ACT IV. SCENE I.
Enter Sir Martin Mar-all and Warner.
Sir Mart. But are they to be married this day in private, say you?
Warn. 'Tis so concluded, sir, I dare assure you.
Sir Mart. But why so soon, and in private?
Warn. So soon, to prevent the designs upon her; and in private, to save the effusion of Christian money.
Sir Mart. It strikes to my heart already; in fine, I am a dead man. Warner—
Warn. Well, go your ways, I'll try what may be done. Look if he will stir now; your rival and the old man will see us together; we are just below the window.
Sir Mart. Thou canst not do it.
Warn. On the peril of my twenty pieces be it.
Sir Mart. But I have found a way to help thee out; trust to my wit but once.
Warn. Name your wit, or think you have the least grain of wit but once more, and I'll lay it down for ever.
Sir Mart. You are a saucy, masterly companion; and so I leave you.
[Exit.
Warn. Help, help, good people! Murder, Murder!
Enter Sir John and Moody.
Sir John and Mood. How now, what's the matter?
Warn. I am abused, I am beaten, I am lamed for ever.
Mood. Who has used thee so?
Warn. The rogue, my master.
Sir John. What was the offence?
Warn. A trifle, just nothing.
Sir John. That's very strange.
Warn. It was for telling him he lost too much at play: I meant him nothing but well, heaven knows; and he, in a cursed damned humour, would needs revenge his losses upon me: and kicked me, took away my money, and turned me off; but, if I take it at his hands,—
Mood. By cox-nowns, it was an ill-natured part; nay, I thought no better would come on't, when I heard him at his vow to gads, and in fines.
Warn. But, if I live, I'll cry quittance with him: he had engaged me to get Mrs Millisent, your daughter, for him; but if I do not all I can to make her hate him! a great booby, an overgrown oaf, a conceited Bartlemew—
Sir John. Pr'ythee leave off thy choler, and hear me a little: I have had a great mind to thee a long time; if thou thinkest my service better than his, from this minute I entertain thee.
Warn. With all my heart, sir; and so much the rather, that I might spite him with it. This was the most propitious fate—
Mood. Propitious! and fate! what a damned scanderbag rogue art thou, to talk at this rate? Hark you, sirrah, one word more of this gibberish, and I'll set you packing from your new service: I'll have neither propitious nor fate come within my doors.
Sir John. Nay, pray, father—
Warn. Good old sir, be pacified; I was pouring out a little of the dregs that I had left in me of my former service, and now they are gone, my stomach's clear of them.
Sir John. This fellow is come in a happy hour; for now, sir, you and I may go to prepare the licence, and, in the mean time, he may have an eye upon your daughter.
Warn. If you please I'll wait upon her till she's ready, and then bring her to what church you shall appoint.
Mood. But, friend, you'll find she'll hang an arse, and be very loath to come along with you, and therefore I had best stay behind and bring her myself.
Warn. I warrant you I have a trick for that, sir: She knows nothing of my being turned away; so I'll come to her as from Sir Martin, and, under pretence of carrying her to him, conduct her to you.
Sir John. My better angel—
Mood. By the mass, 'twas well thought on; well, son, go you before, I'll speak but one word for a dish or two at dinner, and follow you to the licence office. Sirrah, stay you here, till my return.
[Exeunt Sir John and Moody.
Warn. Was there ever such a lucky rogue as I? I had always a good opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I have now gained an opportunity to carry away Mrs Millisent, for my master to get his mistress by means of his rival, to receive all his happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: After this exploit, I will have Lilly draw me in the habit of a hero, with a laurel on my temples, and an inscription below it; This is Warner, the flower of serving-men.
Enter Messenger.
Mess. Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr Moody.
Warn. What's your business?
Mess. I have a letter to deliver to him.
Warn. Here he comes, you may deliver it yourself to him.
Enter Moody.
Mess. Sir, a gentleman met me at the corner of the next street, and bid me give this into your own hands.
Mood. Stay, friend, till I have read it.
Mess. He told me, sir, it required no answer.
[Exit Mess.
Mood. reads. Sir, permit me, though a stranger, to give you counsel; some young gallants have had intelligence, that this day you intend privately to marry your daughter, the rich heiress; and, in fine, above twenty of them have dispersed themselves to watch her going out: Therefore, put it off, if you will avoid mischief, and be advised by
Your unknown servant.
Mood. By the mackings, I thought there was no good in't, when I saw in fine there; there are some Papishes, I'll warrant, that lie in wait for my daughter; or else they are no Englishmen, but some of your French Outalian-rogues; I owe him thanks, however, this unknown friend of mine, that told me on't. Warner, no wedding to-day, Warner.
Warn. Why, what's the matter, sir?
Mood. I say no more, but some wiser than some; I'll keep my daughter at home this afternoon, and a fig for all these Outalians.
[Exit Moody.
Warn. So, here's another trick of fortune, as unexpected for bad, as the other was for good. Nothing vexes me, but that I had made my game cock-sure, and then to be back-gammoned: It must needs be the devil that writ this letter; he owed my master a spite, and has paid him to the purpose: And here he comes as merry too! he little thinks what misfortune has befallen him; and, for my part, I am ashamed to tell him.
Enter Sir Martinlaughing.
Sir Mart. Warner, such a jest, Warner!
[Laughs again.
Warn. What a murrain is the matter, sir? Where lies this jest that tickles you?
Sir Mart. Let me laugh out my laugh, and I'll tell thee.
[Laughs again.
Warn. I wish you may have cause for all this mirth.
Sir Mart. Hereafter, Warner, be it known unto thee, I will endure no more to be thy May-game: Thou shalt no more dare to tell me, I spoil thy projects, and discover thy designs; for I have played such a prize, without thy help, of my own mother-wit, ('tis true I am hasty sometimes, and so do harm; but when I have a mind to shew myself, there's no man in England, though I say't, comes near me as to point of imagination) I'll make thee acknowledge I have laid a plot that has a soul in't.
Warn. Pray, sir, keep me no longer in ignorance of this rare invention.
Sir Mart. Know then, Warner, that, when I left thee, I was possessed with a terrible fear, that my mistress should be married: Well, thought I to myself,—and mustering up all the forces of my wit, I did produce such a stratagem!
Warn. But what was it?
Sir Mart. I feigned a letter as from an unknown friend to Moody, wherein I gave him to understand, that if his daughter went out this afternoon, she would infallibly be snapped by some young fellows that lay in wait for her.
Warn. Very good.
Sir Mart. That which follows is yet better; for he I sent assures me, that in that very nick of time my letter came, her father was just sending her abroad with a very foolish rascally fellow, that was with him.
Warn. And did you perform all this, a'God's name? Could you do this wonderful miracle without giving your soul to the devil for his help?
Sir Mart. I tell thee, man, I did it; and it was done by the help of no devil, but this familiar of my own brain; how long would it have been ere thou couldst have thought of such a project? Martin said to his man, Who's the fool now?
Warn. Who's the fool! why, who uses to be the fool? he that ever was since I knew him, and ever will be so.
Sir Mart. What a pox! I think thou art grown envious; not one word in my commendation?
Warn. Faith, sir, my skill is too little to praise you as you deserve; but if you would have it according to my poor ability, you are one that had a knock in your cradle, a conceited lack-wit, a designing ass, a hair-brained fop, a confounded busy-brain, with an eternal windmill in it; this, in short, sir, is the contents of your panegyric.
Sir Mart. But what the devil have I done, to set you thus against me?
Warn. Only this, sir: I was the foolish rascally fellow that was with Moody, and your worship was he to whom I was to bring his daughter.
Sir Mart. But how could I know this? I am no witch.
Warn. No, I'll be sworn for you, you are no conjurer. Will you go, sir?
Sir Mart. Will you hear my justification?
Warn. Shall I see the back of you? speak not a word in your defence.
[Shoves him.
Sir Mart. This is the strangest luck now——
[Exit.
Warn. I'm resolved this devil of his shall never weary me; I will overcome him, I will invent something that shall stand good in spite of his folly. Let me see—
Enter Lord.
Lord. Here he is—I must venture on him, for the tyranny of this old lady is unsupportable; since I have made her my confident, there passes not an hour, but she passes a pull at my purse-strings; I shall be ruined if I do not quit myself of her suddenly: I find, now, by sad experience, that a mistress is much more chargeable than a wife, and after a little time too, grows full as dull and insignificant.—Mr Warner! have you a mind to do yourself a courtesy, and me another?
Warn. I think, my lord, the question need not be much disputed, for I have always had a great service for your lordship, and some little kindness for myself.
Lord. What if you should propose mistress Christian as a wife to your master? You know he's never like to compass t'other.
Warn. I cannot tell that, my lord.
Lord. Five hundred pounds are yours at the day of marriage.
Warn. Five hundred pounds! 'tis true, the temptation is very sweet and powerful; the devil, I confess, has done his part, and many a good murder and treason have been committed at a cheaper rate; but yet——
Lord. What yet?
Warn. To confess the truth, I am resolved to bestow my master upon that other lady (as difficult as your lordship thinks it), for the honour of my wit is engaged in it: Will it not be the same to your lordship, were she married to any other?
Lord. The very same.
Warn. Come, my lord, not to dissemble with you any longer, I know where it is that your shoe wrings you: I have observed something in the house, betwixt some parties that shall be nameless: And know, that you have been taking up linen at a much dearer rate, than you might have had it in any draper's in town.
Lord. I see I have not danced in a net before you.
Warn. As for that old lady, whom hell confound, she is the greatest jilt in nature; cheat is her study; all her joy to cozen; she loves nothing but herself; and draws all lines to that corrupted centre.
Lord. I have found her out, though late: First, I'll undertake I ne'er enjoyed her niece under the rate of five hundred pounds a-time; never was woman's flesh held up so high: Every night I find out for a new maidenhead, and she has sold it me as often as ever Mother Temple, Bennet, or Gifford, have put off boiled capons for quails and partridges.
Warn. This is nothing to what bills you'll have when she's brought to bed, after her hard bargain, as they call it; then crammed capons, pea-hens, chickens in the grease, pottages, and fricasees, wine from Shatling, and La-fronds, with New River, clearer by sixpence the pound than ever God Almighty made it; then midwife—dry nurse—wet nurse—and all the rest of their accomplices, with cradle, baby-clouts, and bearing-clothes—possets, caudles, broths, jellies, and gravies; and behind all these, glisters, suppositers, and a barbarous apothecary's bill, more inhuman than a tailor's.
Lord. I sweat to think on't.
Warn. Well, my lord, cheer up! I have found a way to rid you of it all; within a short time you shall know more; yonder appears a young lady, whom I must needs speak with; please you go in, and prepare the old lady and your mistress.
Lord. Good luck, and five hundred pounds attend thee.
[Exit.
Enter Millisent and Rose above.
Mill. I am resolved I'll never marry him.
Rose. So far you are right, madam.
Mill. But how to hinder it, I cannot possibly tell; for my father presses me to it, and will take no denial: Would I knew some way!
Warn. Madam, I'll teach you the very nearest, for I have just now found it out.
Rose. Are you there, Mr Littleplot?
Warn. Studying to deserve thee, Rose, by my diligence for thy lady; I stand here, methinks, just like a wooden Mercury, to point her out the way to matrimony.
Rose. Or, serving-man like, ready to carry up the hot meat for your master, and then to fall upon the cold yourself.
Warn. I know not what you call the cold, but I believe I shall find warm work on't: In the first place, then, I must acquaint you, that I have seemingly put off my master, and entered myself into Sir John's service.
Mill. Most excellent!
Warn. And thereupon, but base——
Enter Moody.
Mill. Something he would tell us; but see what luck's here!
Mood. How now, sirrah? Are you so great there already?
Mill. I find my father's jealous of him still.
Warn. Sir, I was only teaching my young lady a new song, and if you please you shall hear it.
SINGS.
Make ready, fair lady, to-night, And stand at the door below; For I will be there, To receive you with care, And to your true love you shall go.
Mood. Ods bobs, this is very pretty.
Mill. Ay, so is the lady's answer too, if I could but hit on't.
SINGS.
And when the stars twinkle so bright, Then down to the door will I creep; To my love will I fly, E'er the jealous can spy, And leave my old daddy asleep.
Mood. Bodikins, I like not that so well, to cozen her old father: it may be my own case another time.
Rose. Oh, madam! yonder's your persecutor returned.
Enter Sir John.
Mill. I'll into my chamber, to avoid the sight of him as long as I can. Lord! that my old doating father should throw me away upon such an ignoramus, and deny me to such a wit as Sir Martin.
[Exeunt Mill.and Rose from above.
Mood. O, son! here has been the most villainous tragedy against you.
Sir John. What tragedy? Has there been any blood shed since I went?
Mood. No blood shed: but, as I told you, a most damnable tragedy.
Warn. A tragedy! I'll be hanged if he does not mean a stratagem.
Mood. Jack sauce! if I say it is a tragedy, it shall be a tragedy, in spite of you; teach your grandam how to piss. What! I hope I am old enough to spout English with you, sir.
Sir John. But what was the reason you came not after me?
Mood. 'Twas well I did not; I'll promise you, there were those would have made bold with mistress Bride; and if she had stirred out of doors, there were whipsters abroad, i'faith, padders of maidenheads, that would have trussed her up, and picked the lock of her affections, ere a man could have said, what's this? But, by good luck, I had warning of it by a friend's letter.
Sir John. The remedy for all such dangers is easy; you may send for a parson, and have the business despatched at home.
Mood. A match, i'faith; do you provide a domine, and I'll go tell her our resolutions, and hearten her up against the day of battle.
[Exit.
Sir John. Now I think on't, this letter must needs come from Sir Martin; a plot of his, upon my life, to hinder our marriage.
Warn. I see, sir, you'll still mistake him for a wit; but I'm much deceived, if that letter came not from another hand.
Sir John. From whom, I pr'ythee?
Warn. Nay, for that you shall excuse me, sir; I do not love to make a breach between persons, that are to be so near related.
Sir John. Thou seemest to imply, that my mistress was in the plot.
Warn. Can you make a doubt on't? Do you not know she ever loved him, and can you hope she has so soon forsaken him? You may make yourself miserable, if you please, by such a marriage.
Sir John. When she is once mine, her virtue will secure me.
Warn. Her virtue!
Sir John. What, do you make a mock on't?
Warn. Not I; I assure you, sir, I think it no such jesting matter.
Sir John. Why, is she not honest?
Warn. Yes, in my conscience is she; for Sir Martin's tongue's no slander.
Sir John. But does he say to the contrary?
Warn. If one would believe him,—which, for my part, I do not,—he has in a manner confessed it to me.
Sir John. Hell and damnation!
Warn. Courage, sir, never vex yourself; I'll warrant you 'tis all a lie.
Sir John. But, how shall I be sure 'tis so?
Warn. When you are married, you'll soon make trial, whether she be a maid or no.
Sir John. I do not love to make that experiment at my own cost.
Warn. Then you must never marry.
Sir John. Ay, but they have so many tricks to cheat a man, which are entailed from mother to daughter through all generations; there's no keeping a lock for that door, for which every one has a key.
Warn. As, for example, their drawing up their breaths, with—oh! you hurt me, can you be so cruel? then, the next day, she steals a visit to her lover, that did you the courtesy beforehand, and in private tells him how she cozened you; twenty to one but she takes out another lesson with him, to practise the next night.
Sir John. All this while, miserable I must be their May-game!
Warn. 'Tis well, if you escape so; for commonly he strikes in with you, and becomes your friend.
Sir John. Deliver me from such a friend, that stays behind with my wife, when I gird on my sword to go abroad.
Warn. Ay, there's your man, sir; besides, he will be sure to watch your haunts, and tell her of them, that, if occasion be, she may have wherewithal to recriminate: at least she will seem to be jealous of you; and who would suspect a jealous wife?
Sir John. All manner of ways I am most miserable.
Warn. But, if she be not a maid when you marry her, she may make a good wife afterwards; 'tis but imagining you have taken such a man's widow.
Sir John. If that were all; but the man will come and claim her again.
Warn. Examples have been frequent of those that have been wanton, and yet afterwards take up.
Sir John. Ay, the same thing they took up before.
Warn. The truth is, an honest simple girl, that's ignorant of all things, maketh the best matrimony: There is such pleasure in instructing her; the best is, there's not one dunce in all the sex; such a one with a good fortune——
Sir John. Ay, but where is she, Warner?
Warn. Near enough, but that you are too far engaged.
Sir John. Engaged to one, that hath given me the earnest of cuckoldom beforehand!
Warn. What think you then of Mrs Christian here in the house? There's five thousand pounds, and a better penny.
Sir John. Ay, but is she fool enough?
Warn. She's none of the wise virgins, I can assure you.
Sir John. Dear Warner, step into the next room, and inveigle her out this way, that I may speak to her.
Warn. Remember, above all things, you keep this wooing secret; if it takes the least wind, old Moody will be sure to hinder it.
Sir John. Dost thou think I shall get her aunt's consent?
Warn. Leave that to me.
[Exit Warn.
Sir John. How happy a man shall I be, if I can but compass this! and what a precipice have I avoided! then the revenge, too, is so sweet, to steal a wife under her father's nose, and leave 'em in the lurch, who have abused me; well, such a servant as this Warner is a jewel.
Enter Warner and Mrs Christian to him.
Warn. There she is, sir; now I'll go to prepare her aunt.
[Exit.
Sir John. Sweet mistress, I am come to wait upon you.
Chr. Truly you are too good to wait on me.
Sir John. And in the condition of a suitor.
Chr. As how, forsooth?
Sir John. To be so happy as to marry you.
Chr. O Lord, I would not marry for any thing!
Sir John. Why? 'tis the honest end of womankind.
Chr. Twenty years hence, forsooth: I would not lie in bed with a man for a world, their beards will so prickle one.
Sir John. Pah!—What an innocent girl it is, and very child! I like a colt that never yet was backed; for so I shall make her what I list, and mould her as I will. Lord! her innocence makes me laugh my cheeks all wet. [Aside.]—Sweet lady——
Chr. I'm but a gentlewoman, forsooth.
Sir John. Well then, sweet mistress, if I get your friends' consent, shall I have yours?
Chr. My old lady may do what she will, forsooth; but by my truly, I hope she will have more care of me, than to marry me yet. Lord bless me, what should I do with a husband?
Sir John. Well, sweetheart, then instead of wooing you, I must woo my old lady.
Chr. Indeed, gentleman, my old lady is married already: Cry you mercy, forsooth, I think you are a knight.
Sir John. Happy in that title, only to make you a lady.
Chr. Believe me, Mr Knight, I would not be a lady; it makes folks proud, and so humorous, and so ill huswifes, forsooth.
Sir John. Pah!—she's a baby, the simplest thing that ever yet I knew: the happiest man I shall be in the world; for should I have my wish, it should be to keep school, and teach the bigger girls, and here, in one, my wish it is absolved.
Enter Lady Dupe.
L. Dupe. By your leave, sir: I hope this noble knight will make you happy, and you make him—
Chr. What should I make him?
[Sighing.
L. Dupe. Marry, you shall make him happy in a good wife.
Chr. I will not marry, madam.
L. Dupe. You fool!
Sir John. Pray, madam, let me speak with you; on my soul, 'tis the prettiest innocentest thing in the world.
L. Dupe. Indeed, sir, she knows little besides her work, and her prayers; but I'll talk with the fool.
Sir John. Deal gently with her, dear madam.
L. Dupe. Come, Christian, will you not marry this noble knight?
Chr. Ye—ye—yes——
[Sobbingly.
L. Dupe. Sir, it shall be to night.
Sir John. This innocence is a dowry beyond all price.
[Exeunt old Lady and Mrs Christian.
Enter Sir Martin to Sir John, musing.
Sir Mart. You are very melancholy, methinks, sir.
Sir John. You are mistaken, sir.
Sir Mart. You may dissemble as you please, but Mrs Millisent lies at the bottom of your heart.
Sir John. My heart, I assure you, has no room for so poor a trifle.
Sir Mart. Sure you think to wheedle me; would you have me imagine you do not love her?
Sir John. Love her! why should you think me such a sot? love a prostitute, an infamous person!
Sir Mart. Fair and soft, good Sir John.
Sir John. You see, I am no very obstinate rival, I leave the field free to you: Go on, sir, and pursue your good fortune, and be as happy as such a common creature can make thee.
Sir Mart. This is Hebrew-Greek to me; but I must tell you, sir, I will not suffer my divinity to be prophaned by such a tongue as yours.
Sir John. Believe it; whate'er I say, I can quote my author for.
Sir Mart. Then, sir, whoever told it you, lied in his throat, d'ye see, and deeper than that, d'ye see, in his stomach, and his guts, d'ye see: Tell me she's a common person! he's a son of a whore that said it, and I'll make him eat his words, though he spoke 'em in a privy-house.
Sir John. What if Warner told me so? I hope you'll grant him to be a competent judge in such a business.
Sir Mart. Did that precious rascal say it?—Now I think on't, I'll not believe you: In fine, sir, I'll hold you an even wager he denies it.
Sir John. I'll lay you ten to one, he justifies it to your face.
Sir Mart. I'll make him give up the ghost under my fist, if he does not deny it.
Sir John. I'll cut off his ears upon the spot, if he does not stand to't.
Enter Warner.
Sir Mart. Here he comes, in pudding-time, to resolve the question:—Come hither, you lying varlet, hold up your hand at the bar of justice, and answer me to what I shall demand.
Warn. What-a-goodjer is the matter, sir?
Sir Mart. Thou spawn of the old serpent, fruitful in nothing but in lies!
Warn. A very fair beginning this.
Sir Mart. Didst thou dare to cast thy venom upon such a saint as Mrs Millisent, to traduce her virtue, and say it was adulterate?
Warn. Not guilty, my lord.
Sir Mart. I told you so.
Sir John. How, Mr Rascal! have you forgot what you said but now concerning Sir Martin and Mrs Millisent? I'll stop the lie down your throat, if you dare deny it.
Sir Mart. Say you so! are you there again, i'faith?
Warn. Pray pacify yourself, sir; 'twas a plot of my own devising.
[Aside.
Sir Mart. Leave off your winking and your pinking, with a hose-pox t'ye. I'll understand none of it; tell me in plain English the truth of the business; for an you were my own brother, you should pay for it: Belie my mistress! what a pox, d'ye think I have no sense of honour?
Warn. What the devil's the matter w'ye? Either be at quiet, or I'll resolve to take my heels, and begone.
Sir Mart. Stop thief, there! what, did you think to 'scape the hand of justice? [Lays hold on him.] The best on't is, sirrah, your heels are not altogether so nimble as your tongue.
[Beats him.
Warn. Help! Murder! Murder!
Sir Mart. Confess, you rogue, then.
Warn. Hold your hands, I think the devil's in you,—I tell you 'tis a device of mine.
Sir Mart. And have you no body to devise it on but my mistress, the very map of innocence?
Sir John. Moderate your anger, good Sir Martin.
Sir Mart. By your patience, sir, I'll chastise him abundantly.
Sir John. That's a little too much, sir, by your favour, to beat him in my presence.
Sir Mart. That's a good one, i'faith; your presence shall hinder me from beating my own servant?
Warn. O traitor to all sense and reason! he's going to discover that too.
Sir Mart. An I had a mind to beat him to mummy, he's my own, I hope.
Sir John. At present, I must tell you, he's mine, sir.
Sir Mart. Hey-day! here's fine juggling!
Warn. Stop yet, sir, you are just upon the brink of a precipice.
[Aside.
Sir Mart. What is't thou mean'st now?—O Lord! my mind misgives me, I have done some fault; but would I were hanged if I can find it out.
[Aside.
Warn. There's no making him understand me.
Sir Mart. Pox on't, come what will, I'll not be faced down with a lie; I say, he is my man.
Sir John. Pray remember yourself better; did not you turn him away for some fault lately, and laid a livery of black and blue on his back, before he went?
Sir Mart. The devil of any fault, or any black and blue, that I remember: Either the rascal put some trick upon you, or you would upon me.
Sir John. O ho, then it seems the cudgelling and turning away were pure invention; I am glad I understand it.
Sir Mart. In fine, its all so damned a lie——
Warn. Alas! he has forgot it, sir; good wits, you know, have bad memories.
Sir John. No, no, sir, that shall not serve your turn; you may return when you please to your old master; I give you a fair discharge, and a glad man I am to be so rid of you: Were you thereabouts, i'faith? What a snake I had entertained in my bosom! Fare you well, sir, and lay your next plot better between you, I advise you.
[Exit Sir John.
Warn. Lord, sir, how you stand, as you were nipped i'the head! Have you done any new piece of folly, that makes you look so like an ass?
Sir Mart. Here's three pieces of gold yet, if I had the heart to offer it thee.
[Holds the gold afar off, trembling.
Warn. Noble sir, what have I done to deserve so great a liberality? I confess, if you had beaten me for my own fault, if you had utterly destroyed all my projects, then it might have been expected, that ten or twenty pieces should have been offered by way of recompence or satisfaction.
Sir Mart. Nay, an you be so full of your flouts, your friend and servant; who the devil could tell the meaning of your signs and tokens, an you go to that?
Warn. You are no ass then?
Sir Mart. Well, sir, to do you service, d'ye see, I am an ass in a fair way; will that satisfy you?
Warn. For this once produce those three pieces; I am contented to receive that inconsiderable tribute; or make 'em six, and I'll take the fault upon myself.
Sir Mart. Are we friends then? If we are, let me advise you——
Warn. Yet advising!
Sir Mart. For no harm, good Warner: But pray next time make me of your council, let me enter into the business, instruct me in every point, and then if I discover all, I am resolved to give over affairs, and retire from the world.
Warn. Agreed, it shall be so; but let us now take breath a while, then on again. take breath a while, then on again.
For though we had the worst, those heats are past; We'll whip and spur, and fetch him up at last. [Exeunt.