her last quarter, 'twill change shortly. But, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-bys here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in them, if thou hearest them once go: my wind-instruments. I'll wind them up- -But what strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the dumb man?

E. Kno. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, an' he please; he has his humour, sir.

Well. Oh, what is't, what is't?

E. Kno. Nay, I'll neither do your judgment, nor his folly, that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension. I'll leave him to the mercy of your search, if you can take him so.

Well. Well. Captain Bobadil, Master Matthew, I pray you know this gentleman here; he is a friend of mine, and one that will deserve your affection. I know not your name, sir, but shall be glad of any occasion to render me more familiar to you.

Step. My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir: his father is mine uncle, sir; I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.

Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man; but for Mr Well-bred's sake (you may embrace it at what height of favour you please) I do communicate with you; and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts. I love few words. E. Kno. And I fewer, sir. I have scarce enow to thank you.

Mat. But are you indeed, sir, so given to it? [To Master STEPHEN. Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.

Mat. Óh, it is your only fine humour, sir; your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir: I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no more but take a pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

E. Kno. Sure he utters them then by the gross. [Aside. Step. Truly, sir, and I love such things out of

measure.

E. Kno. I'faith, better than in measure, I'll undertake.

Mat. Why, I pray you, sir, make use of my study, it's at your service.

Step. I thank you, sir, I shall be bold, I warrant you; have you a stool there to be melancholy upon?

Mat. That I have, sir, and some papers of my own doing, at idle hours, that you'll say there's some sparks of wit in 'em, when you see 'em.

Well. Would the sparks would kindle once, and become a fire among 'em, I might see selflove burnt for her heresy.

Step. Cousin, is it well? am I melancholy enough?

E. Kno. O, ay, excellent!

Well. Captain Bobadil, why muse you so?
E. Kno. He is melancholy, too.

Bob. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of service was performed to-morrow, being St Mark's day, shall be some ten years

now.

E. Kno. In what place, captain?

Bob. Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred resolute gentlemen, as any were in Europe, lost their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentlemen; it was the first, but the best leaguer, that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking of—what do you call it, last year, by the Genoese; but that (of all others) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.

Step. 'So, I had as lief as an angel, I could swear as well as that gentleman!

E. Kno. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems; at Strigonium, and what do you call it? Bob. Oh, lord, sir! by St George, I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain, if I had had a million of lives.

E. Kno. It was a pity you had not ten; a cat's, and your own, i'faith. But was it possible? Mat. Pray you, mark this discourse, sir. Step. So I do.

Bob. I assure you, upon my reputation, it is true, and yourself shall confess.

E. Kno. You must bring me to the rack first. Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet sir: they had planted me three demi-culverins, just in the mouth of the breach: now, sir, as we were to give on, their master-gunner (a man of no mean skill and mark, you must think) confronts me with his linstock, ready to give fire: I, spying his intendment, discharged my petrionel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put them all, pell-mell, to the

sword.

Well. To the sword! to the rapier, captain ! E. Kno. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir! but did you all this, captain, without hurting your blade?

Bob. Without any impeach o' the earth: you shall perceive, sir. It is the most fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay, Excalibar, Durindana, or so? Tut, I lend no credit to what is fabled of them; I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the bolder maintain it.

Step. I marvel whether it be a Toledo, or no.
Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.
Step. I have a countryman of his here.
Mat. Pray you, let's see, sir. Yes, faith, it is!
Bob. This a Toledo! pish.

Step. Why do you pish, captain?

Bob. A Fleming, by Heaven! I'll buy them for a guilder a-piece, an' I would have a thousand of them.

E. Kno. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.

Well. Where bought you it, Master Stephen Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier (a hundred of lice go with him); he swore it was a Toledo. Bob. A poor provant rapier, no better. Mat. Mass, I think it be, indeed! now I look on't better.

E. Kno. Nay, the longer you look on't the worse. Put it up, put it up!

Step. Well, I will put it up ; but by(I have forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it) an' e'er I meet him

Well. O, 'tis past help now, sir; you must have patience.

Step. Whoreson coney-catching rascal! I could eat the very hilts for anger.

E. Kno. A sign of good digestion; you have an ostrich stomach, cousin.

Step. A stomach! I would I had him here! you should see an' I had a stomach.

Well. It is better as it is. Come, gentlemen, shall we go?

Enter BRAIN-WORM.

E. Kno. A miracle, cousin! look here! look here!

Step. O, god'slid, by your leave, do you know me, sir?

Brain. Ay, sir, I know you by sight.
Step. You sold me a rapier, did you not?
Brain. Yes, marry, did I, sir.

Step. You said it was a Toledo, ha?
Brain. True, I did so.

Step. But it is none !

Brain. No, sir, I confess it is none. Step. Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confessed it. By God's will, an' you had not confessed it

E. Kno. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.
Step. Nay, I have done, cousin.

Well. Why, you have done like a gentleman; he has confessed it, what would you more? Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his favour, do you see.

E. Kno. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under favour. A pretty piece of civility! Sirrah, how dost like him?

Well. Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much of him. I can compare him to nothing more happily, than a drum; for every one may play upon him.

E. Kno. No, no, a child's whistle were far the fitter.

Brain. Sir, shall I entreat a word with you? E. Kno. With me, sir! You have not another Toledo to sell, have you?

Brain. You are conceited, sir; your name is Master Kno'well, as I take it?

E. Kno. You are in the right. You mean not to proceed in the catechism, do you?

Brain. No, sir, I am none of that coat. E. Kno. Of as bare coat, though. Well, say, sir?

Brain. Faith, sir, I am but a servant to the drum extraordinary; and indeed, this smoky varnish being washed off, and three or four patches

removed, I appear your worship's in reversion, after the decease of your good father-Brain

worm.

E. Kno. Brain-worm! 'Slight, what breath of a conjurer hath blown thee hither in this shape? Brain. The breath o' your letter, sir, this morning: the same, that blew you to the Windmill, and your father after you.

E. Kno. My father!

Brain. Nay, never start; 'tis true; he has followed you over the fields by the foot, as you would do a hare i' the snow.

E. Kno. Sirrah, Well-bred, what shall we do, sirrah? My father is come over after me. Well. Thy father! Where is he?

Brain. At justice Clement's house, here, in Coleman-street, where he but stays my return; and then

Well. Who's this? Brain-worm ?

Brain. The same, sir.

Well. Why, how, i' the name of wit, com'st thou transmuted thus?

Brain. Faith, a device! a device! Nay, for the love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding the danger, stand not here; withdraw, and I'll tell you all.

Well. But art thou sure he will stay thy return?

Brain. Do I live, sir? what a question is that! Well. We'll prorogue his expectation, then, a little. Brain-worm, thou shalt go with us. Come on, gentlemen; nay, I pray thee, sweet Ned, droop not. 'Heart, an' our wits be so wretchedly dull, that one old plotting brain can outstrip us all, would we were e'en pressed to make porters of, and serve out the remnant of our days in Thames-street, or at Customhousekey, in a civil war against the car-men.

Brain. Amen, amen, amen, say I. [Exeunt.

Kite. Has he the money ready? Can you tell? Cash. Yes, sir, the money was brought in last night.

Kite. O, that's well: fetch me my cloak, my cloak.

Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least; and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch with him,
Or very near: well, I will say two hours.
Two hours! ha! things, never dreamt of yet,
May be contrived, ay, and effected too,
In two hours absence. Well, I will not go.
Two hours! No, fleering opportunity!
I will not give your subtlety that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed,
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
And shews the felon where his treasure lies?
Again, what earthly spirit but will attempt

To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?
I will not go. Business, go by for once.
No, beauty, no; you are of too good caract
To be left so, without a guard, or open!
Your lustre too'll inflame at any distance,
Draw courtship to you, as a jet doth straws;
Put motion in a stone, strike fire from ice,
Nay, may a porter leap you with his burden.
You must be then kept up close, and well watch'd!
For, give you opportunity, no quick-sand
Devours or swallows swifter! He, that lends
His wife, if she be fair, or time, or place,
Compels her to be false. I will not go.
The dangers are too many. And then the dressing
Is a most main attractive! Our great heads
Within the city, never were in safety
Since our wives wore those little caps: I'll
change 'em,

I'll change 'em straight in mine. Mine shall no

more

Wear three-piled acorns, to make my horns ake.
Nor will I go. I am resolved for that.
Carry in my cloak again. Yet stay. Yet, do too.
I will defer going, on all occasions.

Ch. Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be there wer the bonds.

Ke. That's true! fool on me! I had clean Lot it! I must go. What's o'clock ?

Cash. Exchange time, sir.

Kite. 'Heart! then will Well-bred presently be here too,

With one or other of his loose consorts.
I am a knave, if I know what to say,
What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass,
Wherein my imagination runs, like sands,
Filling up time; but then are turned, and turned;
So that I know not what to stay upon,
And less to put in act. It shall be so.
Nay, I dare build upon his secrecy;
He knows not to deceive me. Thomas!

Cash. Sir.

What should I think of it? Urge him again,
And by some other way? I will do so.
Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to disclose;
Yes, you did swear?

Cash. Not yet, sir, but I will,
Please you

Kite. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word; But if thou wilt swear, do-as thou think'st good; I am resolved without it: at thy pleasure.

Cash. By my soul's safety, then, sir, I protest My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word, Delivered me in nature of your trust.

Kite. It is too much; these ceremonies need
not;

I know thy faith to be as firm as rock.
Thomas, come hither, near; we cannot be
Too private in this business. So it is,-
(Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture)
I have of late, by divers observations--
But whether his oath can bind him, yea or no,
Being not taken lawfully? Ha! say you?
I will ask counsel ere I do proceed.
Thomas, it will be now too long to stay;
I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow,
Cash. Sir, at your pleasure.

I

Kite. I will think. And, Thomas, pray you search the books, 'gainst my return, For the receipts 'twixt me and Traps. Cash. I will, sir.

Kite. And, hear you, if your mistress's brother,
Well-bred,

Chance to bring hither any gentlemen,
Ere I come back, let one straight bring me word,
Cash. Very well, sir.

Kite. To the Exchange; do you hear?
Or here in Coleman-street, to Justice Clement's.

much;

It was a trial of you, when I meant
So deep a secret to you: I mean not this,
But that I have to tell you. This is nothing, this.
But, Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge you.
Locked up in silence, midnight, buried here-
No greater hell than to be slave to fear. [Erit.
Cash. Locked up in silence, midnight, buried
here!

Whence should this flood of passion, trow, take heed? ha?

Best dream no longer of this running humour,
For fear I sink! the violence of the stream
Already hath transported me so far,
That I can feel no ground at all! But soft,
Here is company: now must I-

[Exit.

Enter WELL-BRED, EDW. KNO'WELL, BRAIN

WORM, BOBADIL, STEPHEN.

Well. Beshrew me, but it was an absolute good jest, and exceedingly well carried.

E. Kno. Ay, and our ignorance maintained it as well, did it not?

Well. Yes, faith; but was it possible thou should'st not know him? I forgive Master Stephen, for he is stupidity itself.

E. Kno. 'Fore God, not I, an' I might ha' been join'd patent with one of the seven wise masters for knowing him. He had so written himself into the habit of one of your poor infantry, your decayed, ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the round; such as have vowed to sit on the skirts of the city, like your provost and his half-dozen of halbardiers, do what they can; and have translated begging out of the old hackney pace, to a fine easy amble, and make it run as smooth on the tongue as a shove-groat shilling. Into the likeness of one of these reformado's had he moulded himself so perfectly, observing every trick of their action, as varying the accent, swearing with an emphasis, indeed all with so special and exquisite a grace, that (hadst thou seen him,) thou would'st have sworn he might have been serjeant-major, if not lieutenant-colonel, of the regiment.

Well. Why, Brain-worm, who would have thought thou had'st been such an artificer?

E. Kno. An artificer? an architect! Except a man had studied begging all his life-time, and been a weaver of language from his infancy, for the clothing of it-I never saw his rival.

Well. Where got'st thou this coat, I marvel! Brain. Of a Houndsditch man, sir, one of the devil's near kinsmen, a broker.

Well. That cannot be, if the proverb hold, for a crafty knave needs no broker.

say.

Brain. True, sir, but I did need a broker: ergoWell. Well put off-No crafty knave, you'll

E. Kno. Tut, he has more of these shifts. Brain. And yet where I have one, the broker has ten, sir.

Enter CASH.

Cash. Francis! Martin! ne'er a one to be found now? What a spite's this?

Well. How now, Thomas, is my brother Kitely within?

Cash. No, sir; my master went forth e'en now; but master Downright is within. Cob! what! Cob! Is he gone too?

Well. Whither went your master, Thomas, can'st thou tell?

Cash. I know not; to Justice Clement's, I think, sir. Cob! [Exit CASH. E. Kno. Justice Clement! What's he? Well. Why, dost thou not know him? He is a city magistrate, a justice here; an excellent good lawyer, and a great scholar; but the only mad and merry old fellow in Europe! I shewed you him the other day.

E. Kno. Oh, is that he? I remember him now. Good faith! and he has a very strange presence, methinks; it shews as if he stood out of the rank from other men. I have heard many of his jests in the university. They say, he will commit a man for taking the wall of his horse.

Well. Ay, or wearing his cloak on one shoulder, or serving of God. Any thing, indeed, if it come in the way of his humour.

Enter CASH.

Cash. Gasper, Martin, Cob! 'Heart! where should they be, trow?

Bob. Master Kitely's man, prithee vouchsafe us the lighting of this match.

Cash. Fire on your match, no time but now to vouchsafe! [Aside.] Francis! Cob!

Bob. Body of me! Here's the remainder of seven pound since yesterday was seven-night. It is your right Trinidado! Did you never take any, Master Stephen?

Step. No, truly, sir! but I'll learn to take it now, since you commend it so.

Bob. Sir, believe me, upon my relation; for what I tell you, the world shall not reprove. I have been in the Indies, where this herb grows, where neither myself, nor a dozen gentlemen more, of my knowledge, have received the taste of any other nutriment in the world, for the