_Another Street._
_Enter_ BUNGLER, GOLDSTONE, _and_ MARMADUKE.
BUN. How now, Marmaduke? what’s the wager?
MAR. Nay, my care is at end, sir, now I am come to the
sight of you. My mistress, your cousin, entreats you to
take part of a dinner with her at her house,[631] and
bring what gentleman you please to accompany you.
BUN. Thank my sweet coz: I’ll munch with her, say.
MAR. I’ll tell her so.
BUN. Marmaduke——
MAR. Sir?
BUN. Will there be any stock-fish, thinkest thou?
MAR. How, sir?
BUN. Tell my coz I’ve a great appetite to stock-fish,
i’faith. [_Exit_ MARMADUKE.]—Master Goldstone, I’ll
entreat you to be the gentleman that shall accompany me.
GOL. Not me, sir?
BUN. You, sir.
GOL.[632] By my troth, concluded. What state bears thy
coz, sirrah?
BUN. O, a fine merchant’s wife.
GOL. Or rather, a merchant’s fine wife.
BUN. Trust me, and that’s the properer phrase here at
London; and ’tis as absurd too to call him fine
merchant, for, being at sea, a man knows not what pickle
he is in.
GOL. Why, true.
BUN. Yet my coz will be served in plate, I can tell you;
she has her silver jugs and her gilt tankards.
GOL. Fie!
BUN. Nay, you shall see a house dressed up, i’faith; you
must not think to tread a’ th’ ground when you come
there.
GOL. No? how then?
BUN. Why, upon paths made of fig-frails[633] and white
blankets cut out in steaks.[634]
GOL. Away!—I have thought of a device. [_Aside._]—Where
shall we meet an hour hence?
BUN. In Paul’s.
GOL. Agreed. [_Exit_ BUNGLER.
_Enter_ FITSGRAVE.
FIT. The broker-gallant and the cheating-gallant:
Now I have found ’em all, I so rejoice,
That the redeeming of my cloak I weigh not.
I have spied him.
GOL. Pax,[635] here’s Bouser.
FIT. Master Goldstone, my cloak! come, where’s my cloak,
sir?
GOL. O, you’re a sure gentleman, especially if a man
stand in need of you! he may be slain in a morning to
breakfast ere you vouchsafe to peep out of your lodging.
FIT. How?
GOL. No less than four gallants, as I’m a gentleman,
drew all upon me at once, and opposed me so spitefully,
that I not only lost your cloak i’ th’ fray——
FIT. Comes it in there?
GOL. But my rich hangers,[636] sirrah,—I think thou hast
seen ’em.
FIT. Never, i’faith, sir.
GOL. Those with the two unicorns, all wrought in pearl
and gold: pox on’t, it frets me ten times more than the
loss of the paltry cloak: prithee, and[637] thou lovest
me, speak no more on’t; it brings the unicorns into my
mind, and thou wouldst not think how the conceit grieves
me. I will not do thee that disgrace, i’faith, to offer
thee any satisfaction, for in my soul I think thou
scornest it; thou bearest that mind, in my conscience; I
have always said so of thee. Fare thee well: when shall
I see thee at my chamber, when?
FIT. Every day, shortly.
GOL. I have fine toys to shew thee.
FIT. You win my heart then. [_Exit_ GOLDSTONE.] The
devil scarce knew what a portion he gave his children
when he allowed ’em large impudence to live upon, and so
turned ’em into th’ world: surely he gave away the third
part of the riches of his kingdom; revenues are but
fools to’t.
The filed[638] tongue and the undaunted forehead
Are mighty patrimonies, wealthier than those
The city-sire or the court-father leaves:
In these behold it: riches oft, like slaves,
Revolt; they bear their foreheads to their graves.
What soonest grasps advancement, men’s[639] great suits,
Trips down rich widows, gains repute and name,
Makes way where’er it comes, bewitches all?
Thou, Impudence! the minion of our days,
On whose pale cheeks favour and fortune plays.
Call you these your five gallants? trust me, they’re
rare fellows:
They live on nothing; many cannot live on something;
Here they may take example.—Suspectless virgin,
How easy had thy goodness been beguil’d!
Now only rests, that as to me they’re known,
So to the world their base arts may be shewn. _Exit._