Beaumont and Fletcher's Works. Volume 9. Beaumont Francis

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      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?

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