his burden off, why, this one act  
Of his, to let his wife out to be courted,  
And, at a price, proclaims his asinine nature  
So loud, as I am weary of my title to him.  
But Sir, you seem a Gentleman of virtue,  
No less than blood; and one that every way  
Looks as he were of too good quality,  
To entrap a credulous woman, or betray her  
Since you have paid thus dear, Sir, for a visit,  
And made such venture, on your wit, and charge  
Merely to see me, or at most to speak to me,  
I were too stupid; or (what's worse) ingrate  
Not to return your venture. Think, but how,  
I may with safety do it; I shall trust  
My love and honour to you, and presume,  
You'll ever husband both, against this husband;  
Who, if we chance to change his liberal ears,  
To other ensigns, and with labour make  
A new beast of him, as he shall deserve,  
Cannot complain, he is unkindly dealt with.  
This day he is to go to a new play, Sir,  
From whence no fear, no, nor authority,  
Scarcely the king's command, Sir, will restrain him,  
Now you have fitted him with a Stage-garment,  
For the mere name's sake, were there nothing else,  
And many more such journeys, he will make.  
Which, if they now, or, any time hereafter,  
Offer us opportunity, you hear, Sir,  
Who'll be as glad, and forward to embrace,  
Meet, and enjoy it cheerfully as you.  
I humbly thank you, Lady.  Fit. 
Keep your ground Sir.  Wit. 
Will you be lightened?  Fit. 
Mum.  Wit. 
And but I am,  
By the sad contract, thus to take my leave of you  
At this so envious distance, I had taught  
Our lips ere this, to seal the happy mixture  
Made of our souls. But we must both, now, yield  
To the necessity. Do not think yet, Lady,  
But I can kiss, and touch, and laugh, and whisper,  
And do those crowning courtships too, for which  
Day, and the public have allowed no name  
But, now, my bargain binds me. 'Twere rude injury,  
T'importune more, or urge a noble nature,  
To what of its own bounty it is prone to:  
Else, I should speak— But, Lady, I love so well,  
As I will hope, you'll do so to. I have done, Sir.  Fit. 
Well, then, I ha'won?  Wit. 
Sir, And I may win, too.  Fit. 
O yes! no doubt on't. I'll take careful order,  
That she shall hang forth ensigns at the window,  
To tell you when I am absent. Or I'll keep  
Three or four footmen, ready still of purpose,  
To run and fetch you at her longings, Sir.  
I'll go bespeak me straight a guilt caroche,  
For her and you to take the air in: yes,  
Into Hyde-park, and thence into Blackfriars,  
Visit the painters, where you may see pictures,  
And note the properest limbs, and how to make 'em.  
Or what do you say unto a middling Gossip?  
To bring you aye together, at her lodging?  
Under pretext of teaching o'my wife  
Some rare receipt of drawing almond milk? ha?  
It shall be a part of my care. Good Sir, God b'w'you.  
I ha' kept the contract, and the cloak is mine own.  Wit. 
Why, much good do't you Sir; it may fall out,  
That you ha' bought it dear, though I ha' not sold it.  Fit. 
A pretty riddle! Fare you well, good Sir.  

He turns his wife about.  Wife, your face this way, look on me: and think  
You've had a wicked dream, wife, and forget it.  Man. 
This is the strangest motion I ere saw.  Fit. 
Now, wife, sits this fair cloak the worse upon me,  
For my great sufferings, or your little patience? ha?  
They laugh, you think?  Mis. Fit. 
Why Sir, and you might see't.  
What thought, they have of you, may be soon collected  
By the young gentleman's speech.  Fit. 
Young Gentleman?  
Death! you are in love with him, are you? could he not  
Be named the Gentleman, without the young?  
Up to your cabin again.  Mis. Fit. 
My cage, you werewere best  
To call it?  Fit. 
Yes, sing there. You'd fain be making  
Blank Manger with it at your mothers! I know you.  
Go get you up. How now! what say you, Devil?   

Act. I. Scene. VII.  Pug. Fitz. dotterel. Ingine. 
Here is one Engine, Sir, desires to speak with you.  Fit. 
I thought he brought some news, of a broker! well,  
Let him come in, good Devil: fetch him else  
O, my fine Engine! what's th'affair? more cheats?  Ing. 
No Sir, the Wit, the Brain, the great Projector,  
I told you of, is newly come to town.  Fit. 
Where, Engine?  Ing. 
I ha' brought him▪ (he's without)  
Ere he pulled off his boots, Sir, but so followed,  
For business:  Fit. 
But what is a Projector?  
I would conceive.  Ing. 
Why, one Sir, that projects  
Ways to enrich men, or to make 'em great,  
But suits, by marriages, by undertaking:  
According as he sees they humour it.  Fit. 
Can he not conjure at all?  Ing. 
I think he can, Sir.  
(To tell you true) but, you do know, of late,  
The State hath ta'en such note of'em, and compelled 'em,  
To enter such great bonds, they dare not practice.  Fit. 
'Tis true, and I lie fallow for't, the while!  Ing. 
O, Sir! you'll grow the richer for the rest.  Fit. 
I hope I shall: but Engine, you do talk  
Somewhat too much, o'my courses. My Cloak-customer  
Could tell me strange particulars.  Ing. 
By my means?  Fit. 
How should he have 'em else?  Ing. 
You do not know, Sir,  
What he has: and by what arts! A monied man, Sir,  
And is as great with your almanac-men, as you are!  Fit. 
That Gallant?  Ing. 
You make the other wait too long, here:  
And he is extreme punctual.  Fit. 
Is he a gallant?  Ing. 
Sir you shall see: He's in his riding suit,  
As he comes now from Court. But here him speak:  
Minister matter to him, and then tell me.    


Act. II. Scene. I.  Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. Trains. Pug. 
SIr, money's a whore, a bawd, a drudge;  
Fit to run out on errands: Let her go.  
Via pecunia! when she's run and gone,  
And fled and dead; then will I fetch her, again,  
With Aquavitae, out of an old Hogshead!  
While there are lees of wine, or dregs of beer,  
I'll never want her! Coin her out of cobwebs,  
Dust, but I'll have her! Raise wool upon eggshells,  
Sir, and make grass grow out o'marrowbones.  
To make her come. 
To a waiter.  (Commend me to your Mistress,  
Say, let the thousand pound but be had ready,  
And it is done) I would but see the creature  
(Of flesh, and blood) the man, the Prince, indeed,  
That could employ so many millions  
As I would help him to.  Fit. 
How, talks he? millions?  Mer. 
(I'll give you an account of this tomorrow.)  
Yes, 
To another.  I will take no less, and do it too;  
If they were myriads: and without the Devil,  
By direct means, it shall be good in law.  Ing. 
Sir.  Mer. 
Tell Mr. Woodcock, I'll not fail to meet him  
Upon th'Exchange at night. Pray him to have  
The writings there, and we'll dispatch it: Sir,  
You are a Gentleman of a good presence,  
A handsome man (I have considered you)  
As a fit stock to graft honours upon:  
I have a Project to make you a Duke, now.  
That you must be one, within so many months,  
And I set down, out of true reason of state,  
You sha' not avoid it. But you must hearken, then.  Ing. 
Harken? why Sir, do you doubt his ears? Alas!  
You do not know Master Fitz-dottrel.  Fit. 
He does not know me indeed. I thank you, Engine,  
For rectifying him.  Mer. 
Good! Why, Engine, then  
I'll tell you. (I see you ha' credit, here,  
And, that you can keep counsel, I'll not question.)  
He shall but be an undertaker with me,  
In a most feasible business. It shall cost him  
Nothing.  Ing. 
Good, Sir.  Mer. 
Except he please, but's countenance;  
(That I will have) t'appear in't, to great men,  
For which I'll make him one. He shall not draw  
A string of's purse. I'll drive his patent for him.  
We'll take in Citizens, Commoners, and Aldermen,  
To bear the charge, and blow 'em off again,  
Like so many dead flies, when 'tis carried.  
The thing is for recovery of drowned Land,  
Whereof the Crown's to have a moiety,  
If it be owner; Else, the Crown and Owners  
To share that moiety: and the recoverers  
T'enjoy the t'other moiety, for their charge.  Ing. 
Throughout England?  Mer. 
Yes, which will arise  
To eighteen millions, seven the first year:  
I have computed all, and made my survey  
Unto an acre, I'll begin at the Pan,  
Not, at the skirts: as some ha' done, and lost,  
All that they wrought, their timberwork, their trench,  
Their banks all borne away, or else filled up  
By the next winter. Tut, they never went  
The way. I'll have it all.  Ing. 
A Gallant tract  
Of land it is!  Mer. 
'Twill yield a pound an acre.  
We must let cheap, ever, at first. But Sir,  
This looks too large for you, I see. Come hither,  
We'll have a less. Here's a plain fellow, you see him,  
Has his black bag of papers, there, in Buckram,  
Wi'not be sold for th'earldom of Pancridge: Draw,  
Gi'me out one, by chance. Project; four dogs skins?  
Twelve thousand pound! the very worst, at first.  Fit. 
Pray you let's see't Sir.  Mer. 
'Tis a toy, a trifle!  Fit. 
Trifle! 12. thousand pound for dogs-skins?  Mer. 
Yes,  
But, by way of dressing, you must know, Sir,  
And med'cining the leather, to a height  
Of improved ware, like your Borachio  
Of Spain, Sir. I can fetch nine thousand for't—  Ing. 
Of the king's glover?  Mer. 
Yes, how heard you that?  Ing. 
Sir, I do know you can.  Mer. 
Within this hour  
And reserve half my secret. 
He plucks out the 2. Bottle-ale.  Pluck another;  
See if thou hast a happier hand: I thought so.  
The very next worse to it! Bottle-ale.  
Yet, this is two and twenty thousand! prithee  
Pull out another, two or three.  Fit. 
Good, stay, friend,  
By bottle-ale, two and twenty thousand pound?  Mer. 
Yes, Sir, it's cast to penny-hal'penny-farthing,  
O'the backside, there you may see it, read,  
I will not bate a Harrington o'the sum.  
I'll win it i'my water, and my malt,  
My furnaces, and hanging o'my coppers,  
The tonning, and subtlety o'my yeast;  
And, than the earth of my bottles, which I dig,  
Turn up, and steep, and work, and neal, myself,  
To a degree of Proc'lane. You will wonder,  
At my proportions, what I will put up  
In seven years! for so long time, I ask  
For my invention. I will save in cork,  
In my mere stoppling, 'bove three thousand pound,  
Within that term: by googing of 'em out  
Just to the size of my bottles, and not flying.  
There's infinite loss i''at. What hast thou there?  
O'making wine of raisins: 
He draws out another raisins.  this is in hand, now,  Ing. 
Is not that strange, Sir, to make wine of raisins?  Mer. 
Yes, and as true wine, as th'wines of France,  
Or Spain, or Italy, Look of what grape  
My raisin is, that wine I'll render perfect,  
As of the muscatel grape, I'll render muscatel;  
Of Canary, his; the Claret, his;  
So of all kinds: and bate you of the prices,  
Of wine, throughout the kingdom, half in half.  Ing. 
But, how, Sir, if you raise the other commodity,  
Raisins?  Mer. 
Why, then I'll make it out of blackberries:  
And it shall do the same. 'Tis but more art,  
And the charge less. Take out another.  Fit. 
No, good Sir.  
Save you the trouble, I'll not look, nor hear  
Of any, but your first, there; the Drowned-land:  
If't will do, as you say.  Mer. 
Sir, there's not place,  
To gi'you demonstration of these things.  
They are a little too subtle. But, I could show you  
Such a necessity in't, as you must be  
But what you please: against the received heresy,  
That England bears no Dukes. Keep you the land, Sir,  
The greatness of th'estate shall throw't upon you.  
If you like better turning it to money,  
What may not you, Sir, purchase with that wealth?  
Say, you should part with two o'your millions,  
To be the thing you would, who would not do't?  
As I protest, I will, out of my dividend,  
Lay, for some pretty principality,  
In Italy, from the Church: Now, you perhaps,  
Fancy the smoke of England, rather? But—  
Ha'you no private room, Sir, to draw to,  
T'enlarge ourselves more upon.  Fit. 
O yes, Devil!  Mer. 
These, Sir, are businesses, ask to be carried  
With caution▪ and in cloud.  Fit. 
I apprehend,  
They do so, Sir, Devil, which way is your Mistress?  Pug. 
Above, Sir, in her chamber.  Fit. 
O that's well.  
Then this way good, Sir.  Mer. 
I shall follow you; Trains,  
Gi'me the bag, and go you presently,  
Commend my service to my Lady Tailbush.  
Tell her I am come from Court this morning; say,  
I'have got our business moved, and well: Entreat her,  
That she give you the fourscore Angels, and see 'em  
Disposed of to my Council, Sir Paul Either-side.  
Sometime, today, I'll wait upon her Ladyship,  
With the relation.  Ing. 
Sir, of what dispatch,  
He is! Do you mark?  Mer. 
Engine, when did you see  
My cousin Everill? keeps he still your quarter?  
I'the Bermudas?  Ing. 
Yes, Sir, he was writing  
This morning, very hard.  Mer. 
Be not you known to him,  
That I am come to Town: I have effected  
A business for him, but I would have it take him,  
Before he thinks for't.  Ing. 
It is past?  Mer. 
Not yet.  
'Tis well o'the way.  Ing. 
O Sir! your worship takes  
Infinite pains.  Mer. 
I love Friends, to be active:  
A sluggish nature puts off man, and kind.  Ing. 
And such a blessing follows it.  Mer. 
I thank  
My fate. Pray you let's be private, Sir?  Fit. 
In, here.  Mer. 
Where none may interrupt us.  Fit. 
You hear, Devil,  
Lock the street-doors fast, and let no one in  
(Except they be this Gentleman's followers)  
To trouble me. Do you mark? You've hard and seen  
Something, today; and, by it, you may gather  
Your Mistress is a fruit, that's worth the stealing  
And therefore worth the watching. Be you sure, now,  
You've all your eyes about you; and let in  
No lace-woman; nor bawd, that brings French-masques,  
And cut-works. See you? Nor old crones, with wafers,  
To convey letters. Nor no youths, disguised  
Like country-wives, with cream, and marrow-puddings.  
Much knavery may be vented in a pudding,  
Much bawdy intelligence: theyare shrewd ciphers.  
Nor turn the key to any neighbours need;  
Be't but to kindle fire, or beg a little,  
Put it out, rather: all out, to an ash,  
That they may see no smoke. Or water, spill it:  
Knock o'the empty tubs, that by the sound,  
They may be forbid entry. Say, we are robbed,  
If any come to borrow a spoon, or so.  
I wi'not have good fortune, or God's blessing  
Let in, while I am busy.  Pug. 
I'll take care, Sir,  
They sha'not trouble you, if they would.  Fit. 
Well do so.   

Act. II. Scene. II.  Pug. Mistress Fitz-dottrell. 
I Have no singular service of this, now?  
Nor no superlative Master? I shall wish  
To be in hell again, at leisure? Bring,  
A Vice from thence? That had been such a subtlety,  
As to bring broad-clothes hither: or transport  
Fresh Oranges into Spain. I find it, now;  
My Chief was i'the right. Can any fiend  
Boast of a better Vice, then here by nature,  
And art, theyare owners of? Hell ne'er own me,  
But I am taken! the fine tract of it  
Pulls me along! To hear men such professors  
Grown in our subtlest Sciences! My first Act, now,  
Shall be, to make this Master of mine cuckold:  
The primitive work of darkness, I will practise!  
I will deserve so well of my fair Mistress,  
By my discoveries, first; my counsels after;  
And keeping counsel, after that: as who,  
soever, is one, I'll be another, sure,  
I'll ha'my share. Most delicate damned flesh!  
She will be! O! that I could stay time, now,  
Midnight will come too fast upon me, I fear,  
To cut my pleasure—  Mis. Fit. 
Look at the backdoor, 
She sends Devil out▪   
One knocks, see who it is.  Pug. 
Dainty she Devil!  Mis. Fit. 
I cannot get this venture of the cloak,  
Out of my fancy; nor the Gentleman's way,  
He took, which though 'twere strange, yet 'twas handsome,  
And had a grace withal, beyond the newness.  
Sure he will think me that dull stupid creature,  
He said, and may conclude it; if I find not  
Some thought to thank th'attempt. He did presume,  
By all the carriage of it, on my brain,  
For answer; and will swear 'tis very barren,  
If it can yield him no return. 
Devil returns.  Who is it?  Pug. 
Mistress, it is, but first, let me assure  
The excellence, of Mistresses, I am,  
Although my Master's man, My Mistress slave,  
The servant of her secrets, and sweet turns,  
And know, what fitly will conduce to either.  Mis. Fit. 
What's this? I pray you come to yourself and think  
What your part is: to make an answer. Tell,  
Who is it at the door?  Pug. 
The Gentleman, Mistress,  
Who was at the cloak-charge to speak with you,  
This morning, who expects only to take  
Some small commandments from you, what you please,  
Worthy your form, he says, and gentlest manners.  Mis. Fit. 
O! you'll anon prove his hired man, I fear,  
What has he given you, for this message? Sir,  
Bid him put off his hopes of straw, and leave  
To spread his nets, in view, thus. Though they take  
Master Fitz-dottrel, I am no such foul,  
Nor fair one, tell him, will be had with stalking.  
And wish him to forbear his acting to me,  
At the Gentleman's chamber-window in Lincolns-inn there,  
That opens to my gallery: else, I swear  
T'acquaint my husband with his folly, and leave him  
To the just rage of his offended jealousy.  
Or if your Master's sense be not so quick  
To right me, tell him, I shall find a friend  
That will repair me. Say, I will be quiet  
In mine own house? Pray you, in those words give it him.  Pug. 
This is some fool turned!  Mis. Fit. 
If he be the Master,  

He goes out.  Now, of that state and wit, which I allow him;  
Sure, he will understand me: I durst not  
Be more direct. For this officious fellow,  
My husband's new groom, is a spy upon me,  
I find already. Yet, if he but tell him  
This in my words, he cannot but conceive  
Himself both apprehended, and requited.  
I would not have him think he met a statue:  
Or spoke to one, not there, though I were silent.  
How now? ha'you told him?  Pug. 
Yes.  Mis. Fit. 
And what says he?  Pug. 
Says he? That which myself would say to you, if I durst.  
That you are proud, sweet Mistress! and withal,  
A little ignorant, to entertain  
The good that's proffered; and (by your beauty's leave)  
Not all so wise, as some true politic wife  
Would be: who having matched with such a Nupson  
(I speak it with my Master's peace) whose face  
Hath left t'accuse him, now, for't doth confess him,  
What you can make him; will yet (out of scruple,  
And a spiced conscience) defraud the poor Gentleman,  
At least delay him in the thing he longs for,  
And makes it his whole study, how to compass,  
Only a title. Could but he write Cuckold,  
He had his ends. For, look you—  Mis. Fit. 
This can be  
None but my husband's wit.  Pug. 
My precious Mistress.  Mis. Fit. 
It creaks his Engine: The groom never durst  
Be, else, so saucy—  Pug. 
If it were not clearly,  
His worshipful ambition; and the top of it;  
The very forked top too: why should he  
Keep you, thus mured up in a backroom, Mistress,  
Allow you ne'er a casement to the street,  
Fear of engendering by the eyes, with gallants,  
Forbid you paper, pen and ink, like Ratsbane.  
Search your half pint of muscatel, lest a letter  
Be sunk i'the pot: and hold your new-laid egg  
Against the fire▪ least any charm be writ there?  
Will you make benefit of truth, dear Mistress,  
If I do tell it you: I do't not often?  
I am set over you, employed, indeed,  
To watch your steps, your looks, your very breathings,  
And to report them to him. Now, if you  
Will be a true, right, delicate sweet Mistress,  
Why, we will make a Cokes of this Wise Master,  
We will, my Mistress, an absolute fine Cokes,  
And mock, to air, all the deep diligences  
Of such a solemn, and effectual Ass,  
An Ass to so good purpose, as we'll use him.  
I will contrive it so, that you shall go  
To Plays, to Masques, to Meetings, and to Feasts.  
For, why is all this Rigging, and fine Tackle, Mistress,  
If you neat handsome vessels, of good sail,  
Put not forth ever, and anon, with your nets  
Abroad into the world. It is your fishing.  
There you shall choose your friends, your servants, Lady,  
Your squires of honour; I'll convey your letters,  
Fetch answers, do you all the offices,  
That can belong to your blood, and beauty. And,  
For the variety, at my times, although  
I am not in due symmetry, the man  
Of that proportion; or in rule  
Of physic, of the just complexion;  
Or of that truth of Piccardell, in clothes,  
To boast a sovereignty o'er Ladies: yet  
I know, to do my turns, sweet Mistress. Come, kiss—  Mis. Fit. 
How now!  Pug. 
Dear delicate Mistress, I am your slave,  
Your little worm, that loves you: your fine Monkey;  
Your Dog, your jack, your Pug, that longs to be  
Styled, o'your pleasures.  Mis. Fit. 
Hear you all this? 
She walks▪ her husband watches.  Sir, Pray you,  
Come from your standing, do, a little, spare  
yourself, Sir, from your watch, t'applaud your Squire,  
That so well follows your instructions!   

Act. II. Scene. III.  Fitz-dottrell. Mis. Fitz-dottrell. Pug. 
HOw now, sweetheart? what's the matter?  Mis. Fit. 
Good!  
You are a stranger to the plot! you set not  
Your saucy Devil, here, to tempt your wife,  
With all the insolent uncivil language,  
Or action, he could vent?  Fit. 
Did you so, Devil?  Mis. Fit. 
Not you? you were not planted i'your hole to hear him,  
Upo'the stairs? or here, behind the hangings?  
I do not know your qualities? he durst do it,  

Her husband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgel upon him.  And you not give directions?  Fit. 
You shall see, wife,  
Whether he durst, or no: and what it was  
I did direct.  Pug. 
Sweet Mistress, are you mad?  Fit. 
You most mere Rogue! you open manifest Villain!  
You Fiend apparent you! you declared Hellhound!  Pug. 
Good Sir.  Fit. 
Good Knave, good Rascal, and good Traitor.  
Now, I do find you parcel-devil, indeed.  
upon the point of trust? I'your first charge?  
The very day o'your probation?  
To tempt your Mistress? You do see, good wedlock,  
How I directed him,  Mis. Fit. 
Why, where Sir, were you?  Fit. 

After a pause.  Nay, there is one blow more, for exercise:  
I told you, I should do it.  Pug. 
Would you had done, Sir.  Fit. 

He strikes him again▪  O wife, the rarest man! yet there's another  
To put you in mind o' the last. Such a brave man, wife!  
Within, he has his projects, and does vent 'em,  

and again.  The gallantest! where you tentiginous? ha?  
Would you be acting of the Incubus?  
Did her silks rustling move you?  Pug. 
Gentle Sir.  Fit. 
Out of my sight. If thy name were not Devil,  
Thou shouldst not stay a minute with me. In,  
Go, yet stay: yet go too. I am resolved,  
What I will do: and you shall know't aforehand.  

Devil goes out.  Soon as the Gentleman is gone, do you hear?  
I'll help your lisping. Wife, such a man, wife!  
He has such plots! He will make me a Duke!  
No less, by heaven! six Mares, to your coach, wife!  
That's your proportion! And your coachman bald!  
Because he shall be bare, enough, Do not you laugh,  
We are looking for a place, and all, i'the map  
What to be of. Have faith, be not an Infidel.  
You know I am not easy to be gulled.  
I swear, when I have my millions, else, I'll make  
Another Duchess; if you ha' not faith.  Mis. Fit. 
You'll ha' too much, I fear, in these false spirits,  Fit. 
Spirits? O, no such thing! wife! wit, mere wit!  
This man defies the Devil, and all his works!  
He dost by Engine, and devices, he!  
He has his winged ploughs, that go with sails,  
Will plough you forty acres, at once! and mills,  
Will spout you water, ten miles off! All Crowland  
Is ours, wife; and the fens, from us, in Norfolk,  
To the utmost bound of Lincolnshire! we have viewed it.  
And measured it within all; by the scale!  
The richest tract of land, Love, i'the kingdom!  
There will be made seventeen, or eighteen millions;  
Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore, think,  
Sweet heart, if thouhast a fancy to one place,  
More than another, to be Duchess of;  
Now, name it: I will ha''t, whate'er it cost,  
(If't will be had for money) either here,  
Or'n France, or Italy.  Mis. Fit. 
You ha' strange fantasies!   

Act. II. Scene. IV.  Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. 
WHere are you, Sir?  Fit. 
I see thou hast no talon  
This way, wife. Up to thy gallery; do, Chuck,  
Leave us to talk of it, who understand it.  Mer. 
I think we ha' found a place to fit you, now, Sir.  
Gloc'ster.  Fit. 
O, no, I'll none!  Mer. 
Why, Sir?  Fit. 
'tis fatal.  Mer. 
That you say right in. Spenser, I think, the younger,  
Had his last honour thence. But, he was but Earl.  Fit. 
I know not that, Sir. But Thomas of Woodstock,  
I'm sure, was Duke, and he was made away,  
At Calice; as Duke Humphrey was at Bury:  
And Richard the third, you know what end he came too.  Mer. 
By m'faith you are cunning i'the Chronicle, Sir.  Fit. 
No, I confess I ha''t from the Playbooks,  
And think theyare more authentic.  Ing. 
That's sure, Sir.  Mer. 
What say you (to this then)  Fit. 
No a noble house. 
He whispers him of a place.   
Pretends to that. I will do no man wrong.  Mer. 
Then take one proposition more, and here it  
As past exception.  Fit. 
What's that?  Mer. 
To be  
Duke of those lands, you shall recover: take  
Your title, thence, Sir, Duke of the Drowned-land,  
Or Drowned-land.  Fit. 
Ha? that last has a good sound!  
I like it well. The Duke of Dround-'land?  Ing. 
Yes;  
It goes like Green-land, Sir, if you mark it.  Mer. 
ay,  
And drawing thus your honour from the work,  
You make the reputation of that, greater;  
And stay't the longer i'your name.  Fit. 
'Tis true.  
Droun'd-lands will live in Drowned-land!  Mer. 
Yes, when you  
Ha' no foot left; as that must be, Sir, one day.  
And, though it tarry in your heirs, some forty,  
Fifty descents, the longer liver, at last, yet,  
Must thrust 'em out on't: if no quirk in law,  
Or odd Vice o'their own not do't first.  
We see those changes, daily: the fair lands,  
That were the Clients, are the Lawyers, now:  
And those rich Manors, there, of good man Tailors,  
Had once more wood upon 'em then the yard,  
By which th'were measured out for the last purchase.  
Nature hath these vicissitudes. she makes  
No man a state of perpetuity, Sir.  Fit. 

He spies Devil . You're i'the right. Let's in then, and conclude.  
I my sight, again? I'll talk with you, anon.   

Act. II. Scene. V.  Pug. 
SUre he will geld me, if I stay: or worse,  
Pluck out my tongue, one o'the two. This Fool,  
There is no trusting of him: and to quit him,  
Were a contempt against my Chief, past pardon.  
It was a shrewd disheartening this at first!  
Who would ha'thought a woman so well harnessed,  
Or rather well-caparisoned, indeed,  
That wears such petticoats, and lace to her smocks,  
Broad seeming laces (as I see 'em hang there)  
And garters which are lost, if she can show 'em,  
Could ha'done this? Hell! why is she so brave?  
It cannot be to please Duke Dotterel, sure,  
Nor the dull pictures, in her gallery,  
Nor her own dear reflection, in her glass;  
Yet that may be: I have known many of'em,  
Begin their pleasure, but none end it, there:  
(That I consider, as I go along with it)  
They may, for want of better company,  
Or that they think the better, spend an hour;  
Two, three, or four, discoursing with their shadow:  
But sure they have a farther speculation.  
No woman dressed with so much care, and study,  
Doth dress herself in vain. I'll vex this problem,  
A little more, before I leave it, sure.   

Act. II. Scene. VI.  Wittipol. Manly. Mistress Fitz-dottrell. Pug. 
THis was a fortune, happy above thought,  
That this should prove thy chamber; which I feared  
Would be my greatest trouble! this must be  
The very window, and that the room.  Man. 
It is.  
I now remember, I have often seen there  
A woman but I never marked her much.  Wit. 
Where was your soul, friend?  Man. 
Faith, but now, and then,  
Awake unto those objects.  Wit. 
You pretend so.  
Let me not live, if I am not in love  
More with her wit, for this direction, now,  
Then with her form, though I ha' praised that prettily,  
Since I saw her, 
He gives him a paper, wherein is the copy of a Song.  and you, today. Read those.  
They'll go unto the air you love so well.  
Try 'em unto the note, may be the music  
Will call her sooner; light, she's here! Sing quickly.  Mis. Fit. 
Either he understood him not: or else,  
The fellow was not faithful in delivery,  
Of what I bade. And, I am justly paid,  
That might have made my profit of his service,  
But, by mistaking, have drawn on his envy,  
And done the worse defeat upon myself.  
How! 
Manly sings, Pug enters perceives it.  Music? than he may be there: and is sure.  Pug. 
O! Is it so? Is there the interview?  
Have I drawn to you, at last, my cunning Lady?  
The Devil is an Ass! fooled off! and beaten!  
Nay, made an instrument! and could not sent it!  
Well, since yo'have shown the malice of a woman,  
No less than her true wit, and learning, Mistress,  
I'll try, if little Pug have the malignity  
To recompense it, and so save his danger.  
'Tis not the pain, but the discredit of it,  
The Devil should not keep a body entire.  Wit. 
Away, fall back, she comes.  Man. 
I'll leave you, Sir,  
The Master of my chamber. I have business.  Wit. 
Mis.!  Mis. Fit. 
You make me paint, Sir.  Wit. 
theyare fair colours,  
Lady, and natural! I did receive  
Some commands from you lately, 
This Scene is acted at two windows, as out of two contiguous buildings.  gentle Lady,  
But so perplexed, and wrapped in the delivery,  
As I may fear t'have misinterpreted:  
But must make suit still, to be near your grace.  Mis. Fit. 
Who is there with you, Sir?  Wit. 
None, but myself.  
It falls out, Lady, to be a dear friends lodging.  
Wherein there's some conspiracy of fortune  
With your poor servants blessed affections.  Mis. Fit. 
Who was it sung?  Wi. 
He, Lady, but he's gone,  
Upon my entreaty of him, seeing you  
Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him,  
If he were here. He is too much a gentleman.  Mis. Fit. 
Sir if you judge me by this simple action  
And by the outward habit, and complexion  
Of easiness, it hath, to your design;  
You may with Justice, say, I am a woman:  
And a strange woman. But when you shall please,  
To bring but that concurrence of my fortune,  
To memory, which today yourself did urge:  
It may beget some favour like excuse,  
Though none like reason.  Wit. 

No, my tuneful Mistress?  
Then, surely, Love hath none; nor Beauty any;  
Nor Nature violenced, in both these:  
With all whose gentle tongues you speak, at once.  
I thought I had enough removed, already,  
That scruple from your breast, and left y'allall reason;  
When, through my morning's perspective I showed you  
A man so above excuse, as he is the cause,  
Why any thing is to be done upon him:  
And nothing called an injury, misplaced.  
I rather now had hope, to show you how Love  
By his accesses, grows more natural:  
And, what was done, this morning, with such force  
Was but devised to serve the present, then.  

He grows more familiar in his Courtship.  That since love hath the honour to approach  
These sister-swelling breasts; and touch this soft,  
And rosy hand; he hath the skill to draw  
Their Nectar forth, with kissing; and could make  
More wanton salts, from this brave promontory,  

Plays with her paps, kisseth her hands, &c.  Down to this valley, than the nimble Roe;  
Could play the hopping Sparrow, 'bout these nets;  
And sporting Squirrel in these crisped groves;  
Bury himself in every Silkworms kell,  
Is here unravelled; run into the snare,  
Which every hair is, is cast into a curl,  
To catch a Cupid flying: Bath himself  
In milk, and roses, here, and dry him, there;  
Warm his cold hands, to play with this smooth, round,  
And well turned chin, as with the billiard ball;  
Roll on these lips, the banks of love, and there  
At once both plant, and gather kisses. Lady,  
Shall I, with what I have made today here, call  
All sense to wonder, and all faith to sign  
The mysteries revealed in your form?  
And will Love pardon me the blasphemy  
I uttered, when I said, a glass could speak  
This beauty, or that fools had power to judge it?   

Do but look, on her eyes! They do light—  
All that Love's world compriseth!  
Do but look on her hair! it is bright,  
As Love's star, when it riseth!  
Do but mark, her forehead smoother,  
Than words that soothe her!  
And from her arched brows, such grace  
Sheds itself through the face;  
As alone, there triumphs to the life,  
All the gain, all the good, of the elements strife!   

Have you seen but a bright Lily grow,  
Before rude hands have touched it?  
Have you marked but the fall of Snow,  
Before the soil hath smutched it?  
Have you felt the wool o'the Beaver?  
Or Swans down, ever?  
Or, have smelled o'the bud o'the Brier?  
Or the Nard i'the fire?  
Or, have tasted the bag o'the Bee?  
O, so white! O, so soft! O, so sweet is she.    

Act. II. Scene. VII.  Fitz-dottrell. Wittipol. Pug. 
IS she so, 
Her husband appears at her back.  Sir? and, I will keep her so.  
If I know how, or can: that wit of man  
Will do't, I'll go no farther. At this window'  
She shall no more be buzzed at. Take your leave on't.  
If you be sweet meats, 
He speaks out of his wife's window.  wedlock, or sweet flesh,  
All's one: I do not love this hum about you.  
A fly-blown wife is not so proper, In:  
For you, Sir, look to hear from me..  Wit. 
So, I do, Sir.  Fit. 
No, but in other terms. There's no man offers  
This to my wife, but pays for't,  Wit. 
That have I, Sir.  Fit. 
Nay, then, I tell you, you are.  Wit. 
What am I, Sir?  Fit. 
Why, that I'll think on, when I ha' cut your throat.  Wit. 
Go, you are an Ass.  Fit. 
I am resolved on't, Sir.  Wit. 
I think you are.  Fit. 
To call you to a reckoning.  Wit. 
Away, you broker's block, you property.  Fit. 
'Slight, if you strike me, I'll strike your Mistress,  Wit. 
O! 
He strikes his wife.  I could shoot my eyes at him, for that, now;  
Or leave my teeth in him, were they Cuckold's bane,  
Enough to kill him. What prodigious,  
Blind, and most wicked change of fortune's this?  
I ha' no air of patience: all my veins  
Swell, and my sinews start at iniquity of it.  
I shall break, break.  Pug. 
This for the malice of it, 
The Devil speaks below.   
And my revenge may pass! But, now, my conscience  
Tells me, I have profited the cause of Hell  
But little, in the breaking-off their loves.  
Which, if some other act of mine repair not,  
I shall hear ill of my account.  Fit. 
O, Bird!  
Could you do this? 
Fitz-dottrel enters with his wife as come down.  'gainst me? and at this time, now?  
When I was so employed, wholly for you,  
Drowned i'my care (more, than the land, I swear,  
I'have hope to win) to make you peerless? studying,  
For footmen for you, fine paced ushers, pages,  
To serve you o'the knee; with what Knights wife,  
To bear your train, and sit with your four women  
In council, and receive intelligences,  
From foreign parts, to dress you at all pieces!  
You've (almost) turned my good affection, to you;  
Soured my sweet thoughts; all my pure purposes:  
I could now find (i'my very heart) to make  
Another, Lady Duchess; and depose you.  
Well, go your ways in. Devil, you have redeemed all.  
I do forgive you. And I'll do you good.   

Act. III. Scene. VIII.  Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. Trains. 
WHy ha'you these excursions? where ha'you been, Sir?  Fit. 
Where I ha' been vexed a little, with a toy!  Mer. 
O Sir! no toys must trouble your grave head,  
Now it is growing to be great. You must  
Be above all those things.  Fit. 
Nay, nay, so I will.  Mer. 
Now you are toward the Lord, you must put off  
The man, Sir.  Ing. 
He says true.  Mer. 
You must do nothing  
As you ha'done it heretofore; not know,  
Or salute any man.  Ing. 
That was your bedfellow,  
The other month.  Mer. 
The other month? the week.  
Thou dost not know the privileges, Engine,  
Follow that Title; nor how swift: Today,  
When he has put on his Lords face once, then—  Fit. 
Sir, for these things I shall do well enough,  
There is no fear of me. But then, my wife is  
Such an untoward thing! she'll never learn  
How to comport with it! I am out of all  
Conceit, on her behalf.  Mer. 
Best have her taught, Sir.  Fit. 
Where? Are there any Schools for Ladies? Is there  
An Academy for women? I do know,  
For men there was: I learned in it, myself,  

Engine whispers Merecraft, Merecraft turns to Fitz-dottrel.  To make my legs, and do my postures.  Ing. 
Sir.  
Do you remember the conceit you had—  
O'the Spanish gown, at home?  Mer. 
Ha! I do thank thee,  
With all my heart, dear Engine. Sir, there is  
A certain Lady, here about the Town,  
An English widow, who hath lately traveled,  
But she's called the Spaniard; cause she came  
Latest from thence: keeps the Spanish habit.  
Such a rare woman! all our women here,  
That are of spirit, and fashion flock, unto her,  
As to their precedent; their Law; their Canon;  
More than they ever did, to Oracle-Foreman.  
Such rare receipts she has, Sir, for the face;  
Such oils; such tinctures; such pomatums;  
Such perfumes; medicines; quintessences, &c.  
And such a mistress of behaviour;  
She knows, from the Duke's daughter, to the Doxy,  
What is their due just: and no more!  Fit. 
O, Sir!  
You please me in'is, more than mine own greatness.  
Where is she? Let us have her.  Mer. 
by your patience,  
We must use means; cast how to be acquainted—  Fit. 
Good Sir, about it.  Mer. 
We must think how, first,  Fit. 
O!  
I do not love to tarry for a thing,  
When I have a mind to't. You do not know me.  
If you do offer it.  Mer. 
Your wife must send  
Some pretty token to her, with a compliment,  
And pray to be received in her graces,  
All the great Ladies do't,  Fit. 
She shall, she shall,  
What were it best to be?  Mer. 
Some little toy,  
I would not have it any great matter, Sir:  
A Diamant ring, of forty or fifty pound,  
Would do it handsomely: and be a gift  
Fit for your wife to send, and her to take.  Fit. 
I'll go, 
Fitz-dottrel goes out.  and tell my wife on't, straight.  Mer. 
Why this  
Is well! the clothes we'have now: But where's this Lady?  
If we could get a witty boy, now, Engine;  
That were an excellent crack. I could instruct him,  
To the true height. For any thing takes this dotterel.  Ing. 
Why, Sir your best will be one o'the players!  Mer. 
No, there's no trusting them. They'll talk on't,  
And tell their Poets.  Ing. 
What if they do? the jest  
Will brook the Stage. But there be some of'em  
Are very honest Lads. There's Dick Robinson  
A very pretty fellow, and comes often  
To a Gentleman's chamber, a friend's of mine. We had  
The merriest supper of it there, one night,  
The Gentleman's Landlady invited him  
to a'a gossip's feast, Now, he Sir brought Dick Robinson,  
Dressed like a lawyer's wife, amongst'em all;  
(I lent him clothes) but, to see him behave it;  
And lay the law; and carve; and drink unto'em;  
And then talk bawdy: and send frolicks! o!  
It would have burst your buttons, or not left you  
A seam.  Mer. 
They say he's an ingenious youth!  Ing. 
O Sir! and dresses himself, the best! beyond  
Forty o'your very Ladies! did you ne'er see him?  Mer. 
No, I do seldom see those toys. But think you,  
That we may have him?  Ing. 
Sir, the young Gentleman  
I tell you of, can command him. Shall I attempt it?  Mer. 
Yes do it.  Fit. 
'Slight, 
Enters again.  I cannot get my wife  
To part with a ring, on any terms: and yet,  
The sullen Monkey has two.  Mer. 
It were 'gainst reason,  
That you should urge it; Sir, send to a Goldsmith,  
Let not her lose by't.  Fit. 
How does she lose by't?  
Is't not for her?  Mer. 
Make it your own bounty,  
It will ha'the better success; what is a matter  
Of fifty pound to you, Sir.  Fit. 
I have but a hundred  
Pieces, to show here; that I would not break—  Mer. 
You shall ha' credit, Sir. I'll send a ticket  
Unto my Goldsmith. Here, my man comes too,  

Trains enters.  To carry it fitly. How, now, Trains? What birds?  Tra. 
Your Cousin Everill met me, and has beat me,  
Because I would not tell him where you were:  
I think he has dogged me to the house too.  Fit. 
Well—  
You shall go out at the backdoor, then, Trains.  
You must get Guilt-head hither, by some means:  Tra. 
'Tis impossible!  Fit. 
Tell him we have venison,  
I'll gi' him a piece, and send his wife a Pheasant.  Tra. 
A Forest moves not till that forty pound,  
Yo'had of him, last, be paid. He keeps more stir,  
For that same petty some, then for your bond  
Of six; and Statute of eight hundred!  Fit. 
Tell him  
we'll hedge in that. Cry up Fitz-dottrell to him,  
Double his price: Make him a man of mettle.  Tra. 
That will not need, his bond is currant enough.    


Act. III. Scene. I.  Guilt-head. Plutarchus. 
ALl this is to make you a Gentleman:  
I'll have you learn, Son. Wherefore have I placed you  
With Sir. Pould Either-side, but to have so much Law  
To keep your own? Besides, he is a justice,  
Here i'the Town; and dwelling, Son, with him,  
You shall learn that in a year, shall be worth twenty  
Of having stayed you at Oxford, or at Cambridge,  
Or sending you to the Inns of Court, or France.  
I am called for now in haste, by Master Mere-craft  
To trust Master Fitz-dottrell, a good man:  
I'have inquired him, eighteen hundred a year,  
(His name is currant) for a diamant ring  
Of forty, shall not be worth thirty (that's gained)  
And this is to make you a Gentleman!  Plu. 
O, but good father, you trust too much!  Gui. 
Boy, boy,  
We live, by finding fools out, to be trusted.  
Our shop-books are our pastures, our corn-grounds,  
We lay 'em open, for them to come into:  
And when we have 'em there, we drive 'em up  
In t'one of our two Pounds, the Compters, straight,  
And this is to make you a Gentleman!  
We Citizens never trust, but we do cozen:  
For, if our debtors pay, we cozen them;  
And if they do not, than we cozen ourselves.  
But that's a hazard every one must run,  
That hopes to make his Son a Gentleman!  Plu. 
I do not wish to be one, truly, Father.  
In a descent, or two, we come to be  
Just i'their state, fit to be cozened, like 'em.  
And I had rather ha' tarried i'your trade:  
For, since the Gentry scorn the City so much,  
methinks we should in time, holding together,  
And matching in our own tribes, as they say,  
Have got an Act of Common Council, for it,  
That we might cozen them out of rerum natura.  Gui. 
ay, if we had an Act first to forbid  
The marrying of our wealthy heirs unto 'em:  
And daughters, with such lavish portions,  
That confounds all.  Plu. 
And makes a Mongrel breed, Father.  
And when they have your money then they laugh at you:  
Or kick you down the stairs. I cannot abide 'em.  
I would fain have 'em cozened, but not trusted.   

Act. III. Scene. II.  Meere-craft. Guilt-head. Fitz-dottrell. Plutarchus. 
O, Is he come! I knew he would not fail me.  
Welcome, good Guilt-head, I must ha'you do  
A noble Gentleman, a courtesy, here:  
In a mere toy (some pretty Ring, or Jewel)  
Of fifty, or threescore pound (Make it a hundred,  
And hedge in the last forty, that I owe you,  
And your own price for the Ring) He's a good man, Sir,  
And you may hap 'see him a great one! He,  
Is likely to bestow hundreds, and thousands,  
Wi'you; if you can humour him. A great Prince  
He will be shortly. What do you say?  Gui. 
In truth, Sir  
I cannot. 'T has been a long vacation with us.  Fit. 
Of what, I pray thee? of wit? or honesty?  
Those are your Citizens long vacations.  Plu. 
Good Father do not trust 'em.  Mer. 
Nay, Thom. Guilt-head.  
He will not buy a courtesy and beg it:  
He'll rather pay, then pray. If you do for him,  
You must do cheerfully. His credit, Sir,  
Is not yet prostitute! Who's this? thy son?  
A pretty youth, what's his name?  Plu. 
Plutarchus, Sir.  Mer. 
Plutarchus! How came that about?  Gui. 
That year Sir,  
That I begot him, I bought Plutarch's lives,  
And fell s' in love with the book, as I called my son  
By'his name; In hope he should be like him:  
And write the lives of our great men!  Mer. 
I'the City?  
And you do breed him, there?  Gui. 
His mind, Sir, lies  
Much to that way.  Mer. 
Why, then, he is i'the right way.  Gui. 
But, now, I had rather get him him a good wife,  
And plant him i'the country; there to use  
The blessing I shall leave him.  Mer. 
Out upon't!  
And lose the laudable means, thou hast at home, here,  
T'advance, and make him a young Alderman?  
Buy him a captain's place, for shame; and let him  
Into the world, early, and with his plume,  
And Scarves, march through Cheapside, or along Cornhill,  
And by the virtue 'of those, draw down a wife  
There from a window, worth ten thousand pound!  
Get him the posture book, and's leaden men,  
To set upon a table, 'gainst his Mistress  
Chance to come by, that he may draw her in,  
And show her Finsbury battles.  Gui. 
I have placed him  
With Justice eitherside, to get so much law—  Mer. 
As thou hast conscience! Come, come, thou dost wrong  
Pretty Plutarchus, who had not his name,  
For nothing: but was borne to train the youth  
Of London, in the military truth—  
That way his Genius lies. My Cousin Ever-ill!   

Act. III. Scene. III.  Ever-ill. Plutarchus. Guilt-head. Meer-craft. Fitz-dottrell. 
O, Are you here, Sir? pray you let us whisper.  Plu. 
Father, dear Father, trust him if you love me.  Guil. 
Why, I do mean it, boy; but, what I do,  
Must not come easily from me: we must deal  
With Courtiers, boy, as Courtiers deal with us.  
If I have a Business there, with any of them,  
Why, I must wait, I'm sure on't, Son: and though  
My Lord dispatch me, yet his worshipful man—  
Will keep me for his sport, a month, or two,  
To show me with my fellow Citizens.  
I must make his train long, and full, one quarter;  
And help the spectacle of his greatness. There,  
Nothing is done at once, but injuries, boy:  
And they come headlong! all their good turns move not,  
Or very slowly.  Plu. 
Yet sweet father, trust him.  Gui. 
Well, I will think..  Ev. 
Come, you must do't, Sir.  
I'm undone else, and your Lady Tailbush  
Has sent for me to dinner, and my clothes  
Are all at pawn. I had sent out this morning,  
Before I heard you were come to town, some twenty  
Of my Epistles, and no one return—  Mer. 
Why, I ha' told you o''is. This comes of wearing  

Merecraft tells him of his faults.  Scarlet, gold lace, and cut-works! your fine gartering!  
With your blown roses, Cousin! and your eating  
Pheasant, and Godwit. here in London! haunting  
The Globes, and Mermaids! and wedging in with Lords,  
Still at the table! and affecting lechery,  
In velvet! where could you ha' contented yourself  
With cheese, salt-butter, and a pickled hearing,  
I'the Low-countries; there worn cloth, and fustian!  
been satisfied with a leap o'your Host's daughter,  
In garrison, a wench of a stoter! or,  
Your sutler's wife, i'the leaguer, of two blanks!  
You never, then, had run upon this flat,  
To write your letters missive, and send out  
Your privy seals, that thus have frighted off  
All your acquaintance; that they shun you at distance,  
Worse, than you do the Bailies!  Eve. 
Pox upon you.  
I come not to you for counsel, 
He repines,  I lack money.  Mer. 
You do not think, what you owe me already?  Eve. 
I?  
They owe you that mean to pay you. I'll be sworn,  
I never meant it. Come, you will project,  
I shall undo your practice, 
and threatens him.  for this month 〈◊〉  
You know me.  Mer. 
I yo'are a right sweet nature!  Eve. 
Well, that's all one!  Mer. 
You'll leave this Empire, one day?  
You will not ever have this tribute paid,  
Your sceptre o'the sword?  Eve. 
Tie up your wit,  
Do, and provoke me not—  Mer. 
Will you, Sir, help,  
To what I shall provoke another for you?  Eve. 
I cannot tell; try me: I think I am not  
So utterly, of an ore un-to-be-melted,  
But I can do myself good, on occasions.  Mer. 
Strike in then, 
They joins  for your part. Mr. Fitz-dottrel  
If I transgress in point of manners, afford me  
Your best construction; I must beg my freedom  
From your affairs, this day.  Fit. 
How, Sir.  Mer. 
It is  
In succour of this Gentleman's occasions, 
Mere-craft pretends business.   
My kinsman—  Fit. 
You'll not do me that affront, Sir.  Mer. 
I am sorry you should so interpret it,  
But, Sir, it stands upon his being invested,  
In a new, office, he has stood for, long:  
Master of the Dependences! 
Mere-craft describes the office of Dependency . A place  
Of my projection too, Sir, and hath met  
Much opposition; but the State, now see's  
That great necessity of it, as after all  
Their writing, and their speaking, against Devils,  
They have erected it. His book is drawn—  
For, since, there will be differences, daily,  
'Twixt Gentlemen; and that the roaring manner  
Is grown offensive; that those few, we call  
The civil men o'the sword, abhor the vapours;  
They shall refer now, hither, for their process;  
And such as trespass 'gainst the rule of Court,  
Are to be fined—  Fit. 
In troth, a pretty place!  Mer. 
A kind of arbitrary Court 'twill be, Sir.  Fit. 
I shall have matter for it, I believe,  
Ere it be long: I had a distaste.  Mer. 
But now, Sir,  
My learned council, they must have a feeling,  
They'll part, Sir, with no books, without the hand gout  
Be oiled, and I must furnish. If 't be money,  
To me straight. I am Mine, Mint and Exchequer,  
To supply all. What is't? a hundred pound?  Eve. 
No th'harpy, now stands on a hundred pieces.  Mer. 
Why, he must have 'em, if he will. Tomorrow, Sir,  
Will equally serve your occasions,—  
And therefore, let me obtain, that you will yield  
To timing a poor Gentleman's distresses,  
In terms of hazard.—  Fit. 
By no means!  Mer. 
I must  
Get him him this money, and will.—  Fit. 
Sir, I protest,  
I'd rather stand engaged for it myself:  
Than you should leave me.  Mer. 
O good Sir, do you think  
So coursely of our manners, that we would,  
For any need of ours, be pressed to take it:  
Though you be pleased to offer it.  Fit. 
Why by heaven,  
I mean it!  Mer. 
I can never believe less.  

He offers to be gone.  But we, Sir, must preserve our dignity,  
As you do publish yours. By your fair leave, Sir.  Fit. 
As I am a Gentleman, if you do offer  
To leave me now, or if you do refuse me,  
I will not think you love me.  Mer. 
Sir, I honour you.  
And with just reason, for these noble notes,  
Of the nobility, you pretend too! But, Sir—  
I would know, why? a motive (he a stranger)  
You should do this?  (Eve. 
You'll mar all with your fineness)  Fit. 
Why, that's all one, if 'twere, Sir, but my fancy.  
But I have a Business, that perhaps I'd have  
Brought to his office.  Mer. 
O, Sir! I have done, then;  
If he can be made profitable, to you.  Fit. 
Yes, and it shall be one of my ambitions  
To have it the first Business? May I not?  Eve. 
So you do mean to make't, a perfect Business.  Fit. 
Nay I'll do that assure you: show me once.  Mer 
Sir, 〈◊〉 concerns, the first be a perfect Business,  
For his own honour!  Eve. 
ay, and th'reputation  
To of my place.  Fit. 
Why, why, do I take this course, else?  
〈◊〉 not altogether, an Ass, good Gentlemen,  
Wherefore should I consult you? do you think?  
To make a song on't? How's your manner? tell us.  Mer. 
Do, satisfy him: give him the whole course.  Eve. 
First, by request, or otherwise you offer  
Your Business to the Court: wherein you crave:  
The judgement of the Master and the Assistants.  Fit. 
Well, that's done, now, what do you upon it?  Eve. 
We straight Sir, have recourse to the springhead;  
Visit the ground; and so disclose the nature:  
If it will carry, or no. If we do find,  
By your proportions it is like to prove  
A sullen, and black Business That it be  
Incorrigible; and out of, treaty; then,  
We file it, a Dependence!  Fit. 
So 'tis filled.  
What follows? I do love the order of these things.  Eve. 
We then advise the party, if he be  
A man of means and havings▪ that forthwith,  
He settle his estate: if not, at least  
That he pretend it. For, by that, the world  
Takes notice, that enough is a Dependence.  
And this we call, Sir, Publication.  Fit. 
Very sufficient! After Publication, now?  Eve 
Then we grant out our Process, which is divers;  
Either by cartel, Sir, or oretenus,  
Wherein the Challenger, and Challengee  
Or (with your Spaniard) your Provocador,  
And Provocado, have their several courses—  Fit. 
I have enough on't! for an hundred pieces?  
Yes, for two hundred, underwrite me do.  
Your man will take my bond?  Mer. 
That he will, sure,  
But, these same Citizens, they are such sharks!  
There's an old debt of forty, 
He whispers Fitz-dottrel aside.  I ga' mymy word  
For one is run away, into the Bermudas,  
And he will hook in that, or he wi'not do.  Fit. 
Why let him. That and the ring, and a hundred pieces,  
Will all but make two hundred?  Mer. 
No, 
And then Guilt-head.  no more, Sir.  
What ready Arithmetic you have? do you hear?  
A pretty morning's work for you, this? Do it,  
You shall ha' twenty pound on't.  Gui. 
Twenty pieces?  (Plu. 
Good Father, do't)  Mer. 
You will hook still? well,  
Show us your ring. You could not ha'done this, now  
With gentleness, at first, we might ha' thanked you?  
But groan, and ha'your courtesies come from you  
Like a hard stool, and stink? A man may draw  
Your teeth out easier, than your money? Come,  
Were little Guilt-head here, no better a nature,  
I should ne'er love him, 
He pulls Plutarchus by the lips.  that could pull his lips off, now!  
Was not thy mother a Gentlewoman?  Plu. 
Yes, Sir.  Mer. 
And went to the Court at Christmas, and St. Georges-tide?  
And lent the Lords-men, chains?  Plu. 
Of gold, and pearl, Sir.  Mer. 
I knew, thou must take, after somebody!  
Thou couldst not be else. This was no shop-look  
I'll ha'thee Captain Guilt-head, and march up,  
And take in Pimlico, and kill the bush,  
At every tavern! Thou shalt have a wife,  
If smocks will mount, 
He turns to old Guilt-head.  boy. How now? you ha'there now  
Some Bristo-stone, or Cornish counterfeit  
You'd put upon us.  Guil. 
No, Sir, I assure you:  
Look on his luster! he will speak himself!  
I'll gi'you leave to put him i'the Mill,  
he's no great, large stone, but a true Paragon,  
H'has all his corners, view him well.  Mer. 
he's yellow.  Gui. 
Upo'my faith, Sir, o'the right blackwater,  
And very deep! he's set without a foil, too.  
Here's one o'the yellow water, I'll sell cheap.  Mer. 
And what do you value this at? thirty pound?  Gui. 
No, Sir, he cost me forty, ere he was set.  Mer. 
Turnings, you mean? I know your Equinoxes:  
You're grown the better Fathers of'em o'late,  
Well, where't must go, 'twill be judged, and therefore,  
Look youit be right. You shall have fifty pound for't.  

Now to Fitz-dottrel . Not a denier more! And because you would  
Have things dispatched, Sir, I'll go presently,  
Inquire out this Lady, If you think good Sir.  
Having an hundred pieces ready, you may  
Part with those, now, to serve my kinsman's turns,  
That he may wait upon you, anon, the freer;  
And take 'em when you ha' sealed, again, of Guilt-head.  Fit. 
I care not if I do!  Mer. 
And dispatch all,  
Together,  Fit. 
theyare just: a hundred pieces!  
I ha' told 'em over, twice a day, these two months.  Mer. 

He turns 'em out together. And Ever-ill and he fall to share.  Well, go and seal then, Sir, make your return  
As speedy as you can.  Eve. 
Come gi' me.  Mer. 
Soft Sir.  Eve. 
Marry, and fair too, then. I'll no delaying, Sir.  Mer. 
But you will hear?  Eve. 
Yes, when I have my dividend.  Mer. 
There's forty pieces for you.  Eve. 
What is this for?  Mer. 
Your half. You know that Guilt-head must ha' twenty.  Eve. 
And what's your ring there? shall I ha' none o''at?  Mer. 
O, that's to be given to a Lady!  Eve. 
Is't so?  Mer. 
By that good light, it is.  Eve. 
Come, gi'me  
Ten pieces more then.  Mer. 
Why?  Eve. 
For Guilt, head? Sir,  
Do you think, I'll 'low him any such share.  Mer. 
You must.  Eve. 
Must I? Do you your musts, Sir, I'll do mine,  
You wi'not part with the whole, Sir? Will you? Go too.  
Gi' me ten pieces!  Mer. 
By what law do you this?  Eve. 
e'en lion-law, Sir, I must roar else.  Mer. 
Good!  Eve. 
You've heard, how th' Ass made his divisions wisely?  Mer. 
And I am he, I thank you.  Eve. 
Much good do you, Sir.  Mer. 
I shall be rid o''is tyranny, one day?  Eve. 
Not,  
While you do eat, and lie about the town here;  
And cozen i'your bullions and I stand  
Your name of credit, and compound your business;  
Adjourn beatings every term; and make  
New parties for your projects. I have now  
A pretty task of it, to hold you in  
Wi'your Lady Tail-bush: but the toy will be,  
How we shall both come off?  Mer. 
Leave your doubting,  
And do your portion, what's assigned you: I  
Never failed yet.  Eve. 
With reference to your aides?  
You'll still be unthankful. Where shall I meet you anon?  
You ha' some feat to be done alone, now, I see;  
You wish me gone, well, I will find you out,  
And bring you after to the audit.  Mer. 
'Slight!  
There's Engines share too, I had forgot! This reign  
Is too-too unsupportable! I must  
Quit myself of this vassalage! Engine! welcome.   

Act. III. Scene. IV.  Meer-craft. Wittipol. Ingine. 
HOw goes the cry?  Ing 
Excellent well!  Mer. 
will't do?  
Where's Robinson?  Ing. 
Here is the Gentleman, Sir.  
Will undertake t'himselfe. I have acquainted him.  Mer. 
Why did you so?  Ing. 
Why, Robinson would ha' told him,  
You know. And he's a pleasant wit! will hurt  
Nothing you purpose. Then, he's of opinion,  
That Robinson might have audacity,  
She being such a gallant. Now, he has been,  
In Spain, and knows the fashions there, and can  
Discourse; and being but mirth (he says) leave much,  
To his care:  Mer. 
But he is too tall!  Ing. 
For that,  
He has the bravest device! 
He excepts at his stature.  (you'll love him for't)  
To say, he wears Chopins: and they do so  
In Spain. And Robinson's as tall, as he.  Mer. 
Is he so?  Ing. 
Every jot.  Mer. 
Nay, I had rather  
To trust a Gentleman with it, o'the two.  Ing. 
Pray you go to him, then, Sir, and salute him.  Mer. 
Sir, my friend Engine has acquainted you  
With a strange business, here.  Wit. 
A merry one, Sir.  
The Duke of Drowned land, and his Duchess?  Mer. 
Yes, Sir.  
Now, that the Conjurers ha' laid him by,  
I ha' made bold to borrow him a while;  Wit. 
With purpose, yet, to put him out I hope  
To his best use?  Mer. 
Yes, Sir.  Wit. 
For that small part,  
That I am trusted with, put off your care:  
I would not lose to do it, for the mirth,  
Will follow of it; and well I have a fancy.  Mer. 
Sir, that will make it well.  Wit. 
You will report it so.  
Where must I have my dressing?  Ing. 
At my house, Sir.  Mer. 
You shall have caution, Sir, for what he yields,  
To six pence.  Wit. 
You shall pardon me. I will share, Sir,  
I' your sports, only: nothing i'your purchase.  
But you must furnish me with compliments,  
To th'manner of Spain; my coach, my guarda duennas;  Mer. 
engine's your Pro'vedor. But, Sir, I must  
(Now I'have entered trust wi'you, thus far)  
Secure still i'your quality, acquaint you  
With somewhat, beyond this. The place designed  
To be the Scene, for this our merry matter,  
Because it must have countenance of women,  
To draw discourse, and offer it, is hereby,  
At the Lady Tail-bush's.  Wit. 
I know her, Sir,  
And her Gentleman usher.  Mer. 
Mr. Ambler?  Wit. 
Yes, Sir.  Mer. 
Sir, it shall be no shame to me, to confess  
To you that we poor Gentlemen, that want acres,  
Must for our needs, turn fools up, and plough Ladies  
Sometimes, to try what glebe they are: and this  
Is no unfruitful piece. She and I now,  
Are on a project for the fact, and venting  
Of a new kind of fucus (paint for Ladies)  
To serve the kingdom: wherein she herself  
Hath traveled, specially by way of service  
Unto her sex, and hopes to get the Monopoly,  
As the reward of her invention.  Wit. 
What is her end, in this?  Ev. 
Merely ambition,  
Sir, to grow great, and court it with the secret:  
Though she pretend some other. For she's dealing,  
Already, upon caution for the shares,  
And Mr. Ambler, is he named Examiner  
For the ingredients; and the Register  
Of what is vented; and shall keep the Office.  
Now, if she break with you, of this (as I  
Must make the leading thread to your acquaintance,  
That how experience gotten i'your being  
Abroad, will help our business) think of some  
Pretty additions, but to keep her floating:  
It may be, she will offer you a part,  
Any strange names of—  Wit. 
Sir, I have my instructions.  
Is it not high time to be making ready?  Mer. 
Yes, Sir,  Ing. 
The fool's in sight, Dottrel.  Mer. 
Away then.   

Act. III. Scene. V.  Mere-craft, Fitz-dottrell, Pug. 
REturned so soon?  Fit. 
Yes, here's the ring: I ha' sealed.  
But there's not so much gold in all the row, he says—  
Till't come fro' the Mint. 'Tis ta'en up for the gamesters.  Mer. 
There's a shop-shift! plague on'em.  Fit. 
He does swear it.  Mer. 
He'll swear, and forswear too, it is his trade,  
You should not have left him.  Fit. 
'Slid, I can go back,  
And beat him, yet.  Mer. 
No, now let him alone.  Fit. 
I was so earnest, after the main Business,  
To have this ring, gone.  Mer. 
True, and 'tis time.  
I have learned, Sir, sin'you went, her Ladyship eats  
With the Lady Tailbush, here, hard by.  Fit. 
I'the lane here?  Mer. 
Yes, if yo'had a servant, now of presence,  
Well clothed, and of an aery voluble tongue,  
Neither too big, or little for his mouth,  
That could deliver your wife's compliment;  
To send along withal.  Fit. 
I have one Sir,  
A very handsome, gentleman-like-fellow,  
That I do mean to make my Duchess Usher—  
I entertained him, but this morning, too:  
I'll call him to you. The worst of him, is his name!  Mer. 
She'll take no note of that, but of his message.  Fit. 
Devil! 
He shows him his Pug.  How like you him, Sir. Pace, go a little.  
Let's see you move.  Mer. 
He'll serve, Sir, give it him:  
And let him go along with me, I'll help  
To present him, and it.  Fit. 
Look, you do sirrah,  
Discharge this well, as you expect your place.  
doyou hear, 
Gives him instructions.  go on, come off with all your honours.  
I would fain see him, do it.  Mer. 
Trust him, with it;  Fit. 
Remember kissing of your hand, and answering  
With the French-time, in flexure of your body.  
I could not so instruct him— and for his words—  Mer 
I'll put them in his mouth.  Fit. 
O, but I have 'em  
O'the very Academies!  Mer. 
Sir, you'll have use for'em,  
Anon, 
He longs to see the play.  yourself, I warrant you: after dinner,  
When you are called.  Fit. 
'Slight, that'll be just playtime.  
It cannot be, I must not lose the play!  Mer. 
Sir, 
Because it is the Devil.  but you must, if she appoint to sit.  
And, she's precedent.  Fit. 
'Slid, it is the Devil!  Mer. 
And 'twere his Dam too, you must now apply  
yourself, Sir, to this, wholly; or lose all.  Fit. 
If I could but see a piece—  Mer. 
Sir. Never think on't.  Fit. 
Come but to one act, and I did not care—  
But to be seen to rise, and go away,  
To vex the Players, and to punish their Poet—  
Keep him in awe!  Mer. 
But say, that he be on't,  
Wi'not be awed! but laugh at you. How then?  Fit. 
Then he shall pay for'is dinner himself.  Mer. 
Perhaps,  
He would do that twice, rather than thank you.  
Come, get the Devil out of your head, my Lord,  
(I'll call you so in private still) and take  
Your Lordship i'your mind. 
He puts him in mind of his quarrel.  You were, sweet Lord,  
In talk to bring a Business to the Office.  Fit. 
Yes.  Mer. 
Why should not you, Sir, carry it o'your self,  
Before the Office be up? and show the world,  
You had no need of any man's direction;  
In point, Sir, of sufficiency. I speak  
Against a kinsman, but as one that tenders  
Your grace's good.  Fit. 
I thank you; to proceed—  Mer. 
To Publications: ha'your Deed drawn presently.  
And leave a blank to put in your Feoffees  
One, two, or more, as you see cause—  Fit. 
I thank you  
Heartily, I do thank you. Not a word more,  
I pray you, as you love me. Let me alone.  

He is angry with himself.  That I could not think o''is, as well as he?  
O, I could beat my infinite blockhead—!  Mer. 
Come, we must this way.  Pug. 
How far is't.  Mer. 
Hard by here  
Over the way. Now, to achieve this ring,  

He thinks how to cozen the bearer of the ring.  From this same fellow, that is to assure it;  
Before he give it. Though my Spanish Lady,  
Be a young Gentleman of means, and scorn  
To share as he doth say, I do not know  
How such a toy may tempt his Ladyship:  
And therefore, I think best, it be assured.  Pug. 
Sir, be the Ladies brave, we go unto?  Mer. 
O, yes.  Pug. 
And shall I see 'em, and speak to 'em?  Mer. 

Questions his man.  What else? ha'you your false beard about you? Trains.  Tra. 
Yes.  Mer. 
And is this one of your double Cloaks?  Tra. 
The best of 'em.  Mer. 
Be ready then. Sweet Pitfall!   

Act. III. Scene. VI.  Mere-craft, Pitfall, Pug, Trains. 
COme, I must buss—  Pit. 
Away.  Mer. 
I'll set thee up again;  

Offers to kiss.  Never fear that: canst thou get ne'er a bird?  
No Thrushes hungry? Stay till cold weather come,  
I'll help thee to an ouzel, or a Fieldfare.  

She runs in, in haste: he follows.  Who's within with madam?  Pit. 
I'll tell you straight.  Mer. 
Please you stay here a while Sir, I'll go in.  Pug. 
I do so long to have a little venery,  

Pug leaps at Pitfall's coming in.  While I am in this body! I would taste  
Of every sin, a little, if it might be  
After the manner of man! Sweet heart!  Pit. 
What would you, Sir?  Pug. 
Nothing but fall in, to you, be your Blackbird,  
My pretty pit (as the Gentleman said) your Throstle:  
Lie tame, and taken with you; here's gold!  
To buy you so much new stuffs from the shop,  

Traine's in his false cloak brings a false message, & gets the ring.  As I may take the old up—  Tra. 
You must send, Sir,  
The Gentleman the ring.  Pug. 
There 'tis. Nay look,  
Will you be foolish, Pit.  Pit. 
This is strange rudeness.  Pug 
Dear Pit.  Pit. 
I'll call, I swear.  Mer. 
Where are you, Sir?  
Is your ring ready? Go with me.  Pug. 
I sent it you.  Mer. 

Mere craft follows presently, and asks for it.  Me? When? by whom?  Pug. 
A fellow here, e'en now,  
Came for it i'your name.  Mer. 
I sent none, sure.  
My meaning ever was, you should deliver it,  
yourself: So was your Master's charge, you know.  

Ent. Train's as himself again.  What fellow was it, do you know him?  Pug. 
Here,  
But now, he had it.  Mer. 
Saw you any? Trains?  Tra. 
Not I.  Pug. 
The gentleman saw him.  Mer. 
inquire.  Pug. 
I was so earnest upon her, I marked not! 
The Devil confesseth himself cozened.   
My devilish Chief has put me here in flesh,  
To shame me! This dull body I am in,  
I perceive nothing with! I offer at nothing,  
That will succeed!  Tra. 
Sir, she saw none, she says.  Pug. 
Satan himself, has ta'en a shape t'abuse me.  
It could not be else! 
Mere-craft accuseth him of negligence.   Mer. 
This is above strange?  
That you should be so reckless. What'll you do Sir?  
How will you answer this, when you are questioned?  Pug. 
Run from my flesh, if I could: put off mankind!  
This's such a scorn! and will be a new exercise,  
For my Archduke! Woe to the several cudgels,  
Must suffer, 
He asketh aid.  on this back! Can you no suckers? Sir?  Mer. 
Alas! use of it is so present.  Pug. 
I ask,  
Sir, credit for another, but till tomorrow?  Mer. 
There is not so much time, Sir. But however,  
The Lady is a noble Lady, and will  
(To save a Gentleman from check) be entreated 
Merecraft promiseth faintly, yet comforts him.   
To say, she has received it.  Pug. 
Do you think so?  
Will she be won?  Mer. 
No doubt, to such an office,  
It will be a Lady's bravery, and her pride.  Pug. 
And not be known on't after, unto him?  Mer. 
That were a treachery! Upon my word.  
Be confident. Return unto your master,  
My Lady President sits this afternoon,  
Has ta'en the ring, commends her services  
Unto your lady-duchess. You may say  
She's a civil Lady, and does give her  
All her respects, already: bade you tell her  
She lives, but to receive her wished commandments,  
And have the honour here to kiss her hands:  
For which she'll stay this hour yet. Hasten you  
Your Prince, away.  Pug. 
And Sir, you will take care  
Th'excuse be perfect? 
The Devil is doubtful.   Mer. 
You confess your fears.  
Too much.  Pug. 
The shame is more, I'll quit you of either.    


Act. VI. Scene. I.  Tail▪ bush. Mere-craft, Manly. 
A pox upon 'referring to Commissioners,  
I'had rather hear that it were past the seals:  
Your Courtiers move so Snail-like i'your Business.  
Would I had not begun wi'you.  Mer. 
we must move,  
madam, in order, by degrees: not jump.  Tai. 
Why, there was Sr. john Monie-man could jump  
A Business quickly.  Mer. 
True he had great friends,  
But because some, sweet madam, can leap ditches,  
We must not all shun to go over bridges,  
The harder parts, I make account are done:  

He flatters her.  Now 'tis referred. You are infinitely bound  
Unto the Ladies, they ha' so cried it up!  Tay. 
Do they like it then?  Mer. 
They ha' sent the Spanish Lady  
To gratulate with you—  Tay. 
I must send 'em thanks  
And some remembrances.  Mer. 
That you must, and visit 'em.  
Where's Ambler?  Tay. 
Lost today, we cannot hear of him.  Mer. 
Not madam?  Tay. 
No in good faith. They say he lay not  
At home tonight, And here has fallen a Business  
Between your Cousin and Master Manly, has  
Unquieted us all.  Mer. 
So I hear, madam.  
Pray you how was it?  Tay. 
Troth, it but appears  
Ill o'your kinsman's part. You may have heard,  
That Manly is a suitor to me, I doubt not:  Mer. 
I guessed it, madame.  Tay. 
And it seems he trusted  
Your Cousin to let fall some fair reports  
Of him unto me.  Mer. 
Which he did!  Tay. 
So far  
From it, as he came in and took him railing  
Against him.  Mer. 
How! And what said Manly to him?  Tay. 
Enough, I do assure you: and with that scorn  
Of him, and the injury, as I do wonder  
How Ever-ill bore it! But that guilt undoes  
Many men's valours.  Mer. 
Here comes Manly. Man. madam,  

Manly offers to be gone.  I'll take my leave—  Tay. 
You sha'not go, i'faith.  
I'll ha' you stay and see this Spanish miracle,  
Of our English Lady.  Man. 
Let me pray your Ladyship,  
Lay your commands on me some other time.  Tay. 
Now, I protest: and I will have all pieced,  
And friends again.  Man. 
It will be but ill soldered!  Tay. 
You are too much affected with it.  Man. 
I cannot  
madam, but think on't for th'injustice.  Tay. 
Sir,  

Mere-craft denies him.  His Kinsman here is sorry. Not I madam,  
I am no kin to him, we but call Cousins,  
And if we were, I have no relation  
Unto his crimes.  Man. 
You are not urged with 'em.  
I can accuse Sir, none but mine own judgement,  
For though it were his crime so to betray me:  
I am sure 'twas more mine own, at all to trust him.  
But he therein did use but his old manners,  
And favor strongly what he was before.  Tay. 
Come, he will change!  Man. 
Faith, I must never think it.  
Nor were it reason in me to expect  
That for my sake, he should put off a nature  
He sucked in with his milk. It may be madam,  
Deceiving trust is all he has to trust to:  
If so, I shall be loath that any hope  
Of mine should bate him of his means.  Tay. 
You're sharp Sir.  
This act may make him honest!  Man. 
If he were  
To be made honest, by an act of Parliament,  
I should not alter, 
She spies the Lady Either-side.  i'my faith of him.  Tay. 
Either-side!  
Welcome, dear Either-side! how hast thou done, good wench?  
Thou hast been a stranger! I ha' not seen thee, this week.   

Act. IV. Scene. II.  Either-side. To them 
EVer your servant, madam.  Tay. 
Where hast'hou been?  
I did so long to see thee.  Eit. 
Visiting, and so tired!  
I protest, madam, 'tis a monstrous trouble!  Tay. 
And so it is. I swear I must tomorrow,  
Begin my visits (would they were over) at Court.  
It tortures me, to think on'em.  Eit. 
I do hear  
You ha' cause, madam, your suit goes on.  Tay. 
Who told thee?  Eit. 
One, that can tell: Mr. Either-side.  Tay. 
O, thy husband!  
Yes faith, their's life in't, now: It is referred.  
If we once see it under the seals, wench, then,  
Have with 'em for the great caroche, six horses,  
And the two Coachmen, with my Ambler, bare,  
And my three women: we will live, i'faith,  
The examples o'the town, and govern it.  
I'll lead the fashion still.  Eit. 
You do that, now,  
Sweet madam.  Tay. 
O, but then, I'll every day  
Bring up some new device. Thou and I, Either-side,  
Will first be in it, I will give it thee;  
And they shall follow us. Thou shalt, I swear,  
Wear every month a new gown, out of it.  Eit. 
Thank you good madam.  Tay. 
Pray thee call me Tail-bush  
As I thee, Either-side; I not love this, madam.  Eit. 
Then I protest to you Tail bush, I am glad  
Your Business so succeeds.  Tay. 
Thank thee, good Either-side.  Eit. 
But Mr. Either-side tells me, that he likes  
Your other Business better.  Tay. 
Which?  Eit. 
O, the Toothpicks.  Tay. 
I never heard on't.  Eit. 
Ask Mr. Merecraft.  Mer. 
madam? he's one, in a word, I'll trust his malice,  
With any man's credit, 
Mere-craft hath whispered with the while.  I would have abused!  Man. 
Sir, if you think you do please me, in this,  
You are deceived!  Mer. 
No, but because my Lady,  
named him my kinsman, I would satisfy you,  
What I think of him: and pray you, upon it  
To judge me!  Man. 
So I do: that ill men's friendship,  
Is as unfaithful, as themselves.  Tay. 
Do you hear?  
Ha'you a Business about Toothpicks?  Mer. 
Yes, madam.  
Did I ne'er tellit you? I meant to have offered it  
Your Ladyship, on the perfecting the patent.  Tay. 
How is't!  Mer. 
For serving the whole state with Tooth picks;  
(Somewhat in intricate Business to discourse) but—  

The Project for Toothpicks.  I show, how much the Subject is abused,  
First in that one commodity? then what diseases,  
And putrefactions in the gums are bred,  
By those are made 'of' adulterate, and false wood?  
My plot, for reformation of these, follows.  
To have all Toothpicks, brought unto an office,  
There sealed; and such as counterfeit 'em, mulcted.  
And last, for venting 'em to have a book  
Printed, to teach their use, which every child  
Shall have throughout the kingdom, that can read,  
And learn to pick his teeth by. Which beginning  
Early to practice, with some other rules,  
Of never sleeping with the mouth open, chawing  
Some grains of mastic, will preserve the breath  

Trains his man whispers him.  Pure, and so free from taint— ha what is't? sayst thou?  Tay. 
Good faith, it sounds a very pretty Business!  Eit. 
So Mr. Either-side says, madam.  Mer. 
The Lady is come.  Tay. 
Is she? Good, wait upon her in. My Ambler  
Was never so ill absent. Either-side,  
How do I look today? Am I not dressed,  

She looks in her glass.  Spruntly?  Fit. 
Yes, verily, madam.  Tay. 
Pox o' madam,  
Will you not leave that?  Eit. 
Yes good Tailbush.  Tay. 
So?  
Sounds not that better? What vile Fucus is this,  
Thou hast got on?  Eit. 
'Tis Pearl.  Tay. 
Pearl? oyster-shells:  
As I breathe, Either-side, I know't. Here comes  
(They say) a wonder, sirrah, has been in Spain!  
will teach us all! she's sent to me, from Court.  
To gratulate with me! prithee, let's observe her,  
What faults she has, that we may laugh at 'em,  
When she is gone.  Eit. 
That we will heartily, Tail bush.  Tay. 

Wittipol enters.  O, me! the very Infanta of the Giants!   

Act. IV. Scene. III.  Mere-craft. Wittipol. to them MER. 
Here is a noble Lady, madam, come,  

Wittipol is dressed like a Spanish Lady.  From your great friends, at Court, to see your Ladyship:  
And have the honour of your acquaintance.  Tay. 
Sir.  
She does us honour.  Wit. 
Pray you, say to her Ladyship,  
It is the manner of Spain, to embrace only,  

Excuses himself for not kissing.  Never to kiss. She will excuse the custom!  Tay. 
Your use of it is law. Please you, sweet madam,  
To take a seat.  Wit. 
Yes, madam, I'have had  
The favour, through a world of fair report  
To know your virtues, madam,; and in that  
Name have deserved the happiness of presenting  
My service to your Ladyship!  Tay. 
Your love, madam,  
I must not own it else.  Wit. 
Both are due madam,  
To your great undertakings.  Tay. 
Great? In troth, madam,  
They are my friends, that think 'em any thing:  
If I can do my sex (by 'em) any service,  
I'have my ends, madam.  Wit. 
And they are noble ones,  
That make a multitude beholden, madam:  
The commonwealth of Ladies, must acknowledge from you.  Eit. 
Except some envious, madam.  Wit. 
You're right in that, madam,  
Of which race, I encountered some but lately.  
Who ('t seems) have studied reasons to discredit  
Your business.  Tay. 
How sweet madames?  Wit. 
Nay, the parties  
Wi'not be worth your pause— Most ruinous things, madam,  
That have put off all hope of being recovered  
To a degree of handsomeness.  Tay. 
But their reasons, madam?  
I would fain hear.  Wit. 
Some madam, I remember.  
They say, that painting quite destroys the face—  Eit. 
O, that's an old one, madam.  Wit. 
There are new ones, too.  
Corrupts the breath; hath left so little sweetness  
In kissing, as 'tis now used, but for fashion:  
And shortly will be taken for a punishment.  
Decays the foreteeth, that should guard the tongue;  
And suffers that run riot everlasting!  
And (which is worse) some Ladies when they meet  
Cannot be merry, 
Manly begins to know him.  and laugh, but they do spit  
In one another's faces!  Man. 
I should know  
This voice, and face too:  Wit. 
Then they say, 'tis dangerous  
To all the fallen, yet well disposed Mad-dames,  
That are industrious, and desire to earn  
Their living with their sweat! For any distemper  
Of heat, and motion, may displace the colours;  
And if the paint once run about their faces,  
Twenty to one, they will appear so ill-favoured,  
Their servants run away, too, and leave the pleasure  
Imperfect, and the reckoning als' unpaid.  Eit. 
Pox, these are poets' reasons.  Tay. 
Some old Lady  
That keeps a Poet, has devised these scandals.  Eit. 
Faith we must have the Poets banished, madam,  
As Master Either-side says.  Mer. 
Master Fitz-dottrell?  
And his wife: where? madam, the Duke of Drowned-land,  
That will be shortly.  Wit. 
Is this my Lord?  Mer. 
The same.   

Act. IV. Scene. IV.  Fitz-dottrell. Mistress Fitz-dottrell. Pug. to them. 
YOur servant, 
Wittipol whispers with Manly.  madam!  Wit. 
How now? Friend? offended,  
That I have found your haunt here?  Man. 
No but wondering  
At your strange fashioned venture, hither.  Wit. 
It is  
To show you what they are, you so pursue.  Man. 
I think 'twill prove a medicine against marriage;  
To know their manners.  Wit. 
Stay, and profit then.  Mer. 
The Lady, madam, whose Prince has brought her here,  

He presents Mistress Fitz-dottrell.  To be instructed.  Wit. 
Please you sit with us Lady.  Mer. 
That's Lady-President.  Fit. 
A goodly woman!  
I cannot see the ring, though.  Mer. 
Sir, she has it.  Tay. 
But madam, these are very feeble reasons!  Wit. 
So I urged madam, that the new complexion,  
Now to come forth, in name o'your ladyship's fucus,  
Had no ingredient—  Tay. 
But I durst eat, I assure you.  Wit. 
So do they in Spain.  Tay. 
Sweet madam be so liberal,  
To give us some o'your Spanish Fucuses!  Wit. 
They are infinite madam.  Tay. 
So I hear they have  
Water of Gourds, of Radish, the white Beans,  
Flowers of Glass, of Thistles, Rose-marine.  
Raw Honey, Mustardseed, and bread dough-baked,  
The crumbs o'bread, goat's milk, and whites of Eggs,  
campher and Lily-roots, the fat of Swans,  
Marrow of veal, white Pigeons, and pine-kernels,  
The seed of Nettles, purslane, and hare's gall.  
lemons, thine skinned—  Eit. 
How, her Ladyship has studied  
All excellent things!  Wit. 
But ordinary madam,  
No, the true rarities are th'alvagada,  
And Argentata of Queen Isabella!  Tay. 
ay, what are their ingredients, gentle madam?  Wit. 
Your Alum Scagliola, or Polidipedra;  
And Zuccarino; Turpentine of Abezzo,  
Washed in nine waters: Soda di gotta;  
Grosia di serpe; Porcelleto marino;  
Oils of Lentisco; Zucchi Mugia; make  
The admirable Varnish for the face,  
Gives the right luster; but two drops rubbed on  
With a piece of scarlet, makes a Lady of sixty  
Look at sixteen. But above all, the water  
Of the white Hen, of the Lady Estifanias!  Tay. 
O ay, that same good madam, I have heard of:  
How is it done?  Wit. 
madam, you take your Hen,  
Plume it, and skin it, cleanse it o'the innards:  
Then chop it, bones and all: add to four ounces  
Of Carrnuacins, Pipitas, Soap of Cyprus,  
Make the decoction, strain it. Then distil it,  
And keep it in your galley-pot well gliddered:  
Three drops preserves from wrinkles, warts, spots, moles,  
blemish, or Sun-burnings, and keeps the skin  
In decimo sexto, ever bright, and smooth,  
As any lookingglass; and indeed is called  
The virgin's milk for the face, Oglioreale;  
A Ceruse, neither cold or heat will hurt;  
And mixed with oil of myrrh, and the red Gillyflower  
Called Cataputia; and flowers of Rovistico;  
Makes the best muta, or die of the whole world.  Tay. 
Dear madam, will you let us be familiar?  Wit. 
Your ladyship's servant.  Mer. 
How do you like her.  Fit. 
Admirable!  
But, 
He is jealous about his ring, and Merecraft delivers it.  yet, I cannot see the ring.  Pug. 
Sir.  Mer. 
I must  
Deliver it, or mar all. This fool's so jealous.  
madam— Sir, wear this ring, and pray you take knowledge,  
'Twas sent you by his wife. And give her thanks,  
Do not you dwindle, Sir, bear up.  Pug. 
I thank you, Sir.  Tay. 
But for the manner of Spain! Sweet, madam, let us  
Be bold, now we are in: Are all Ladies,  
There, i'the fashion?  Wit. 
None but grandees, madam.  
O'the clasped train, which may be worn at length, too,  
Or thus, upon my arm.  Tay. 
And do they were  
Chopinoes all?  Wit. 
If they be dressed in punto, madam.  Eit. 
Guilt as those are? madam?  Wit. 
Of goldsmith's work, madam;  
And set with diamonds: and their Spanish pumps  
Of perfumed leather.  Tay. 
I should think it hard  
To go in 'em, madam.  Wit. 
At the first, it is, madam.  Tai. 
Do you never fall in 'em?  Wit. 
Never.  Eit. 
I swear, I should  
Six times an hour.  Wit. 
But you have men at hand, still,  
To help you, if you fall?  Eit. 
Only one, madam,  
The Guardo duennas, such a little old man,  
As this.  Eit. 
Alas! he can do nothing! this!  Wit. 
I'll tell you, madam, I saw i'the Court of Spain once,  
A Lady fall i'the king's sight, along.  
And there she lay, flat spread, as an Umbrella,  
Her hoop here cracked; no man durst reach a hand  
To help her, till the Guarda duenn as came,  
Who is the person one l'allowed to touch  
A Lady there: and he but by this finger.  Eit. 
ha' theythey no servants, madam, there? nor friends?  Wit. 
An Escudero, or so madam, that waits  
Upon 'em in another Coach, at distance,  
And when they walk, or dance, holds by a handkercher,  
Never presumes to touch 'em.  Eit. 
This's scurvy!  
And a forced gravity! I do not like it.  
I like our own much better.  Tay. 
'Tis more French,  
And Courtly ours.  Eit. 
And tastes more liberty.  
We may have our dozen of visiters, at once,  
Make love t'us.  Tay. 
And before our husbands?  Eit. 
Husband?  
As I am honest, Tail-bush I do think  
If nobody should love me, but my poor husband,  
I should e'en hang myself.  Tay. 
Fortune forbid, wench:  
So fair a neck should have so foul a necklace,  Eit. 
'Tis true, as I am handsome!  Wit. 
I received, Lady,  
A token from you, which I would not be  
Rude to refuse, being your first remembrance.  (Fit. 
O, I am satisfied now!  Mer. 
Do you see it, Sir.)  Wit. 
But since you come, to know me, nearer, Lady,  
I'll beg the honour, you will wear it for me,  
It must be so.  Mist. Fit. 
Surely I have heard this tongue.  Mer. 
What do you mean Sir?  Wit. 
Would you ha'me mercenary?  

Wittipol gives it Mistress Fitz-dottrell. Merecraft murmurs. He is satisfied, now he sees it.  We'll recompense it anon, in somewhat else.  Fit. 
I do not love to be gulled, though in a toy.  
Wife, do you hear? yo'are come in the school, wife,  
Where you may learn, I do perceive it, any thing!  
How to be fine, or fair, or great, or proud,  
Or what you will, indeed, wife; here 'tis taught.  
And I am glad on't, that you may not say,  
Another day, when honours come upon you,  
You wanted means. I ha'done my parts: been,  

He upbraids her with his Bill of costs.  Today at fifty pound charge, first, for a ring,  
To get you entered. Then let my new Play,  
To wait upon you, here, to see't confirmed.  
That I may say, both to mine own eyes, and ears,  
Senses, you are my witness, sha'hath enjoyed  
All helps that could be had for love or money—  Mrs. Fit. 
To make a fool of her.  Fit. 
Wife, that's your malice,  
The wickedness o'your nature to interpret  
Your husband's kindness thus. But I'll not leave;  
Still to do good for your depraved affections:  
Intend it. Bend this stubborn will; be great.  Tay. 
Good madam, whom do they use in messages?  Wit. 
They commonly use their slaves Madam.  Tai. 
And does your Ladyship.  
Think that so good, madam?  Wit. 
No indeed madam; ay,  
Therein prefer the fashion of England far,  
Of your young delicate Page, or discreet Usher.  Fit. 
And I go with your Ladyship in opinion,  
Directly for your Gentleman-usher,  
There's not a finer Officer goes on ground.  Wit. 
If he be made and broken to his place once.  Fit. 
Nay so I presuppose him.  Wit. 
And they are fitter  
Managers too Sir, but I would have 'em called  
Our escuderoes.  Fit. 
Good.  Wit. 
Say I should send  
To your Ladyship, who (I presume) has gathered  
All the dear secrets to know how to make  
Pastillos of the Duchess of Braganza,  
Coquettas, Almoiavana's, Mantecada's,  
Alcoreas, Mustaccioli; or say it were  
The Peladore of Isabella, or balls  
Against the itch, or aqua nanfa, or oil  
Of jasmine for gloves, of the marquess Muja;  
Or for the head and hair: why, these are offices.  Fit. 
Fit for a gentleman, not a slave. They only  
Might ask for your pivety, spanish-coal,  
To burn and sweeten a room: but the Arcana  

He enters himself with the Ladies.  Of ladies' Cabinets—  Fit. 
Should be elsewhere trusted.  
You're much about the truth. Sweet honoured Ladies,  
Let me fall in wi'you. I ha' my female wit,  
As well as my male. And I do know what suits  
A Lady of spirit, or a woman of fashion!  Wit. 
And you would have your wife such.  Fit. 
Yes, madam, airy,  
Light; not to plain dishonesty, I mean:  
But, somewhat o''is side.  Wit. 
I take you, Sir.  
H'has reason Ladies. I'll not give this rush  
For any Lady, that cannot be honest  
Within a thread.  Tay. 
Yes, madam, and yet venture  
As far for th'other, in her Fame—  Wit. 
As can be;  
Coach it to Pimlico; dance the Saraband,  
Hear, and talk bawdy; laugh as loud, as a 'larum;  
Squeak, spring, do any thing.  Eit. 
In young company, madam.  Tay. 
Or afore gallants. If they be brave, or Lords,  
A woman is engaged.  Eit. 
I say so, Ladies,  
It is civility to deny us nothing.  Pug. 
You talk of a University! why, Hell is  
A Grammar-school to this!  Eit. 
But then, 
The Devil admires him.   
She must not lose a look on stuffs, or cloth, madam.  Tay. 
Nor no course fellow.  Wit. 
She must be guided, madam  
By the clothes he wears, and company he is in;  
Whom to salute, how far—  Fit. 
I ha' told her this.  
And how that bawdry too, upo'the point,  
Is (in itself) as civil a discourse—  Wit. 
As any other affair of flesh, whatever.  Fit. 
But she will ne'er be capable, she is not  
So much as coming, madam; I know not how  
She loses all her opportunities  
With hoping to be forced. 
He shows his Pug.  I'have entertained  
A gentleman, a younger brother, here,  
Whom I would fain breed up, her Escudero,  
Against some expectations that I have,  
And she'll not countenance him.  Wit. 
What's his name?  Fit. 
Devil, o'Derbyshire.  Eit. 
Bless us from him!  Tay. 
Devil?  
Call him devil, sweet madam.  Mis Fit. 
What you please, Ladies.  Tay. 
devile's a prettier name!  Eit. 
And sounds, methinks,  
As it came in with the Conqueror—  Man. 
Over smocks!  
What things they are? That nature should be at leisure  
Ever to make 'em! 
Manly goes out with indignation.  my wooing is at an end.  Wit. 
What can he do?  Eit. 
Let's hear him.  Tay. 
Can he manage?  Fit. 
Please you to try him, Ladies. Stand forth, Devil.  Pug. 
Was all this but the preface to my torment?  Fit. 
Come, let their Ladyship see your honours.  Eit. 
O,  
He makes a wicked leg.  Tay. 
As ever I saw!  Wit. 
Fit for a Devil.  Tay. 
Good madam, call him devil.  Wit. 
devil, what property is there most required  
I'your conceit, now, in the Escudero?  Fit. 
Why do you not speak?  Pug. 
A settled discreet pause, 
They begin their Catechism.  madam.  Wit. 
I think, a barren head, Sir, Mountainlike,  
To be exposed to the cruelty of weathers—  Fit. 
ay, for his Valley is beneath the waste, madam,  
And to be fruitful there, it is sufficient.  
dullness upon you! Could not you hit this?  Pug. 
Good Sir—  Wit. 
He then had had no barren head.  

He strikes him.  You daw him too much, in troth, Sir.  Fit. 
I must walk  
With the French stick, like an old verger, for you.  Pug. 

The Devil prays.  O, Chief, call me to Hell again, and free me.  Fit. 
Do you murmur now?  Pug. 
Not I, Sir.  Wit. 
What do you take  
Mr. devil, the height of your employment,  
In the true perfect Escudero?  Fit. 
When?  
What do you answer?  Pug. 
To be able, madam,  
First to inquire, then report the working,  
Of any lady's physic, in sweet phrase,  Wit. 
Yes, that's an act of elegance, and importance.  
But what above?  Fit. 
O, that I had a goad for him.  Pug. 
To find out a good Corn-cutter.  Tay. 
Out on him!  Eit. 
Most barbarous!  Fit. 
Why did you do this, now?  
Of purpose to discredit me? you damned Devil.  Pug. 
Sure, if I be not yet, I shall be. All  
My days in Hell, were holidays to this!  Tay. 
'Tis labour lost, madam?  Eit. 
he's a dull fellow  
Of no capacity!  Tay. 
Of no discourse!  
O, if my Ambler had been here!  Eit. 
ay, madam;  
You talk of a man, where is there such another?  Wit. 
Mr. Devile, put case, one of my Ladies, here,  
Had a fine brach: and would employ you forth  
To treat 'bout a convenient match for her.  
What would you observe?  Pug. 
The colour, and the size, madam.  Wit. 
And nothing else?  Fit. 
The Moon, you calf, the Moon!  Wit. 
ay, and the Sign.  Tay. 
Yes, and receipts for proneness.  Wit. 
Then when the Puppies came, what would you do?  Pug. 
Get their nativities cast!  Wit. 
This's well. What more?  Pug. 
Consult the almanac-man which would be least?  
Which cleanliest?  Wit. 
And which silentest? This's well, madam?  Wit. 
And while she were with puppy?  Pug. 
Walk her out,  
And air her every morning!  Wit. 
Very good!  
And be industrious to kill her fleas?  Pug. 
Yes!  Wit. 
He will make a pretty proficient.  Pug. 
Who,  
Coming from Hell, could look for such Catechising?  
The Devil is an Ass. I do acknowledge it.  Fit. 

Fitz-dottrel admires Wittipol . The top of woman! All her sex in abstract!  
I love her, to each syllable, falls from her.  Tay. 
Good madam give me leave to go aside with him!  
And try him a little!  Wit. 
Do, and I'll withdraw, madam,  

The Devil prays again.  With this fair Lady: read to her the while.  Tay. 
Come, Sir.  Pug. 
Dear Chief, relieve me, or I perish.  Wit. 
Lady, we'll follow. You are not jealous Sir?  Fit. 
O, madame! you shall see. Stay wife, behold,  

He gives his wife to him, taking him to be a Lady.  I give her up here, absolutely, to you,  
She is your own. Do with her what you will!  
Melt, cast, and form her as you shall think good!  
Set any stamp on! I'll receive her from you  
As a new thing, by your own standard!  Wit. 
Well, Sir!   

Act. IV. Scene. III.  Mere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Pitfall Ever-ill. Plutarchus. 
BUt what ha'you done i'your Dependence, since?  Fit. 
O, it goes on, I met your Cousin, the Master—  Mer. 
You did not acquaint him, Sir?  Fit. 
Faith, but I did, Sir.  
And upon better thought, not without reason!  
He being chief Officer, might ha' ta'en it ill, else,  
As a Contempt against his Place, and that  
In time Sir, ha'drawn on another Dependence.  
No, I did find him in good terms, and ready  
To do me any service.  Mer. 
So he said to you?  
But Sir, you do not know him.  Fit. 
Why, I presumed  
Because this business of my wives, required me,  
I could not ha'done better: And he told  
Me, that he would go presently to your Council,  
A Knight, here, i'the Lane—  Mer. 
Yes, justice Either-side.  Fit. 
And get the Feoffment drawn, with a letter of Attorney.  
For livery and seizin!  Mer. 
That I knows the course.  
But, Sir, you mean not to make him Feoffee?  Fit. 
Nay, that I'll pause on!  Mer. 
How now little Pitfall?  Pit. 
Your Cousin Mr. Everill, would come in—  
But he would know if Master Manly were here.  Mer. 
No, 
Merecraft whispers against him.  tell him, if he were, I ha' made his peace!  
he's one, Sir, has no state, and a man knows not,  
How such a trust may tempt him.  Fit: 
I conceive you.  Eve. 
Sir, this same deed is done here.  Mer. 
Pretty Plutarchus?  
Art thou come with it? and has Sir Paul viewed it?  Plu. 
His hand is to the draught.  Mer. 
Will you step in, Sir,  
And read it?  Fit. 
Yes.  Eve. 
I pray you a word wi'you, 
Everil whispers against Merecraft.   
Sir Paul Either-side willed me give you caution  
Whom you did make Feoffee: for 'tis the trust  
O'your whole State: and though my Cousin here  
Be a worthy Gentleman, yet his valour has  
At the tall board been questioned; and we hold  
Any man so impeached of doubtful honesty!  
I will not justify this; but give it you  
To make your profit of it: if you utter it,  
I can forswear it!  Fit. 
I believe you, and thank you, Sir.   

Act. IV. Scene. VI.  Wittipol. Mistress Fitz-dottrel. Manly. Mere-craft. 
BE not afraid, sweet Lady: yo'are trusted  
To love, not violence here; I am no ravisher,  
But one, whom you, by your fair trust again,  
May of a servant make a most true friend.  Mis. Fit. 
And such a one I need, but not this way:  
Sir, I confess me to you, the mere manner  
Of your attempting me, this morning took me,  
And I did hold m'invention, and my manners,  
Were both engaged, to give it a requital;  
But not unto your ends: my hope was then,  
(Though interrupted, ere it could be uttered)  
That whom I found the Master of such language,  
That brain and spirit, for such an enterprise,  
Could not but if those succours were demanded  
To a right use, employ them virtuously!  
And make that profit of his noble parts,  
Which they would yield. Sir, you have now the ground,  
To exercise them in: I am a woman,  
That cannot speak more wretchedness of myself,  
Than you can read; marched to a mass of folly;  
That every day makes haste to his own ruin;  
The wealthy portion, that I brought him, spent;  
And (through my friends neglect) no jointure made me.  
My fortune's standing in this precipice,  
'Tis Counsel that I want, and honest aides:  
And in this name, I need you, for a friend!  
Never in any other; for his ill,  
Must not make me, Sir, worse.  Man. 
O friend! forsake not  

Manly, concealed this while, shows himself.  The brave occasion, virtue offers you,  
To keep you innocent: I have feared for both;  
And watched you to prevent the ill I feared.  
But since the weaker side hath so assured me,  
Let not the stronger fall by his own vice,  
Or be the less a friend, cause virtue needs him.  Wit. 
Virtue shall never ask my succours twice;  
Most friend, most man; your Counsels are commands:  
Lady, I can love goodness in you, more  
Than I did Beauty; and do here entitle  
Your virtue to the power, upon a life  

Meere-craft takes Wittipol aside, & moves a project for himself.  You shall engage in any faithful service,  
Even to forfeit.  Mer. 
madam: Do you hear, Sir,  
We have another leg-strained, for this Dotterel.  
He''s a quarrel to carry, and has caused  
A deed of Feoffment, of his whole estate  
To be drawn yonder; hast within: And you,  
Only, he means to make Feoffee. he's fall'n  
So desperately enamoured on you, and talks  
Most like a madman: you did never hear  
A Frantic, so in love with his own favour!  
Now, you do know, 'tis of no validity  
In your name, as you stand; Therefore advise him  
To put in me. (he's come here:) You shall share Sir.   

Act. IV. Scene. VII.  Wittipoll. Mistress Fitz-dottrel. Manly. Meere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ever-ill. Plutarchus. FIT. 
madam, I have a suit to you; and a forehand,  
I do bespeak you; you must not deny me,  
I will be granted.  Wit. 
Sir, I must know it, though.  Fit. 
No Lady; you must not know it: yet, you must too.  
For the trust of it, and the fame indeed,  
Which else were lost me. I would use your name,  
But in a Feoffment: make my whole estate  
Over unto you: a trifle a thing of nothing,  
Some eighteen hundred.  Wit. 
Alas! I understand not  
Those things Sir. I am a woman, and most loath,  
To embark myself—  Fit. 
You will not slight me, madam?  Wit. 
Nor you'll not quarrel me?  Fit. 
No, sweet madam, I have  
Already a dependence; for which cause  
I do this: let me put you in, dear madam,  
I may be fairly killed. 
He hopes to be the man.   Wit. 
You have your friends, Sir,  
About you here, for choice.  Eve. 
She tells you right, Sir.  Fit. 
Death, if she do, what do I care for that?  
Say, I would have her tell me wrong.  Wit. 
Why, Sir,  
If for the trust, you'll let me have the honour  
To name you one.  Fit. 
Nay, you do me honour, madam:  
Who is't?  Wit. 
This Gentleman.  Fit. 
O, no, sweet madam,  
he's friend to him, with whom I ha'the dependence. 
She designs Manly.   Wit. 
O, might he be?  Fit. 
One Wittipol: do you know him?  Wit. 
Alas Sir, he, a toy: This Gentleman  
A friend to him, no more than I am Sir!  Fit. 
But will your Ladyship undertake that, madam?  Wit. 
Yes, and what else, for him, you will engage me.  Fit. 
What is his name?  Wit. 
His name is Eustace Manly.  Fit. 
Whence does he write himself?  Wit. 
Of Middlesex,  
Esquire.  Fit. 
Say nothing, madam. Clerke, come hither,  
Write Eustace Manly, Squire o' Middlesex.  Mer. 
What ha'you done, Sir?  Wit. 
named a gentleman,  
That I'll be answerable for, to you, Sir.  
Had I named you, it might ha' been suspected:  
This way, 'tis safe.  Fit. 
Come Gentlemen, your hands,  

Everil applauds it.  For witness.  Man. 
What is this?  Eve. 
You ha' made Election  
Of a most worthy Gentleman!  Man. 
Would one of worth  
Had spoke it: whence it comes, it is  
Rather a shame to me, than a praise.  Eve. 
Sir, I will give you any Satisfaction.  Man. 
Be silent then: "falsehood commends not truth.  Plu. 
You do deliver this, Sir, as your deed,  
To th'use of Mr. Manly?  Fit. 
Yes: and Sir—  
When did you see young Wittipol? I am ready,  
For process now; Sir, this is Publication.  
He shall hear from me, he would needs be courting  
My Wife, Sir.  Man. 
Yes: So witnesseth his Cloak there.  Fit. 

Fitz-dottrel is suspicious of Manly still.  Nay good Sir,— madam, you did undertake—  What. 
What?  Fit. 
That he was not Wittipol's friend.  Wit. 
I hear  
Sir, no confession of it.  Fit. 
O she knows not;  
Now I remember, madam! This young Wittipol,  
Would ha' debauched my wife, and made me Cuckold,  
Through a casement; he did fly her home  
To mine own window: but I think I sou't him,  
And ravished her away, out of his pounces.  
I ha' sworn to ha' him by the ears: I fear  
The toy, wi' not do me right.  Wit. 
No? that were pity!  
What right do you ask, Sir? Here he is will do't you?  Fit. 

Wittipol discovers himself.  Ha? Wittipol?  Wit. 
I Sir, no more Lady now,  
Nor Spaniard!  Man. 
No indeed, 'tis Wittipol.  Fit. 
Am I the thing I feared?  Wit. 
A Cuckold? No Sir,  
But you were late in possibility,  
I'll tell you so much.  Man. 
But your wife's too virtuous!  Wit. 
we'll see her Sir, at home, and leave you here,  
To be made Duke o'Shore-ditch with a project.  Fit. 
Thieves, ravishers.  Wit. 
Cry but another note, Sir,  

He would have his deed again.  I'll mar the tune, o'your pipe!  Fit. 
Gi'me my deed, then.  Wit. 
Neither: that shall be kept for your wives good,  
Who will know, better how to use it.  Fit. 
Ha'  
To feast with my land?  Wit. 
Sir, be you quiet,  
Or I shall gag you, ere I go, consult  
You Master of dependences; how to make this  
A second business, you have time Sir.  Fit. 
Oh!  
What will the ghost of my wise Grandfather,  

Wittipol baffles him, and goes out.  My learned Father, with my worshipful Mother  
Think of me now, that left me in this world  
In state to be their Heir? that am become  
A Cuckold, and an Ass, and my wife's Ward;  
Likely to lose my land; ha'my throat cut:  
All, by her practice!  Mer. 
Sir, we are all abused!  Fit. 
And be so still! Who hinders you, I pray you,  
Let me alone, I would enjoy myself,  
And be the Duke o' Drowned-Land, you ha' made me.  Mer. 
Sir, we must play an aftergame o' this  Fit. 
But I am not in case to be a Gamester:  
I tell you once again—  Mer. 
You must be ruled  
And take some counsel.  Fit. 
Sir, I do hate counsel,  
As I do hate my wife, my wicked wife!  Mer. 
But we may think how to recover all:  
If you will act.  Fit. 
I will not think; nor act;  
Nor yet recover; do not talk to me?  
I'll run out o'my wits, rather than hear;  
I will be what I am, Fabian Fitz dotterel,  
Though all the world say nay to't.  Mer. 
Let's follow him.    


Act. V. Scene. I.  Ambler. Pitfall, Mere-craft, 
BUt has my Lady missed me?  Pit. 
Beyond telling!  
Here has been that infinity of strangers!  
And then she would ha''had you, to ha' sampled you  
With, one within, that they are now a teaching;  
And does pretend to your rank.  Amb. 
Good fellow Pitfall  
Tell Mr. Mere-craft, I entreat a word with him.  
This most unlucky accident will go near 
Pitfall goes out.   
To be the loss o'my place; I am in doubt!  Mer. 
With me? what say you Mr. Ambler?  Amb. 
Sir,  
I would beseech your worship stand between  
Me, and my Lady's displeasure, for my absence.  Mer. 
O, is this all? I warrant you.  Amb. 
I would tell you Sir  
But how it happened.  Mer. 
Brief, good Mr. Ambler,  
Put yourself to your rack: 
Meere-craft seems full of business  for I have a task  
Of more importance.  Amb. 
Sir you'll laugh at me!  
But (so is Truth) a very friend of mine,  
Finding by conference with me, that I lived  
Too chaste for my complexion (and indeed  
Too honest for my place, Sir) did advise me  
If I did love myself (as that I do,  
I must confess)  Mer. 
Spare your Parenthesis,  Amb. 
To gi' my body a little evacuation—  Mer. 
Well, and you went to a whore?  Amb. 
No, Sir. I durst not  
(For fear it might arrive at somebody's ear,  
It should not) trust myself to a common house; 
Ambler this too with extraordinary speed   
But got the Gentlewoman to go with me,  
And carry her bedding to a Conduit-head,  
Hard by the place toward Tyburn, which they call  
My L. Major's Banqueting-house. Now, Sir, This morning  
Was Execution; and I ne'er dreamt on't,  
Till I heard the noise o'the people, and the horses;  
And neither I, nor the poor Gentlewoman  
Durst stir, till all was done and passed: so that  

He stags  I'the Interim, we fell asleep again.  Mer. 
Nay, if you fall, from your gallop, I am gone Sir.  Amb. 
But when I waked, to put on my clothes, a suit,  
I made new for the action, it was gone,  
And all my money, with my purse, and seals,  
My hard-wax, and my table-books, my studies,  
And a fine new device, I had to carry  
My pen, and ink, my civet, and my toothpicks,  
All under one. But, that which grieved me, was  
The Gentlewoman's shoes (with a pair of roses,  
And garters, I had given her for the business)  
So as that made us stay, till it was dark.  
For I was fain to lend her mine, and walk  
In a rug, by her, bare foot, to Saint Giles's.  Mer. 
A kind of Irish penance! Is this all, Sir?  Amb. 
To satisfy my Lady.  Mer. 
I will promise you, Sir.  Amb. 
I ha' told the true Disaster.  Mer. 
I cannot stay wi'you  
Sir, to condole; but gratulate your return.  Amb. 
An honest gentleman, but he's never at leisure  
To be himself: He has such tides of business.   

Act. V. Scene. II.  Pug. Ambler. 
O, Call me home again, dear Chief, and put me  
To yoking foxes, milking of he-goats,  
Pounding of water in a mortar, laving  
The sea dry with a nutshell, gathering all  
The leaves are fall'n this Autumn, drawing farts  
Out of dead bodies, making ropes of sand,  
Catching the winds together in a net,  
Mustering of ants, and numbering atoms; all  
That hell, and you thought exquisite torments, rather  
Than stay me here, a thought more: I would sooner  
Keep fleas within a circle, and be accountant  
A thousand year, which of'em and how far  
Out leapt the other, then endure a minute  
Such as I have within. There is no hell  
To a Lady of fashion. All your tortures there  
Are pastimes to it. 'Twould be a refreshing  

Ambler comes in, & surveys him.  For me, to be i'the fire again, from hence.  Amb. 
This is my suit, and those the shoes and roses!  Pug. 
Th'have such impertinent vexations,  
A general Council o' devils could not hit—  
Ha! This is he I took asleep with his Wench,  
And borrowed his clothes. What might I do to balk him?  Amb. 
Do you hear, Sir?  Pug. 
Answer but not to th'purpose.  Amb. 
What is your name, 
He answers quite from the purpose.  I pray you Sir.  Pug. 
Is't so late Sir?  Amb. 
I ask not o'the time, but of your name, Sir.  Pug. 
I thank you, Sir. Yes it does hold Sir, certain.  Amb. 
Hold, Sir? What holds? I must both hold, and talk to you  
About these clothes.  Pug. 
A very pretty lace!  
But the tailor cozened me.  Amb. 
No, I am cozened  
By you! robbed.  Pug. 
Why, when you please Sir, I am  
For three penny Gleek, your man.  Amb. 
Pox o' your gleek,  
And three pence. Give me an answer.  Pug. 
Sir,  
My master is the best at it.  Amb. 
Your master!  
Who is your Master.  Pug. 
Let it be friday night.  Amb. 
What should be then?  Pug. 
Your best songs Tom o' bedlam  Amb. 
I think, you are he. does he mock me trow, from purpose?  
Or do not I speak to him, what I mean?  
Good Sir your name.  Pug. 
Only a couple a'Cocks Sir,  
If we can get a widgeon, 'tis in season.  Amb. 
He hopes to make one o'these sceptics o'me 
For Sceptics.   
(I think I name him right) and does not fly me.  
I wonder at that! 'tis a strange confidence!  
I'll prove another way, to draw his answer.   

Act. V. Scene. III.  Mere-craft. Fitz-dottrell. Ever-ill. Pug. 
IT is the easiest thing Sir, to be done.  
As plain, as fizzling: roll but wi'your eyes,  
And foam at th'mouth. A little castle-soap  
Will do't, to rub your lips: And then a nutshell,  
With toe, and touchwood in it to spit fire,  
Did you ne'er read, Sir, little Darrel's tricks,  
With the boy o' Burton, and the 7 in Lancashire,  
Summers at Nottingham? All these do teach it.  
And we'll give out, 
They repair their old plot.  Sir, that your wife has bewitched you:  Eve. 
And practised with those two, as Sorcerers.  Mer. 
And ga'you potions, by which means you were  
Not Compos mentis, when you made your feoffment.  
There's no recovery o'your estate, but this:  
This, Sir, will sting.  Eve. 
And move in a court of equity.  Mer. 
For it is more than manifest, that this was  
A plot o'your wives, to get your land.  Fit. 
I think it.  Eve. 
Sir it appears.  Mer. 
Nay and my cousin has known  
These gallants in these shapes.  Eve. 
T'have done strange things, Sir.  
One as the Lady, the other as the Squire.  Mer. 
How, a man's honesty may be fooled! I thought him  
A very Lady.  Fit. 
So do I: renounce me else.  Mer. 
But this way, Sir you'll be revenged at height.  Eve. 
Upon 'em all.  Mer. 
Yes faith, and since your Wife  
Has run the way of woman thus, e'en give her—  Fit. 
Lost by this hand, to me; dead to all joys  
Of her dear dotterel, I shall never pity her:  
That could, pity herself.  Mer. 
Princely resolved Sir,  
And like yourself still, in Potentiâ.   

Act. V. Scene. IV.  Mere-craft, &c. to them. Gvilt-head. Sledge. Plutarchus. sergeants. 

Fitz dotterel asks for his money.  Guilt-head what news?  Fit. 
O Sir, my hundred pieces:  
Let me ha''them yet.  Gui. 
Yes Sir, officers  
Arrest him.  Fit. 
Me?  Ser. 
I arrest you.  Sle. 
Keep the peace,  
I charge you gentlemen.  Fit. 
Arrest me? Why?  Gui. 
For better security, Sir. My son Plutarchus  
Assures me, you're not worth a groat.  Plu. 
Pardon me, Father,  
I said his worship had no foot of Land left:  
And that I'll justify, for I writ the deed.  Fit. 
Ha'you these tricks i'the city?  Gui. 
Yes, and more.  

Meaning Mere-craft . Arrest this gallant too, here, at my suit.  Sle. 
ay, and at mine. He owes me for his lodging  
Two year and a quarter.  Mer. 
Why M. Guilt-head, landlord,  
Thou art not mad, though thouart Constable  
Puffed up with the pride of the place? Do you hear, Sirs.  
Have I deserved this from you two? for all  
My pains at Court, to get you each a patent.  Gui. 

The Project of forks.  For what?  Mer. 
upon my project o' the forks.  Sle. 
Forks? what be they?  Mer. 
The laudable use of forks,  
Brought into custom here, as they are in Italy,  
To th'sparing o'Napkins. That, that should have made  
Your bellows go at the forge, as his at the furnace.  
I ha' procured it, ha'the Signet for it,  
Dealt with the Linendrapers, on my private,  
By cause, I feared, they were the likeliest ever  
To stir against, to cross it: for 'twill be  
A mighty saver of Linen through the Kingdom  
(As that is one o'my grounds, and so spare washing)  
Now, on you two, had I laid all the profits.  
Guilt-head to have the making of all those  
Of gold and silver, for the better personages;  
And you of those of Steel for the common sort.  
And both by Patent, I had brought you your seals in.  

Sledge is brought about.  But now you have prevented me, and I thank you.  Sle. 
Sir, I will bail you, at my own apperill.  Mer. 

And Guilt-head comes.  Nay choose.  Plu. 
Do you so too, good Father.  Gui. 
I like the fashion o'the project, well,  
The forks! It may be a lucky one! and is not  
Intricate, as one would say, but fit for  
Plain heads, as ours, to deal in. Do you hear.  
Officers, we discharge you.  Mer. 
Why this shows  
A little good nature in you, I confess,  
But do not tempt your friends thus. Little Guilt-head,  
Advise your fire, great Guilt-head from these courses:  
And, here, to trouble a great man in reversion,  
For a matter o'fifty on a false Alarm,  
Away, it shows not well. Let him get the pieces  
And bring 'em. you'll hear more else.  Plu. 
Father.   

Act. V. Scene. V.  Ambler. To them. 
O Master Sledge, are you here? I ha' been to seek you.  
You are the Constable, they say. Here's one  
That I do charge with Felony, for the suit  
He wears, Sir.  Mer. 
Who? M. Fitz-dottrel's man?  
Ware what you do, M. Ambler.  Amb. 
Sir, these clothes  
I'll swear, are mine: and the shoes the gentlewoman's  
I told you of: and ha''him afore a justice,  
I will.  Pug. 
My master, Sir, will pass his word for me.  Amb. 
O, 
Fitz-dottrel disclaims him.  can you speak to purpose now?  Fit. 
Not I,  
If you be such a one Sir, I will leave you  
To your Godfathers in Law. Let twelve men work.  Pug. 
Do you hear Sir, pray, in private.  Fit. 
Well, what say you?  
Brief, for I have no time to lose.  Pug. 
Truth is, Sir,  
I am the very Devil, and had leave  
To take this body, I am in, to serve you:  
Which was a cutpurse's, and hanged this Morning.  
And it is likewise true, I stole this suit  
To clothe me with. But Sir let me not go  
To prison for it. I have hitherto  
Lost time, done nothing; shown, indeed, no part.  
O'my devil's nature. Now, I will so help  
Your malice, 'gainst these parties: so advance  
The business, that you have in hand of witchcraft,  
And your possession, as myself were in you.  
Teach you such tricks, to make your belly swell,  
And your eyes turn, to foam, to stare, to gnash  
Your teeth together, and to beat yourself,  
Laugh loud, and feign six voices—  Fit. 
Out you Rogue!  
You most infernal counterfeit wretch! Avaunt!  
Do you think to gull me with your Aesop's Fables?  
Here take him to you, I ha' no part in him.  Pug. 
Sir.  Fit. 
Away, 
And sends him away.  I do disclaim, I will not hear you.  Mer. 
What said he to you, Sir?  Fit. 
Like a lying rascal  
Told me he was the Devil.  Mer. 
How! a good jest!  Fit. 
And that he would teach me, such fine devil's tricks  
For our new resolution.  Eve. 
O'pox on him,  
'Twas excellent wisely done, Sir, not to trust him.  Mer. 

Merecraft gives the instructions to him and the rest.  Why, if he were the Devil, we sha'not need him,  
If you'll be ruled. Go throw yourself on a bed, Sir,  
And feign you ill. we'll not be seen wi'you,  
Till after, that you have a fit: and all  
Confirmed within. Keep you with the two Ladies  
And persuade them. I'll to justice Either-side,  
And possess him with all. Trains shall seek out Engine,  
And they to fill the town with't, every cable  
It is to be veered. We must employ out all  
Our emissaries now; Sir, I will send you  
Bladders and Bellows. Sir, be confident,  
'Tis no hard thing t'outdo the Devil in:  
A Boy o'thirteen year old made him an Ass  
But t'other day.  Fit. 
Well, I'll begin to practice,  
And scape the imputation of being Cuckold,  
By mine own act.  Mer. 
You're right.  Eve. 
Come, you ha'put  
yourself to a simple coil here, and your friends,  
By dealing with new Agents, in new plots.  Mer. 
No more o''at, sweet cousin.  Eve. 
What had you  
To do with this same Wittipol, for a Lady?  Mer. 
Question not that: 'tis done.  Eve. 
You had some strain  
'Bove E-la?  Mer. 
I had indeed.  Eve. 
And, now, you crack for't.  Mer. 
Do not upbraid me.  Eve. 
Come, you must be told on't;  
You are so covetous, still, to embrace  
More than you can, that you lose all.  Mer. 
'Tis right.  
What would you more, then Guilty? Now, your succours.   

Act. V. Scene. VI.  Shackles. Pug. Iniquity. Devil. 
HEre you are lodged, Sir, you must send your garnish,  
If you'll be private.  Pug. 
There it is, Sir, leave me.  

Pug is brought to Newgate . To Newgate, brought? How is the name of Devil  
Discredited in me! What a lost fiend  
Shall I be, on return? My Chief will roar  
In triumph, now, that I have been on earth,  
A day, and done no noted thing, but brought  
That body back here, was hanged out this morning.  

Enter Iniquity the Vice . Well! would it once were midnight, that I knew  
My utmost. I think Time be drunk, and sleeps:  
He is so still, and moves not! I do glory  
Now i'my torment. Neither can I expect it,  
I have it with my fact.  Ini. 
Child of hell, be thou merry:  
Put a look on, as round, boy, and red as a cherry.  
Cast care at thy posterns; and firk in thy fetters,  
They are ornaments, Baby, have graced thy betters:  
Look upon me, and harken. Our Chief doth salute thee,  
And lest the could iron should chance to confuse thee,  
H'hath sent thee, grant-parole by me to stay longer  
A month here on earth, against cold Child, or hunger  Pug. 
How? longer here a month?  Ini. 
Yes, boy, till the Session,  
That so thou mayest have a triumphal egression.  Pug. 
In a cart, to be hanged.  Ini. 
No, Child, in a Cart,  
The chariot of Triumph, which most of them are.  
And in the mean time, to be greasy, and bouzy,  
And nasty, and filthy, and ragged and lousy,  
With damn me, renounce me, and all the fine phrases;  
That bring, unto Tyburn, the plentiful gazes.  Pug. 
He is a Devil! and may be our Chief!  
The great superior Devil! for his malice:  
archdevil! I acknowledge him. He knew  
What I would suffer, when he tied me up thus  
In a rogue's body: and he has (I thank him)  
His tyrannous pleasure on me, to confine me  
To the unlucky carcase of a Cutpurse  
Wherein I could do nothing.  Div. 
Impudent fiend,  
Stop thy lewd mouth. 
The great Devil enters, and upbraids him with all his days work.  Dost thou not shame and tremble  
To lay thine own dull damned defects upon  
An innocent case, there? Why thou heavy slave!  
The spirit, that did possess that flesh before  
Put more true life, in a finger, and a thumb.  
Then thou in the whole Mass. Yet thou rebell'st  
And murmur'st? What one proffer hast thou made,  
Wicked enough, this day, that might be called  
Worthy thine own, much less the name that sent thee?  
First, thou didst help thyself into a beating  
Promptly, and with't endangerd'st too thy tongue:  
A Devil, and could not keep a body entire  
One day! That, for our credit. And to vindicate it,  
Hinderdest (for aught thou know'st) a deed of darkness:  
Which was an act of that egregious folly,  
As no one, toward the Devil, could ha'thought on.  
This for your acting! but for suffering! why  
Thou hast been cheated on, with a false beard,  
And a turned cloak. Faith would your predecessor  
The Cutpurse, think you, ha' been so? Out upon thee,  
The hurt thouhast done, to let men know their strength,  
And that they are able to outdo a devil  
Put in a body, will for ever be  
A scar upon our Name! whom hast thou dealt with,  
Woman or man, this day, but have outgone thee  
Some way, and most have proved the better fiends?  
Yet, you would be employed? Yes, hell shall make you  
Provincial o'the heaters! or Bawd-ledger,  
For this side o'the town! No doubt you'll render  
A rare account of things. Bane o'your itch,  
And scratching for employment. I'll ha' brimstone  
To allay it sure, and fire to singe your nails off,  
But, that I would not such a damned dishonour  
Stick on our state, as that the devil were hanged;  
And could not save a body, that he took  

Iniquity takes him on his back.  From Tyburn, but it must come thither again:  
You should e'en ride. But up away with him—  Ini. 
Mount, darling of darkness, my shoulders are broad:  
He that caries the fiend, is sure of his load.  
The Devil was wont to carry away the evil;  
But, now, the Evil out-carries the Devil.   

Act. V. Scene. VII.  Shackles. keeper. 

A great noise is heard in Newgate, and the Keepers come out affrighted.  O me!  Kee. 1. 
What's this?  2. 
A piece of justice' Hall  
Is broken down.  3. 
Fough! what a steam of brimstone  
Is here?  4. 
The prisoner's dead, came in but now!  Sha. 
Ha? where?  4. 
Look here.  Kee. 
'Slid I should know his countenance!  
It is Gil-Cut-purse, was hanged out, this morning!  Sha. 
'Tis he!  2. 
The Devil, sure, has a hand in this!  3. 
What shall we do?  Sha. 
Carry the news of it  
Unto the Sheriffs.  1. 
And to the justices.  4. 
This strange!  3. 
And savours of the Devil, strongly!  2. 
I ha' the sulphur of Hell-coal i'my nose.  1. 
Fough.  Sha. 
Carry him in.  1. 
Away.  2. 
How rank it is!   

Act. V. Scene. VIII.  Sir Poule. Meere-craft. Ever-ill. Trains. Pitfall. Fitz-dottrell. to them. Wittipoll. Manly. Mistress Fitz-dottrell. Ingine. to them Guilt-head. Sledge. to them. Shackles. 

The justice comes out wondering and the rest informing him.  THis was the notablest Conspiracy,  
That ere I heard of.  Mer. 
Sir, they had given him potions,  
That did enamour him on the counterfeit Lady—  Eve.. 
just to the time o'delivery o'the deed—  Mer. 
And then the witchcraft ''gan t'appear, for straight  
He fell into his fit.  Eve. 
Of rage at first, Sir,  
Which since has so increased.  Tay. 
Good Sir Poule, see him,  
And punish the impostors.  Pou. 
Therefore I come, madam.  Eit. 
Let M. Either-side alone, madam.  Pou. 
Do you hear?  
Call in the Constable, I will have him by:  
he's the king's Officer! and some Citizens,  
Of credit! I'll discharge my conscience clearly.  Mer. 
Yes, Sir, and send for his wife.  Eve. 
And the two Sorcerers,  
By any means!  Tay. 
I thought one a true Lady,  
I should be sworn. So did you, Either-side?  Eit. 
Yes, by that light, would I might ne'er stir else, Tailbush.  Tay. 
And the other a civil Gentleman.  Eve. 
But, madam,  
You know what I told your Ladyship.  Tay. 
I now see it:  
I was providing of a banquet for 'em  
After I had done instructing o' the fellow  
devil, the Gentleman's man.  Mer. 
Who's found a thief, madam.  
And to have robbed your Usher, Master Ambler  
This morning.  Tay. 
How?  Mer. 
I'll tell you more, anon.  Fit. 
Gi'me some garlic, garlic, garlic, garlic.  Mer. 
Hark the poor Gentleman, 
He begins his fit.  how he is tormented!  Fit. 
My wife is a whore, I'll kiss her no more: and why?  
Mayest not thou be a Cuckold as well as I?  
Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, ha, &c.  Pou. 
That is the Devil speaks, and laughs in him.  Mer. 
Do you think so Sir.  Pou. 
I discharge my conscience. 
The Justice interpret all   Fit. 
And is not the Devil good company? Yes, wis.  Eve. 
How he changes, Sir, his voice!  Fit. 
And a Cuckold is  
Where ere he put his head, with a Wanion,  
If his horns be forth, the devil's companion!  
Look, look, look, else.  Mer. 
How he foams!  Eve. 
And swells!  Tay. 
O, me! what's that there, rises in his belly!  Eit. 
A strange thing! hold it down:  Tra. Pit. 
We cannot, madam.  Pou. 
'Tis too apparent this!  Fit. 
Wittipol, 
Wittipol, and Manly and mist. Fitz-dottrel enter.  Wittipol.  Wit. 
How now, what play ha' we here.  Man. 
What fine new, matters?  Wit. 
The Coxcomb, and the Coverlet.  Mer. 
O strange impudence!  
That these should come to face their sin!  Eve. 
And out-face  
justice, they are the parties, Sir.  Pou. 
Say nothing.  Mer. 
Did you mark, Sir, upon their coming in,  
How he called Wittipol.  Eve. 
And never saw 'em.  Pou. 
I warrant you did I, let 'em play a while.  Fit. 
Buz, buz, buz, buz.  Tay 
Lass poor Gentleman!  
How he is tortured! Mis. Fit Fie, Master Fitz-dottrel!  
What do you mean to counterfeit thus?  Fit. 
O, 
His wife goes to him  o,  
She comes with a needle, and thrusts it in,  
She pulls out that, and she puts in a pin,  
And now, and now, I do not know how, nor where,  
But she pricks me here, and she pricks me there: ôh, ôh,  Pou. 
Woman forbear.  Wit. 
What, Sir?  Pou. 
A practice foul  
For one so fair:  Wit. 
Hath this, then, credit with you?  Man. 
Do you believe in't?  Pou. 
Gentlemen, I'll discharge  
My conscience: 'Tis a clear conspiracy!  
A dark and devilish practice! I detest it!  Wit. 
The justice sure will prove to be the merrier!  Man. 
This is most strange, Sir.  Pou. 
Come not to confront  
Authority with insolence: I tell you,  
I do detest it. Here comes the king's Constable,  
And with him a right worshipful Commoner;  
My good friend, Master Guilt-head! I am glad  
I can before such witnesses, profess  
My conscience, and my detestation of it.  
Horrible! most unnatural! Abominable!  Eve. 

They whisper him.  You do not rumble enough.  Mer. 
Wallow, gnash:  Tay. 
O, how he is vexed!  Pou. 
'Tis too manifest.  Eve. 

And give soap to act with.  Give him more soap to foam with, now lie still.  Mer. 
And act a little.  Tay. 
What does he now, Sir.  Pou. 
Show  
The taking of Tobacco, with which the Devil  
Is so delighted.  Fit. 
Hum!  Pov. 
And calls for Hum.  
You takers of Waters and Tobacco,  
Mark this.  Fit. 
Yellow, yellow, yellow, yellow, &c.  Pou. 
That's Starch! the devil's Idol of that colour.  
He ratifies it, clapping of his hands.  
The proofs are pregnant.  Gui. 
How the Devil can act!  Pou. 
He is the Master of Players? Master Guilt-head,  
And Poets, too! you heard him talk in rhyme!  

Sir Poule interprets Figgum a juggler's game.  I had forgot to observe it to you, ere while!  Tay. 
See, he spits fire.  Pou. 
O no, he plays at Figgum,  
The Devil is the Author of wicked Figgum—  Man. 
Why speak you not unto him?  Wit. 
If I had  
All innocence of man to be endangered  
And he could save, or ruin it: I'd not breathe  
A syllable in request, to such a fellow,  
I'd rather fall.  Fit. 
o they whisper, they whisper, whisper, &c.  
We shall have more, of Devils a score,  
To come to dinner, in me the sinner.  Eyt. 
Alas, poor Gentleman!  Pou. 
Put 'em asunder.  
Keep 'em one from the other.  Man. 
Are you frantic, Sir,  
Or what grave dotage moves you, to take part  
With so much villainy? we are not afraid  
Either of law, or trial; let us be  
Examined what our ends were, what the means,  
To work by; and possibility of those means.  
Do not conclude against us, ere you hear us.  Pou. 
I will not hear you, yet I will conclude  
Out of the circumstances.  Man. 
Will you so, Sir?  Pou. 
Yes they are palpable:  Man. 
Not as your folly:  Pou. 
I will discharge my conscience, and do all  
To the Meridian of justice.  Gui. 
You do well, Sir:  Fit. 
Provide me to eat, three or four dishes o'good meat,  
I'll feast them, and their trains, a justice' head and brains  
Shall be the first.  Pou. 
The Devil loves not justice,  
There you may see.  Fit. 
A spare-rib o'my wife,  
And a whore's purtenance! a Guilt-head whole.  Pou. 
Be not you troubled, Sir, the Devil speaks it.  Fit. 
Yes, wis, Knight, shit, Poule, jowl, owl, foul, troll, bowl.  Pou. 
Crambe, another of the Devil's games!  Mer. 
Speak, Sir, some Greek, if you can. Is not the justice  
A solemn gamester?  Eve. 
Peace.  Fit. 
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman},  
{non-Roman} {non-Roman} {non-Roman}.  Pou. 
He curses  
In Greek, I think.  Eve. 
Your Spanish, that I taught you.  Fit. 
Queen brémosel ojo de burlas.  Eve. 
How? your rest—  
Let's break his neck in jest, the Devil says,  Fit. 
Di gratia, signior mio se baúete denári fataméne part.  Mer. 
What, would the Devil borrow money?  Fit. 
Ouy,  
Ouy, Monsiur, ùn pàuure Diable! Diablet in!  Pou. 
It is the Devil, by his several languages.  Sha. 
Where's Sir Paul Either-side?  Pou. 
Here, 
Enter the Keeper of Newgate  what's the matter?  Sha. 
O! such an accident fall'n out at Newgate, Sir:  
A great piece of the prison is rent down!  
The Devil has been there, Sir, in the body—  
Of the young Cutpurse, was hanged out this morning,  
But in new clothes, Sir, every one of us know him.  
These things were found in his pocket.  Amb. 
Those are mine, Sir.  Sha. 
I think he was committed on your charge, Sir.  
For a new felony  Amb. 
Yes.  Sha. 
he's gone, Sir, now,  
And left us the dead body. But with all, Sir,  
Such an infernal stink, and steam behind,  
You cannot see St. Pulchar's Steeple, yet.  
They smell't as far as Ware, as the wind lies,  
By this time, sure.  Fit. 
Is this upon your credit, friend?  Sha. 
Sir, 
Fitx. dotterel leaves counterfeiting.  you may see, and satisfy yourself.  Fit. 
Nay, then, 'tis time to leave off counterfeiting.  
Sir I am not bewitched, nor have a Devil▪  
No more than you. I do defy him, ay,  
And did abuse you. These two Gentlemen  
Put me upon it. (I have faith against him)  
They taught me all my tricks. I will tell truth,  
And shame the Fiend. See, here, Sir are my bellows,  
And my fall belly, and my Mouse, and all  
That should ha'come forth?  Man. 
Sir, are not you ashamed  
Now of your solemn, serious vanity?  Pou. 
I will make honourable amends to truth.  Fit. 
And so will I. But these are cozeners, still;  
And ha'my land, as plotters, with my wife:  
Who, though she be not a witch, is worse, a whore.  Man. 
Sir, you belie her. She is chaste, and virtuous,  
and we are honest. I do know no glory  
A man should hope, by venting his own follies,  
But you'll still be an Ass, in spite of providence.  
please you go in, Sir, and here truths, then judge 'em:  
and make amends for your late rashness; when,  
You shall but here the pains and care was taken,  
To save this fool from ruin (his Grace of Drowned land)  Fit. 
My land is drowned indeed—  Pou. 
Peace.  Man. 
And how much  
is modest and too worthy wife hath suffered  
By misconstruction, from him, you will blush,  
First for your own belief, more for his actions!  
His land is his: and never, by my friend,  
Or by myself, meant to another use,  
But for her succours, who hath equal right.  
If any other had worse counsels in't,  
(I know I speak to those can apprehend me)  
Let 'em repent 'em, and be not detected.  
It is not manly to take joy, or pride  
In humane errors (we do all ill things,  
They do 'em worst that love 'em, and dwell there,  
Till the plague comes) The few that have the seeds  
Of goodness left, will sooner make their way  
To a true life, by shame, than punishment.    
The END   

 

   

The Epilogue.  
THus, the Projector, here, is overthrown.  
But I have now a Project of mine own,  
If it may pass: that no man would invite  
The Poet from us, to sup forth tonight,  
If the play please. If it displeasant be,  
We do presume, that no man will: nor we: