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Witty.

Sir, I'm no boy, I'm deep in one and twenty,

The second years approaching.

Old K. A fine time

For a youth to live by his wits then I should think,

If e'er he mean to make account of any.

Witty. Wits, Sir?

Old K. I Wits Sir, if it be so strange to thee,

I'm sorry I spent that time to get a Fool,

I might have imploy'd my pains a great deal better;

Thou knowst all that I have, I ha' got by my wits,

And yet to see how urgent thou art too;

It grieves me thou art so degenerate

To trouble me for means, I never offer'd it

My Parents from a School-boy, past nineteen once,

See what these times are grown to, before twenty

I rush'd into the world, which is indeed

Much like the Art of swiming, he that will attain to't

Must fall plump, and duck himself at first,

And that will make him hardy and advent'rous,

And not stand putting in one foot, and shiver,

And then draw t'other after, like a quake-buttock;

Well he may make a padler i'th' world,

From hand to mouth, but never a brave Swimmer,

Born up by th' chin, as I bore up my self,

With my strong industry that never fail'd me;

For he that lies born up with Patrimonies,

Looks like a long great Ass that swims with bladders,

Come but one prick of adverse fortune to him

He sinks, because he never try'd to swim

When Wit plaies with the billows that choak'd him.

Witty. Why is it not a fashion for a Father, Sir,

Out of his yearly thousands to allow

His only Son, a competent brace of hundreds;

Or such a toy?

Old K. Yes, if he mean to spoil him,

Or mar his wits he may, but never I,

This is my humor, Sir, which you'll find constant;

I love Wit so well, because I liv'd by't,

That I'll give no man power out of my means to hurt it,

And that's a kind of gratitude to my raiser,

Which great ones oft forget; I admire much

This Ages dulness, when I scarce writ man,

The first degree that e'er I took in thriving,

I lay intelligencer close for wenching,

Could give this Lord or Knight a true Certificate

Of all the Maiden-heads extant, how many lay

'Mongst Chambermaids, how many 'mongst Exchange [Wenches,]

Though never many there I must confess

They have a trick to utter Ware so fast;

I knew which Lady had a mind to fall,

Which Gentlewoman new divorc'd, which Tradesman breaking,

The price of every sinner to a hair,

And where to raise each price; which were the Tearmers,

That would give Velvet Petticoats, Tissue Gowns,

Which Pieces, Angels, Suppers, and Half Crowns;

I knew how to match, and make my market.

Could give intelligence where the Pox lay leidger,

And then to see the Letchers shift a point,

'Twas sport and profit too; how they would shun

Their ador'd Mistriss chambers, and run fearfully,

Like Rats from burning houses, so brought I

My Clyents[a] the game still safe together,

And noble gamesters lov'd me, and I felt it.

Give me a man that lives by his wits, say I,

And's never left a Groat, there's the true Gallant.

When I grew somewhat pursie, I grew then

In mens opinions too, and confidences,

They put things call'd Executorships upon me,

The charge of Orphans, little sensless creatures,

Whom in their Childhoods I bound forth to Felt-makers,

To make 'em lose, and work away their Gentry,

Disguise their tender natures with hard custom,

So wrought 'em out in time, there I rise ungently,

Nor do I fear to discourse this unto thee,

I'm arm'd at all points against treachery,

I hold my humor firm, if I can see thee thrive by

Thy wits while I live, I shall have the more courage

To trust thee with my Lands when I dye; if not,

The next best wit I can hear of, carries 'em:

For since in my time and knowledge, so many rich children

Of the City, conclude in beggery, I'de rather

Make a wise stranger my Executor, then a foolish

Son my Heir, and to have my Lands call'd after my

Wit, than after my name; and that's my nature.

Witty. 'Tis a strange harsh one, must I still shift then?

I come brave Cheats, once to my trade agen.

And I'll ply't harder now than e'er I did for't,

You'll part with nothing then, Sir?

Old K. Not a jot, Sir.

Witty. If I should ask you blessing e'r I goe, Sir,

I think you would not give't me.

Old K. Let me but hear thou liv'st by thy wits once

Thou shalt have any thing, thou'rt none of mine else,

Then why should I take care for thee?

Witty. 'Thank your bounty.

Old K. So wealth love me, and long life, I beseech it,

As I do love the man that lives by his wits,

He comes so near my nature; I'm grown old now,

And even arriv'd at my last cheat I fear me,

But 'twill make shift to bury me, by day-light too,

And discharge all my Legacies, 'tis so wealthy,

And never trouble any Interest money:

I've yet a Neece to wed, over whose steps

I have plac'd a trusty watchful Guardianess,

For fear some poor Earl steal her, 't has been threat'ned,

To redeem mortgag'd Land, but he shall miss on't;

To prevent which, I have sought out a match for her,

Fop of Fop-Hall, he writes himself, I take it,

The antient'st Fop in England, with whom I've privately

Compounded for the third part of her portion.

And she seems pleas'd, so two parts rest with me,

He's come; Sir Gregory, welcome, what's he Sir?

Sir Greg. Young Cuningam, a Norfolk Gentleman,

One that has liv'd upon the Fops, my kindred,

Ever since my remembrance; he's a wit indeed,

And we all strive to have him, nay, 'tis certain

Some of our name has gone to Law for him;

Now 'tis my turn to keep him, and indeed

He's plaguy chargeable, as all your wits are,

But I will give him over when I list,

I ha' us'd wits so before.

Old K. I hope when y'are married Sir, you'll shake him off.

Sir Greg. Why what do you take me to be, old Fatheri'Law that shall be, do you think I'll have any of the Wits hang upon me, after I am married once? none of my kindred ever had before me; but where's this Neece? is't a fashion in London, to marry a woman and never see her?

Old K. Excuse the niceness, Sir, that care's your frien[d],

Perhaps had she been seen, you had never seen her;

There's many a spent thing call'd, and't like your honor,

That lies in wait for her, at first snap she's a Countess,

Drawn with six Mares through Fleetstreet, and a Coachman,

Sitting bare-headed to their Flanders buttocks,

This whets him on.

Sir Greg. Pray let's clap up the business, Sir,

I long to see her, are you sure you have her,

Is she not there already[?] Hark, oh hark.

Old K. How now, what's that Sir?

Sir Greg. Every Caroach goes by,

Goes ev'n to th' heart of me.

Old K. I'll have that doubt eas'd, Sir,

Instantly eas'd, Sir Gregory, and now I think on't

A toy comes i' my mind, seeing your friend there,

We'll have a little sport, give you but way to't,

And put a trick upon her, I love Wit pretiously,

You shall not be seen yet, we'll stale your friend first,

If't please but him to stand for the Anti-mask.

Sir Gr. Puh, he shall stand for any thing, why his supper

Lies i'my breeches here, I'll make him fast else.

Old K. Then come you forth more unexpectedly

The Mask it self, a thousand a year joynture,

The cloud, your frien[d] will be then drawn away,

And only you the beauty of the Play.

Sir Gr. For Red and Black, I'll put down all your Fullers,

Let but your Neece bring White, and we have three colours.

Old K. I'm given to understand you are a Wit, Sir.

Cuning. I'm one that Fortune shews small favour to, Sir.

Old K. Why there you conclude it, whether you will or no, Sir;

To tell you truth, I'm taken with a Wit.

Cun. Fowlers catch Woodcocks so, let not them know so much.

Old K. A pestilence mazard, a Duke Humphrey spark

Had rather lose his dinner than his jest,

I say I love a Wit the best of all things.

Cun. Always except your self.

Old K. Has giv'n't me twice now.

All with a breath, I thank him; but that I love a Wit

I should be heartily angry; cuds, my Neece,

You know the business with her.

Cun. With a Woman?

'Tis ev'n the very same it was I'm sure

Five thousand years ago, no fool can miss it.

Old K. This is the Gentleman I promis'd Neece,

To present to your affection.

Cun. ['W]are that Arrow.

Old K. Deliver me the truth now of your liking.

Cun. I'm spoil'd already, that such poor lean Game

Should be found out as I am.

Old K. Go set to her Sir – ha, ha, ha.

Cun. How noble is this virtue in you, Lady,

Your eye may seem to commit a thousand slaughters

On your dull servants which truly tasted

Conclude all in comforts.

Old K. Puh.

Neece. It rather shews what a true worth can make,

Such as yours is.

Old K. And that's not worth a groat,

How like you him Neece?

Neece. It shall appear how well, Sir,

I humbly thank you for him.

Old K. Hah? ha, good gullery, he does it well i'faith,

Light, as if he meant to purchase Lip-land there:

Hold, hold, bear off I say, slid your part hangs too long.

Cun. My joys are mockeries.

Neece. Y'have both exprest a worthy care and love, Sir,

Had mine own eye been set at liberty,

To make a publick choice (believe my truth, Sir)

It could not ha' done better for my heart

Than your good providence has.

Old K. You will say so then,

Alas sweet Neece, all this is but the scabbard,

Now I draw forth the weapon.

Neece. How?

Old K. Sir Gregory,

Approach thou lad of thousands.

Sir Gr. Who calls me?

Neece. What motion's this, the Model of Ninivie?

Old K. Accost her daintily now, let me advise thee.

Sir Gr. I was advis'd to bestow dainty cost on you.

Neece. You were ill advis'd, back, and take better counsel;

You may have good for an Angel, the least cost

You can bestow upon a woman, Sir

Trebles ten Counsellors Fees in Lady-ware,

Y'are over head and ears, e'r you be aware,

Faith keep a batchelor still, and go to Bowls, Sir,

Follow your Mistriss there, and prick and save, Sir;

For other Mistresses will make you a slave, Sir.

Sir Gr. So, so, I have my lerrepoop already.

Old K. Why how now Neece, this is the man I tell you.

Neece. He, hang him, Sir, I know you do but mock,

This is the man you would say.

Old K. The Devil rides I think.

Cun. I must use cunning here.

Old K. Make me not mad, use him with all respect,

This is the man I swear.

Neece. Would you could perswade me to that;

Alass, you cannot go beyond me Uncle,

You carry a Jest well, I must confess,

For a man of your years, but —

Old K. I'm wrought beside my self.

Cun. I never beheld comliness till this minute.

Guar. Oh good sweet Sir, pray offer not these words

To an old Gentlewoman.

Neece. Sir.

Cun. Away fifteen,

Here's Fifty one exceeds thee.

Neece. What's the business?

Cun. Give me these motherly creatures, come, ne'er smother it,

I know you are a teeming woman yet.

Guard. Troth a young Gent. might do much I think, Sir.

Cun. Go too then.

Guard. And I should play my part, or I were ingrateful.

Neece. Can you so soon neglect me!

Cun. Hence I'm busie.

Old K. This cross point came in luckily, impudent baggage.

Hang from the Gentleman, art thou not asham'd

To be a Widows hind'rance?

Cun. Are you angry, Sir?

Old K. You're welcome, pray court on, I shall desire

Your honest wise acquaintance; vex me not

After my care and pains to find a match for thee,

Lest I confine thy life to some out-chamber,

Where thou shalt waste the sweetness of thy youth,

Like a consuming Light in her own socket,

And not allow'd a male creature about thee;

A very Monky, thy necessity

Shall prize at a thousand pound, a Chimney sweeper

At Fifteen hundred.

Neece. But are you serious, Uncle?

Old K. Serious.

Neece. Pray let me look upon the Gentleman

With more heed; then I did but hum him over

In haste, good faith, as Lawyers Chancery sheets;

Beshrew my blood, a tollerable man,

Now I distinctly read him.

Sir Gr. Hum, hum, hum.

Neece. Say he be black, he's of a very good pitch,

Well ankled, two good confident calves, they look

As if they would not shrink at the ninth child;

The redness i'th face, why that's in fashion,

Most of your high bloods have it, sign of greatness marry;

'Tis to be taken down too with May-butter,

I'll send to my Lady Spend-tail for her Medicine.

Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, de dum.

Neece. He's qualified too, believe me.

Sir Gr. Lum te dum, de dum, de dum.

Neece. Where was my judgement?

Sir Gr. Lum te dum, dum, dum, te dum, te dum.

Neece. Perfections cover'd mess.

Sir Gr. Lum te dum, te dum, te dum.

Neece. It smoaks apparantly, pardon sweet Sir,

The error of my Sex.

Old K. Why, well [s]aid Neece,

Upon submission you must pardon her now, Sir.

Sir Gr. I'll do't by course, do you think I'm an ass, Knight?

Here's first my hand, now't goes to the Seal-Office.

Old K. Formally finisht, how goes this Suit forward?

Cun. I'm taking measure of the Widows mind, Sir,

I hope to fit her heart.

Guard. Who would have dreamt

Of a young morsel now? things come in minutes.

Sir Gr. Trust him not Widow, he's a younger brother,

He'll swear and lie; believe me he's worth nothing.

Guard. He brings more content to a woman with that nothing,

Than he that brings his thousands without any thing,

We have presidents for that amongst great Ladies.

Old K. Come, come, no language now shall be in fashion,

But your Love-phrase, the bell to procreation.

Witty. Pox, there's nothing puts me besides my wits, but this fourth,

This last illiterate share, there's no conscience in't.

Ruin. Sir, it has ever been so, where I have practis'd, and must be.

Still where I am, nor has it been undeserv'd at the years

End, and shuffle the Almanack together, vacations and

Term-times, one with another, though I say't, my wife is a

Woman of a good spirit, then it is no lay-share.

Pris. Faith for this five year, Ego possum probare, I have had

A hungry penurious share with 'em, and she has had as much

As I always.

Witty. Present, or not present?

Pris. Residens aut non residens, per fidem.

Witty. And what president's this for me? because your Hic & hac, Turpis and Qui mihi discipulus brains (that never got any thing but by accidence and uncertainty) did allow it, therefore I must, that have grounded conclusions of wit, hereditary rules from my Father to get by —

Ruin. Sir, be compendious, either take or refuse, I will 'bate no token of my wives share, make even the last reckonings, and either so unite, or here divide company.

Pris. A good resolution, profecto, let every man beg his own way, and happy man be his dole.

Witty. Well, here's your double share, and single brains Pol, œdipol, here's toward, a Castor ecastor for you, I will endure it a fortnight longer, but by these just five ends. —

Pris. Take heed, five's odd, put both hands together, or severally, they are all odd unjust ends.

Witty. Medius fi[d]ius, hold your tongue, I depose you from half a share presently else, I will make you a participle, and decline you, now you understand me, be you a quiet Conjunction amongst the undeclined; you and your Latine ends shall go shift, Solus cum solo together else, and then if ever they get ends of Gold and Silver, enough to serve that Gerundine maw of yours, that without Do will end in Di and Dum instantly.

Ruin. Enough, enough, here comes company, we lose five shares in wrangling about one.

Witty. My Father, put on Priscian, he has Latine fragments too, but I fear him not, I'll case my face with a little more hair and relieve.

Old K. Tush Nephew (I'll call you so) for if there be

No other obstacles than those you speak of

They are but Powder-charges without pellets,

You may safely front 'em; and warrant your own danger.

Sir Gr. No other that I can perceive i'faith, Sir, for I put her to't, and felt her as far as I could, and the strongest repulse was, she said, she would have a little Soldier in me, that (if need were) should defend her reputation.

Old K. And surely, Sir, that is a principle

Amongst your principal Ladies, they require

Valour, either in a friend or a Husband.

Sir Gr. And I allow their requests i'faith, as well as any womans heart can desire, if I knew where to get valour, I would as willingly entertain it as any man that blows.

Old K. Breaths, breaths Sir, that's the sweeter phrase.

Sir Gr. Blows for a Soldier, i'faith Sir, and I'm in

Practise that way.

Old K. For a Soldier, I grant it.

Sir Gr. 'Slid, I'll swallow some bullets, and good round ones too, but I'll have a little Soldier in me.

Ruin. Will you on and beg, or steal and be hang'd.

Sir Gr. And some Scholar she would have me besides,

Tush, that shall be no bar, 'tis a quality in a

Gentleman, but of the least question.

Pris. Salvete Domini benignissimi, munificentissimi.

Old K. Salvete dicis ad nos? jubeo te salvere,

Nay, Sir, we have Latine, and other metall in us too.

Sir, you shall see me talk with this fellow now.

Sir Gr. I could find in my heart to talk with him too,

If I could understand him.

Pris. Charissimi, Doctissimique, Domini, ex abundantia.

Charitatis vestræ estote propitii in me jejunum

Miserum, pauperem, & omni consolatione exulem.

Old K. A pretty Scholar by my faith, Sir, but I'll to him agen.

Sir Gr. Does he beg or steal in this Language, can you tell Sir?

He may take away my good name from me, and I ne'er

The wiser.

Old K. He begs, he begs, Sir.

Pris. Ecce, ecce, in occulis lachrymarum flumen, in ore

Fames sitisq; ignis in vultu, pudor & impudentia,

In omni parte necessitas & indigentia.

Old K. Audi tu bonus socius, tu es Scholasticus, sic intelligo,

Ego faciam argumentum, mark now Sir, now I fetch

Him up.

Sir Gr. I have been fetcht up a hundred times for this,

Yet I could never learn half so much.

Old K. Audi, & responde, hoc est Argumentum, nomen est

Nomen, ergo, quod est tibi nomen? Responde nunc,

Responde argumentum meum. Have I not put him to't, Sir?

Sir Gr. Yes Sir, I think so.

Witty. Step in, the rascal is put out of his pen'd Speech,

And he can go no farther.

Old K. Cur non respondes?

Pris. Oh Domine, tanta mea est miseria.

Witty. So, he's almost in agen.

Pris. Ut nocte mecum pernoctat egestas, luce quotidie

Paupertas habitat.

Old K. Sed quod est tibi nomen: & quis dedit? Responde

Argumentum.

Pris. Hem, hem.

Witty. He's dry he hems, on quickly.

Ruin. Courteous Gentlemen, if the brow of a Military face may not be offensive to your generous eye-balls, let his wounds speak better than his words, for some branch or small sprig of charity to be planted upon this poor barren soil of a Soldier.

Old K. How now, what Arms and Arts both go a begging?

Ruin. Such is the Post-progress of cold charity now a-days, who (for heat to her frigid Limbs) passes in so swift a motion, that two at the least had need be to stay her.

Sir G. Sir, lets reward um I pray you, and be gone. If any quarrel should arise amongst us, I am able to answer neither of them, his Iron and Steel tongue is as hard as the t'others Latine one.

Old K. Stay, stay Sir I will talk a little with him first,

Let me alone with both, I will try whether they

Live by their wits or no; for such a man I love,

And what? you both beg together then?

Pris. Conjunctis manibus, profecto, Domine.

Ruin. With equal fortunes, equal distribution, there's not the breadth of a swords point uneven in our division.

Sir Gr. What two qualities are here cast away upon two poor fellows, if a man had um that could maintain um? what a double man were that, if these two fellows might be bought and sodden, and boil'd to a jelly, and eaten fasting every morning, I do not think but a man should find strange things in his stomach.

Old K. Come Sir, joyn your charity with mine, and we'll make up a couple of pence bewixt us.

Sir Gr. If a man could have a pennyworth for his penny, I would bestow more money with 'em.

Witty. Save you Gentlemen, how now? what are you encount'red here? what fellows are these?

Old K. Faith Sir, here's Mars and Mercury, a pair of poor Planets it seems, that Jupiter has turn'd out to live by their wits, and we are e'en about a little spark of charity to kindle um a new fire.

Witty. Stay, pray you stay Sir, you may abuse your charity, nay, make that goodness in you no better than a vice; so many deceivers walk in these shadows now a days; that certainly your bounties were better spilt than reserv'd to so lewd and vicious uses; which is he that professes the Soldier?

Ruin. He that professes his own profession, Sir, and the dangerous life he hath led in it, this pair of half score years.

Witty. In what services have you been, Sir?

Ruin. The first that flesht me a Soldier, Sir, was that great battel at Alcazar in Barbary, where the noble English Stukely fell, and where that royal Portugal Sebastian ended his untimely days.

Witty. Are you sure Sebastian died there?

Ruin. Faith Sir, there was some other rumour hop't amongst us, that he, wounded, escap'd, and toucht on his Native shore agen, where finding his Countrey at home more distrest by the invasion of the Spaniard, than his loss abroad, forsook it, still supporting a miserable and unfortunate life, which (where he ended) is yet uncertain.

Witty. By my faith Sir, he speaks the nearest fame of truth in this.

Ruin. Since Sir, I serv'd in France, the Low Countreys, Lastly, at that memorable skirmish at Newport, where the forward and bold Scot there spent his life so freely, that from every single heart that there fell, came home from his resolution, a double honor to his Countrey.

Witty. This should be no counterfeit, Sir.

Old K. I do not think he is, Sir.

Witty. But Sir, me thinks you do not shew the marks of a Soldier, could you so freely scape, that you brought home no scarrs to be your chronicle?

Ruin. Sir, I have wounds, and many, but in those parts where nature and humanity bids me shame to publish.

Witty. A good Soldier cannot want those badges.

Sir Greg. Now am not I of your mind in that, for I hold him the best soldier that scapes best, alwaies at a Cock-fencing I give him the best that has the fewest knocks.

Witty. Nay, I'll have a bout with your Scholar too,

To ask you why you should be poor (yet richly learn'd)

Were no question, at least, you can easily

Answer it; but whether you have learning enough,

To deserve to be poor or no (since poverty is

Commonly the meed of Learning) is yet to be tryed;

You have the Languages, I mean the chief,

As the Hebrew, Syriack, Greek, Latine, &c.

Pris. Aliquantulum, non totaliter, Domine.

Old K. The Latine I have sufficiently tried him in,

And I promise you Sir, he is very well grounded.

Witty. I will prove him in some of the rest.

Toi[s] miois fatherois iste Cock-scomboy?

Pris. Kay yonkeron nigitton oy fouleroi Asinisoy.

Witty. Cheateron ton biton?

Pris. Tous pollous strikerous, Angelo to peeso.

Witty. Certainly Sir, a very excellent Scholar in the Greek.

Old K. I do note a wondrous readiness in him.

Sir Greg. I do wonder how the Trojans could hold out ten years siege (as 'tis reported) against the Greeks, if Achilles spoke but this tongue? I do not think but he might have shaken down the Walls in a seven-night, and ne'er troubled the wooden horse.

Witty. I will try him so far as I can in the Syriack. Kircom bragmen, shag a dou ma dell mathou.

Pris. Hashagath rabgabosh shobos onoriadka.

Witty. Colpack Rubasca, gnawerthem shig shag.

[Pris.] Napshamothem Ribs[h]e bongomosh lashemech nagothi.

Witty. Gentlemen I have done, any man that can, go farther, I confess my self at a Nonplus.

Sir Greg. Faith not I, Sir, I was at my farthest in my natural language, I was never double-tongu'd, I thank my hard fortune.

Witty. Well Gentlemen, 'tis pity, (walk farther off a little my friends) I say, 'tis pity such fellows so endow'd, so qualified with the gifts of Nature and Arts, yet should have such a scarcity of fortune's benefits, we must blame our Ironhearted age for it.

Old K. 'Tis pity indeed, and our pity shall speak a little, for 'em; Come Sir, here's my groat.

Witty. A Groat Sir? oh fie, give nothing rather, 'twere better you rail'd on 'em for begging, and so quit your self, I am a poor Gentleman, that have but little but my wits to live on.

Old K. Troth and I love you the better, Sir.

Witty. Yet I'll begin a better example than so, here fellows, there's between you, take Purse and all, and I would it were here heavier for your sakes, there's a pair of Angels to guide you to your lodgings, a poor Gentleman's good Will.

Pris. Gratias, maximas gratias, benignissime Domine.

Old K. This is an ill example for us, Sir, I would this bountiful Gentleman had not come this way to day.

Sir Gr. Pox, we must not shame our selves now, Sir, I'll give as much as that Gentleman, though I never be Soldier or Scholar while I live; here friends, there's a piece, that if he were divided, would make a pair of Angels for me too, in the love I bear to the Sword and the Tongues.

Old K. My largess shall be equal too, and much good do you, this bounty is a little abatement of my wit, though I feel that.

Ruin. May soldiers ever defend such charities.

Pris. And Scholars pray for their increase.

Old K. Fare you well, Sir, these fellows may pray for you, you have made the Scholars Commons exceed to day, and a word with you, Sir, you said you liv'd by your wits, if you use this bounty, you'll begger your wits, believe it.

Witty. Oh Sir, I hope to encrease 'em by it, this seed never wants his harvest, fare you well, Sir.

Sir Gr. I think a man were as good meet with a reasonable Thief, as an unreasonable Begger sometimes, I could find in my heart to beg half mine back agen, can you change my piece my friends?

Pris. Tempora mutantur, & nos mutamur in illis.

Sir Gr. My Gold is turn'd into Latine.

Look you good fellows, here's one round

Shilling more that lay conceal'd.

Old K. Sir, away, we shall be drawn farther into damage else.

Sir Gr. A pox of the Fool, he live by his wits? if his wits leave him any money, but what he begs or steals very shortly, I'll be hang'd for him.

Ruin. This breakfast parcel was well fetcht off i'faith.

Witty. Tush, a by-blow for mirth, we must have better purchase, we want a fourth for another project that I have ripen'd.

Ruin. My wife she shares, and can deserve it.

Witty. She can change her shape, and be masculine.

Ruin. 'Tis one of the free'st conditions, she fears not the crack of a Pistol, she dares say Stand to a Grazier.

Pris. Probatum fuit, profecto Domine.

Witty. Good, then you Sir Bacchus, Apollo shall be dispatcht with her share, and some contents to meet us to morrow (at a certain place and time appointed) in the Masculine Gender, my Father has a Nephew, and I an own Cosin coming up from the University, whom he loves most indulgently, easie Master Credulous Oldcraft, (for you know what your meer Academique is) your Carrier never misses his hour, he must not be rob'd (because he has but little to lose) but he must joyn with us in a devise that I have, that shall rob my Father of a hundred pieces, and thank me to be rid on't, for there's the ambition of my wit, to live upon his profest wit, that has turn'd me out to live by my wits.

Pris. Cum hirundinis alis tibi regratulor.

Witty. A male habit, a bag of an hunder'd weight, though it be Counters (for my Alchimy shall turn 'em into Gold of my Fathers) the hour, the place, the action shall be at large set down, and Father, you shall know, that I put my portion to use, that you have given me to live by;

And to confirm your self in me renate,

I hope you'll find my wits legitimate.