And thankfulness in bloud, which well becomes
Both Prince and Subject, that where any wrong
Bears my impression, or the hasty figure
Of my repented anger, I'm a Law
Ev'n to my self, and doom my self most strictly
To Justice, and a noble satisfaction:
So that, what you, in tenderness of honor,
Conceive to be loss to you, which is nothing
But curious opinion, I'll restore agen,
Although I give you the best part of _Genoa_,
And take to boot but thanks for your amends.
_Sham._ Oh miserable satisfaction,
Ten times more wretched than the wrong it self;
Never was ill better made good with worse:
Shall it be said, that my posterity
Shall live the sole heir[es] of their fathers shame?
And raise their wealth and glory from my stripes?
You have provided nobly, bounteous Sir,
For my disgrace, to make it live for ever,
Out-lasting Brass or Marble:
This is my fears construction, and a deep one,
Which neither argument nor time can alter:
Yet I dare swear, I wrong your goodness in't Sir,
And the most fair intent on't, which I reverence
With admiration, that in you a Prince,
Should be so sweet and temperate a condition,
To offer to restore where you may ruine,
And do't with justice, and in me a servant,
So harsh a disposition, that I cannot
Forgive where I should honor, and am bound to't.
But I have ever had that curiosity
In bloud, and tenderness of reputation
Such an antipathy against a blow,
I cannot speak the rest: Good Sir discharge me,
It is not fit that I should serve you more,
Nor come so near you; I'm made now for privacy,
And a retir'd condition, that's my suit:
To part from Court for ever, my last suit;
And as you profess bounty, grant me that Sir.
_Duk[e]._ I would deny thee nothing.
_Sham._ Health reward you, Sir. [_Exit._
_Duke._ He's gone agen already, and takes hold
Of any opportunity: not riches
Can purchase him, nor honors, peaceably,
And force were brutish: what a great worth's gone with him,
And but a Gentleman? well, for his sake,
I'll ne'er offend more, those I cannot make;
They were his words, and shall be dear to memory.
Say I desire to see him once agen;
Yet stay, he's so well forward of his peace,
'Twere pity to disturb him: he would groan
Like a soul fetch'd agen; and that were injury,
And I've wrong'd his degree too much already.
Call forth the Gentlem[e]n of our chamber instantly.
_1 Serv._ I shall my Lord. [_Within._
_Duke._ I may forget agen,
And therefore will prevent: the strain of this
Troubles me so, one would not hazard more.
_Enter 1 Gent, and divers others._
_Gent._ Your Will my Lord?
_Duke._ Yes; I discharge you all.
_2 Gent._ My Lord--
_Duke._ Your places shall be otherwise dispos'd of.
_4 Gent._ Why Sir?
_Duke._ Reply not, I dismiss you all:
Y'are Gentlemen, your worths will find you fortunes;
Nor shall your farewell taxe me of ingratitude.
I'll give you all noble remembrances,
As testimonies 'gainst reproach and malice,
That you departed lov'd.
_3 Gen._ This is most strange, Sir.
_1 Gent._ But how is your Grace furnish'd, these dismiss'd?
_Duke._ Seek me out Grooms.
Men more insensible of reputation,
Less curious and precise in terms of honor,
That if my anger chance let fall a stroke,
As we are all subject to impetuous passions,
Yet it may pass unmurmur'd, undisputed;
And not with braver fury prosecuted. [_Exit._
_1 Gent._ It shall be done, my Lord.
_3 Gent._ Know you the cause, Sir?
_1 Gent._ Not I kind Gentlemen, but by conjectures,
And so much shall be yours when you please.
_4._ Thanks Sir.
_3 Gent._ We shall i'th mean time think our selves guilty
Of some foul fault, through ignorance committed.
_1 Gent._ No, 'tis not that, nor that way.
_4 Gent._ For my part,
I shall be dis-inherited, I know so much.
_1 Gent._ Why Sir, for what?
_4 Gent._ My Sire's of a strange humor,
He'll form faults for me, and then swear 'em mine,
And commonly the first begins with leachery,
He knows his own youths trespass.
_1 Gent._ Before you go,
I'll come and take my leave, and tell you all Sirs.
_3 Gent._ Thou wert ever just and kind. [_Exit._
_1 Gent._ That's my poor virtue, Sir,
And parcel valiant; but it's hard to be perfect:
The choosing of these fellows now will puzle me,
Horribly puzle me; and there's no judgement
Goes true upon mans outside, there's the mischief:
He must be touch'd, and try'd, for gold or dross;
There is no other way for't, and that's dangerous too;
But since I'm put in trust, [I] will attempt it:
The Duke shall keep one daring man about him.
_Enter a Gallant._
Soft, who comes here? a pretty bravery this:
Every one goes so like a Gentleman,
'Tis hard to find a difference, but by th' touch.
I'll try your mettal sure.
_Gal._ Why what do you mean Sir?
_1 Gent._ Nay, and you understand it not, I do not.
_Gal._ Yes, would you should well know,
I understand it for a box o'th' ear Sir.
_1 Gent._ And o'my troth, that's all I gave it for.
_Gal._ 'Twere best it be so.
_1 Gent._ This is a brave Coward,
A jolly threat'ning Coward; he shall be Captain:
Sir, let me meet you an hour hence i'th' Lobby.
_Gal._ Meet you? the world might laugh at [me] then i'faith.
_1 Ge._ Lay by your scorn and pride, they're scurvy qualities,
And meet me, or I'll box you while I have you,
And carry you gambril'd thither like a Mutton.
_Gal._ Nay, and you be in earnest, here's my hand.
I will not fail you.
_1 Gent._ 'Tis for your own good.
_Gal._ Away.
_1 Gent._ Too much for your own good, Sir, a pox on you.
_Gal._ I prethee curse me all day long so.
_1 Gent._ Hang you.
_Gal._ I'll make him mad: he's loth to curse too much to me;
Indeed I never yet took box o'th' ear,
But it redounded, I must needs say so--
_1 Gent._ Will you be gone?
_Gal._ Curse, curse, and then I goe.
Look how he grins, I've anger'd him to th' kidneys. [_Ex._
_1 Gen._ Was ever such a prigging coxcomb seen?
One might have beat him dumb now in this humor,
And he'd ha' grin'd it out still:
_Enter a plain fellow._
Oh, here's one made to my hand,
Methinks looks like a Craven;
Less pains will serve his trial: some slight justle.
_Plain._ How? take you that Sir:
And if that content you not--
_1 Gent._ Yes very well, Sir, I desire no more.
_Plain._ I think you need not;
For you have not lost by't. [_Exit._
_1 Gent._ Who would ha' thought this would have prov'd a Gentleman?
I'll never trust long chins and little legs agen,
I'll know 'em sure for Gentlemen hereafter:
A gristle but in shew, but gave his cuff
With such a fetch, and reach of gentry,
As if h' had had his arms before the floud;
I have took a villanous hard taske upon me;
Now I begin to have a feeling on't.
_Enter_ Lapet, _and Clown his servant, and so habited_.
Oh, here comes a try'd piece, now, the reformed kick.
The millions of punches, spurns, and nips
That he has endur'd! his buttock's all black Lead,
He's half a _Negro_ backward; he was past a _Spaniard_
In Eighty eight, and more _Ægyptian_ like;
His Table and his Book come both out shortly,
And all the cowards in the Town expect it;
So, if I fail of my full number now,
I shall be sure to find 'em at Church corners,
Where _Dives_, and the suff'ring Ballads hang.
_Lap._ Well, since thou art of so mild a temper,
Of so meek a spirit, thou mayst live with me,
Till better times do smile on thy deserts.
I am glad I am got home again.
_Clow._ I am happy in your service, Sir,
You'll keep me from the Hospital.
_Lap._ So, bring me the last proof, this is corrected.
_Clow._ I, y'are too full of your correction, Sir.
_Lap._ Look I have perfect Books within this half hour.
_Clow._ Yes Sir.
_Lap._ Bid him put all the Thumps in _Pica Roman_.
And with great T's, (you vermin) as Thumps should be.
_Clow._ Then in what Letter will you have your Kicks?
_Lap._ All in _Italica_, your backward blows
All in _Italica_, you _Hermaphrodite_:
When shall I teach you wit?
_Clow._ Oh let it alone,
Till you have some your self, Sir.
_Lap._ You mumble?
_Clow._ The victuals are lockt up;
I'm kept from mumbling. [_Exit._
_Lap._ He prints my blows upon Pot Paper too, the rogue,
Which had been proper for some drunken Pamphlet.
_1 Gent._ Monsieur _Lapet_? how the world rings of you, Sir!
Your name sounds far and near.
_Lap._ A good report it bears, for an enduring name--
_1 Gent._ What luck have you Sir?
_Lap._ Why, what's the matter?
_1 Gent._ I'm but thinking on't.
I've heard you wish these five years for a place.
Now there's one fall'n, and freely without money too;
And empty yet, and yet you cannot have't.
_Lap._ No? what's the reason? I'll give money for't,
Rather than go without Sir.
_1 Gen._ That's not it Sir:
The troth is, there's no Gentleman must have it
Either for love or money, 'tis decreed so;
I was heartily sorry when I thought upon you,
Had you not been a Gentleman, I had fitted you.
_Lap._ Who I a Gentleman? a pox I'm none, Sir.
_1 Gent._ How?
_Lap._ How? why did you ever think I was?
_1 Gent._ What? not a Gentleman?
_Lap._ I would thou'dst put it upon me i'faith;
Did not my Grand-father cry Cony-skins?
My Father _Aquavitæ_? a hot Gentleman:
All this I speak on, i' your time and memory too;
Only a rich Uncle dy'd, and left me chattels,
You know all this so well too--
_1 Gent._ Pray excuse me, Sir, ha' not you Arms?
_Lap._ Yes, a poor couple here,
That serve to thrust in wild-Fowl.
_1 Gent._ Heralds Arms,
Symbols of Gentry, Sir: you know my meaning;
They've been shewn and seen.
_Lap._ They have.
_1 Gen._ I fex have they.
_Lap._ Why I confess, at my wives instigation once,
(As Women love these Heralds kickshawes naturally)
I bought 'em: but what are they think you? puffs.
_1 Gent._ Why, that's proper to your name being _Lapet_.
Which is _La fart_, after the _English_ Letter.
_Lap._ The Herald, Sir, had much adoe to find it.
_1 Gent._ And can you blame him?
Why, 'tis the only thing that puzles the devil.
_Lap._ At last he lookt upon my name agen,
And having well compar'd it, this he gave me,
The two Cholliques playing upon a wind Instrument.
_1 Gent._ An excellent proper one; but I pray tell me,
How does he express the Cholliques?
They are hard things.
_Lap._ The Cholliques? with hot trenchers at their bellies;
There's nothing better, Sir, to blaze a Chollique.
_1 Gent._ And are not you a Gentleman by this Sir?
_Lap._ No, I disclaim't: no belly-ake upon earth
Shall make me one: he shall not think
To put his gripes upon me,
And wring out gentry so, and ten pound first.
If the wind Instrument will make my wife one,
Let her enjoy't, for she was a Harpers Grand-child:
But Sir, for my particular, I renounce it.
_1 Gent._ Or to be call'd so?
_Lap._ I Sir, or imagin'd.
_1 Gent._ None fitter for the place: give me thy hand.
_Lap._ A hundred thousand thanks, beside a Bribe, Sir.
_1 Gent._ Yo[u] must take heed
Of thinking toward a Gentleman, now.
_Lap._ Pish, I am not mad, I warrant you: nay, more Sir,
If one should twit me i'th' teeth that I'm a Gentleman,
Twit me their worst, I am but one since _Lammas_,
That I can prove, if they would see my heart out.
_[1] Gen._ Marry, in any case keep me that evidence.
_Enter Clown._
_Lap._ Here comes my Servant; Sir, _Galoshio_,
Has not his name for nought, he will be trode upon:
What says my Printer now?
_Clow._ Here's your last Proof, Sir.
You shall have perfect Books now in a twinkling.
_Lap._ These marks are ugly.
_Clow._ He says, Sir, they're proper:
Blows should have marks, or else they are nothing worth.
_La._ But why a Peel-crow here?
_Clow._ I told 'em so Sir:
A scare-crow had been better.
_Lap._ How slave? look you, Sir,
Did not I say, this _Whirrit_, and this _Bob_,
Should be both _Pica Roman_.
_Clow._ So said I, Sir, both _Picked Romans_,
And he has made 'em _Welch_ Bills,
Indeed I know not what to make on 'em.
_Lap._ Hay-day; a _Souse_, _Italica_?
_Clow._ Yes, that may hold, Sir,
_Souse_ is a _bona roba_, so is _Flops_ too.
_Lap._ But why stands _Bastinado_ so far off here?
_Clow._ Alas, you must allow him room to lay about him, Sir.
_La._ Why lies this _Spurn lower_ than that _Spurn_, Sir?
_Clow._ Marry, this signifies one kick[t] down stairs, Sir,
The other in a Gallery: I asked him all these questions.
_1 Gent._ Your Books name?
Prethee _Lapet_ mind me, you never told me yet.
_La._ Marry but shall Sir: 'tis call'd the Uprising of the _kick_;
And the downfall of the _Duello_.
_1 Gent._ Bring that to pass, you'll prove a happy member,
And do your Countrey service: your young blouds
Will thank you then, why they see fourscore.
_Lap._ I hope
To save my hundred Gentlemen a month by't,
Which will be very good for the private house.
_Clow._ Look you, your Table's finish'd, Sir, already.
_Lap._ Why then behold my Master-piece: see, see, Sir,
Here's all your Blows, and Blow-men whatsoever;
Set in their lively colours, givers, and takers.
_1 Gent._ Troth wondrous fine, Sir.
_Lap._ Nay, but mark the postures,
The standing of the takers, I admire more than the givers;
They stand scornfully, most contumeliously, I like not them,
Oh here's one cast into a comely Figure.
_Clow._ My Master means him there that's cast down headlong.
_Lap._ How sweetly does this fellow take his _Dowst_!
Stoops like a _Cammel_, that Heroick beast,
At a great load of Nutmegs; and how meekly
This other fellow here receives his _Whirrit_!
_Clow._ Oh Master, here's a fellow stands most gallantly,
Taking his _kick_ in private, behind the hangings,
And raising up his hips to't. But oh, Sir,
How daintily this man lies trampled on!
Would I were in thy place, what e'er thou art:
How lovely he endures it!
_1 Gent._ But will not these things, Sir, be hard to practice, think
you?
_Lap._ Oh, easie, Sir: I'll teach 'em in a Dance.
_1 Gent._ How? in a dance?
_Lap._ I'll lose my new place else,
What e'er it be; I know not what 'tis yet.
_1 Gent._ And now you put me in mind, I could employ it well,
For your grace, specially: For the Dukes Cosin
Is by this time in's violent fit of mirth,
And a device must be sought out for suddainly,
To over-cloy the passion.
_Lap._ Say no more, Sir,
I'll fit you with my Scholars, new practitioners,
Endurers of the time.
_Clow._ Whereof I am one Sir.
_1 Gent._ You carry it away smooth; give me thy hand, Sir. [_Exeunt._
_Actus Quintus. Scæna Prima._
_Enter the two Brothers._
_Pas._ Ha, ha, ha. [_Within._
_2 Bro._ Hark, hark, how loud his fit's grown.
_Pas._ Ha, ha, ha.
_1 Bro._ Now let our Sister lose no time, but ply it
With all the power she has.
_2 Bro._ Her shame grows big, brother;
The _Cupid_'s shape will hardly hold it longer,
'Twould take up half an Ell of _China_ Damask more,
And all too little: it struts per'lously:
There is no tamp'ring with these _Cupids_ longer,
The meer conceit with Woman-kind works strong.
_Pas._ Ha, ha, ha.
_2 Bro._ The laugh comes nearer now,
'Twere good we were not seen yet. [_Ex. Bro._
_Enter Passion, and Base, his jester._
_Pas._ Ha, ha, ha,
And was he bastinado'd to the life? ha, ha, ha.
I prethee say, Lord General, how did the rascals
Entrench themselves?
_Base._ Most deeply, politickly, all in ditches.
_Pas._ Ha, ha, ha.
_Bas._ 'Tis thought he'll ne'r bear Arms [ith'] field agen,
Has much ado to lift 'em to his head, Sir.
_Pas._ I would he had.
_Bas._ On either side round Truncheons plaid so thick,
That Shoulders, Chines, nay Flanks were paid to th' quick.
_Pas._ Well said Lord-General: ha, ha, ha.
_Bas._ But pray how grew the diff'rence first betwixt you?
_Pas._ There was never any, Sir; there lies the jest man;
Only because he was taller than his brother;
There's all my quarrel, to him; and methought
He should be beaten for't, my mind so gave me, Sir,
I could not sleep for't: Ha, ha, ha, ha.
Another good jest quickly, while 'tis hot now;
Let me not laugh in vain: ply me, oh ply me,
As you will answer't to my cosin Duke.
_Bas._ Alas, who has a good jest?
_Pas._ I fall, I dwindle in't.
_Bas._ Ten Crowns for a go[o]d jest: ha' you a good jest, Sir?
_Enter Servant._
_Serv._ A pretty moral one.
_Bas._ Let's ha't, what e'er it be.
_Serv._ There comes a _Cupid_
Drawn by six fools.
_Bas._ That's nothing.
_Pas._ Help it, help it then.
_Bas._ I ha' known six hundred fools drawn by a _Cupid_.
_Pas._ I that, that, that's the smarter Moral: ha, ha, ha.
Now I begin to be Song-ripe methinks.
_Bas._ I'll sing you a pleasant Air Sir, before you ebb.
SONG.
Pas. _Oh how my Lungs do tickle! ha, ha, ha._
_Bas. Oh how my Lungs do tickle! oh, oh, ho, ho._
Pas. Sings.
_Set a sharp Jest_
_Against my breast,_
_Then how my Lungs do tickle!_
_As Nightingales,_
_And things in Cambrick rails,_
_Sing best against a prickle,_
_Ha, ha, ha, ha._
Bas. _Ho, ho, ho, ho, ha._
Pas. _Laugh._
Bas. _Laugh._
Pas. _Laugh._
Bas. _Laugh._
Pas. _Wide._
Bas. _Loud._
Pas. _And vary._
Bas. _A smile is for a simpering Novice._
Pas. _One that ne'er tasted Caveare._
Bas. _Nor knows the smack of dear Anchovis._
Pas. _Ha, ha, ha, ha, ha._
Bas. _Ho, ho, ho, ho, ho._
Pas. _A gigling waiting wench for me,_
_That shews her teeth how white they be._
Bas. _A thing not fit for gravity,_
_For theirs are foul, and hardly three._
Pas. _Ha, ha, ha._
Bas. _Ho, ho, ho._
Pas. Democritus, _thou antient Fleerer,_
_How I miss thy laugh, and ha' since_.
Bas. _There you nam'd the famous Jeerer,_
_That ever jeer'd in_ Rome, _or_ Athens.
Pas. _Ha, ha, ha._
Bas. _Ho, ho, ho._
Pas. _How brave lives he that keeps a fool,_
_Although the rate be deeper!_
[B]as. _But he that is his own fool, Sir,_
_Does live a great deal cheaper._
Pas. _Sure I shall burst, burst, quite break, thou art so witty._
Bas. _'Tis rare to break at Court, for that belongs to th' City._
Pas. _Ha, ha, my spleen is almost worn to the last laughter._
Bas. _Oh keep a corner for a friend, a jest may come hereafter._
_Enter_ Lapet _and_ Clown, _and four other like fools, dancing,_
_the_ Cupid _leading, and bearing his Table, and holding it_
_up to_ Lapet _at every strain, and acting the postures_.
_Lap._ Twinge all now, twinge I say.
2 Strain.
Souse upon Souse.
3 Strain.
Douses single.
4 Strain.
Justle sides.
5 Strain.
Knee Belly.
6 Strain.
Kicksee Buttock.
7 Strain.
_La._ Downderry.
_Enter Soldier_, Shamont_'s brother; his sword drawn_.
_Sol._ Not angry Law, nor doors of Brass shall keep me,
From my wrongs expiation to thy Bowels,
I return my disgrace; and after turn
My face to any death that can be sentenc'd.
_Base._ Murder, oh murder, stop the murderer there--
_Lap._ I am glad he's gone; h'as almost trode my guts out;
Follow him who list for me, I'll ha' no hand in't.
_Clo._ Oh 'twas your luck and mine to be squelch'd, Mr.
H'as stamp'd my very Puddings into Pancakes.
_Cup._ Oh brothers, oh, I fear 'tis mortal: help, oh help,
I'm made the wretchedst woman by this accident,
That ever love beguil'd.
_Enter two Brothers._
_2 Bro._ We are undone Brother,
Our shames are too apparent: Away receptacle
Of Luxury, and dishonor, most unfortunate,
To make thy self but lucky to thy spoil,
After thy Sexes manner: lift him up Brother;
He breaths not to our comfort, he's too wasted
Ever to cheer us more: A Chirurgeon speedily;
Hence; the unhappiest that e'er stept aside,
She'll be a Mother, before she's known a Bride.
_Cup._ Thou hadst a most unfortunate conception,
What e'er thou prov'st to be; in midst of mirth
Comes ruine, for a welcome, to thy birth. [_Exeunt._
_Scæna Secunda._
_Enter_ Shamont.
_Sham._ This is a beautiful life now; privacy
The sweetness and the benefit of Essence:
I see there is no man, but may make his Paradice;
And it is nothing but his love, and dotage
Upon the worlds foul joyes, that keeps him out on't:
For he that lives retir'd in mind, and spirit,
Is still in Paradice, and has his innocence,
Partly allow'd for his companion too,
As much as stands with justice: here no eyes
Shoot their sharp pointed scorns upon my shame;
They know no terms of reputation here,
No punctual limits, or precise dimensions:
Plain down-right honesty is all the beauty
And elegancy of life, found amongst Shepheards;
For knowing nothing nicely, or desiring it,
Quits many a vexation from the mind,
With which our quainter knowledge does abuse us;
The name of envy is a stranger here,
That dries mens blouds abroad, robs Health and Rest,
Why here's no such fury thought on: no, nor falshood,
That brotherly disease, fellow-like devil,
That plays within our bosom, and betrays us.
_Enter 1 Gent._
_1 Gent._ Oh are you here?
_Sham. La Nove_, 'tis strange to see thee.
_1 Gent._ I ha' rid one horse to death,
To find you out, Sir.
_Sham._ I am not to be found of any man
That saw my shame, nor seen long.
_1 Gent._ Good, your attention:
You ought to be seen now, and found out, Sir,
If ever you desire before your ending
To perform one good office, nay, a dear one,
Mans time can hardly match it.
_Sham._ Be't as precious
As reputation; if it come from Court
I will not hear on't.
_1 Gent._ You must hear of this, Sir.
_Sham._ Must?
_1 Gent._ You shall hear it.
_Sham._ I love thee, that thou'lt dye.
_1 Gent._ 'Twere nobler in me,
Than in you living: you will live a murderer,
If you deny this office.
_Sham._ Even to death, Sir.
_1 Gent._ Why then you'll kill your brother.
_Sham._ How?
_1 Gent._ Your Brother, Sir:
Bear witness heaven, this man destroys his Brother
When he may save him, his least breath may save him:
Can there be wilfuller destruction?
He was forc'd to take a most unmanly wrong,
Above the suff'ring virtue of a Soldier,
Has kill'd his injurer, a work of honor;
For which, unless you save him, he dies speedily
My conscience is discharg'd, I'm but a friend,
A Brother should go forward where I end. [_Exit._
_Sham._ Dyes?
Say he be naught, that's nothing to my goodness,
Which ought to shine through use, or else it loses
The glorious name 'tis known by: he's my brother;
Yet peace is above bloud: Let him go; I,
But where's the nobleness of affection then?
That must be car'd for too, or I'm imperfect,
The same bloud that stood up in wrath against him,
Now in his misery, runs all to pity;
I'd rather dye than speak one syllable
To save my self, but living as I am,
There's no avoiding on't, the worlds humanity
Expects it hourly from me: curse of fortune,
I took my leave so well too: Let him dye,
'Tis but a brother lost; so pleasingly,
And swiftly I came off, 'twere more than irksomness,
To tread that path agen; and I shall never
Depart so handsomely: but then where's posterity?
The consummation of our house and name?
I'm torn in pieces betwixt love and shame. [_Exit._
_Scæna Tertia._
_Enter_ Lapet, Clown, Poultrot, Moulbazon, _and_
_others, the new Court Officers_.
_Lap._ Good morrow fellow _Poltrot_, and _Moulbazon_,
Good morrow fellows all.
_Pol._ Monsieur _Lapet_?
_Lap._ Look, I've remembred you, here's books apiece for you.
_Moul._ Oh Sir, we dearly thank you.
_Lap._ So you may:
There's two impressions gone already, Sirs.
_Pol._ What no? in so short a time?
_Lap._ 'Tis as I tell you, Sir.
My Kick sells gallantly, I thank my stars.
_Clow._ So does your Table; you may thank the Moon too.
_Lap._ 'Tis the Book sells the Table.
_Clow._ But 'tis the Bookseller
That has the money for 'em, I'm sure o' that.
_Lap._ 'Twill much enrich the Company of Stationers,
'Tis thought 'twill prove a lasting benefit,
Like the _Wise Masters_, and the _Almanacks_,
The hundred _Novels_, and the Book of _Cookery_,
For they begin already to engross it,
And make it a Stock-book, thinking indeed
'Twill prove too great a benefit, and help,
For one that's new set up: they know their way,
And make him Warden, e'r his beard be gray.
_Moul._ Is't possible such virtue should lye hid,
And in so little Paper?
_Lap._ How? why there was the Carpenter,
An unknown thing; an odoriferous Pamphlet,
Yet no more Paper, by all computation,
Than _Ajax Telamon_ would use at once,
Your Herring prov'd the like, able to buy
Another _Fishers_ Folly, and your _Pasquil_
Went not below the mad-caps of that time,
And shall my elaborate _Kick_ come behind, think you?
_Clow._ Yes, it must come behind, 'tis in _Italica_ too,
According to your humor.
_Lap._ Not in sale, Varlet.
_Clow._ In sale, Sir? it shall sail beyond 'em all I tro.
_Lap._ What have you there now? oh Page 21.
_Clow._ That Page is come to his years, he should be a Serving man.
_Lap._ Mark how I snap up the _Duello_ there:
One would not use a dog so,
I must needs say; but's for the common good.
_Clow._ Nay Sir, your Commons seldom fight at sharp,
But buffet in a Warehouse.
_Lap._ This will save
Many a Gentleman of good bloud from bleeding, Sirs,
I have a curse from many a Barber-Surgeon;
They'd give but too much money to call't in;
Turn to Page 45. see what you find there.
_Clow._ Oh, out upon him,
Page 45. that's an old thief indeed.
_Enter Duke, the Lady his Sister, 1 Gent._
_Lap._ The Duke, clap down your Books; away _Galoshio_.
_Clow._ Indeed I am too foul to be i' th' presence,
They use to shake me off at the chamber door still. [_Ex._
_Lady._ Good my Lord, grant my suit: let me not rise
Without the comfort on't: I have not often
Been tedious in this kind.