Prince. Whate’er thou art, I’m sure thy Mind’s illustrious.
Geo. My Family, I must confess, is honourable; but, Sir, my Father was the younger House, of which my unhappy self was destin’d to be last: I’m a Cadet, that Out-cast of my Family, and born to that curse of our old English Custom. Whereas in other Countries, younger Brothers are train’d up to the Exercise of Arms, where Honour and Renown attend the Brave; we basely bind our youngest out to Slavery, to lazy Trades, idly confin’d to Shops or Merchants Books, debasing of the Spirit to the mean Cunning, how to cheat and chaffer.
Prince. A Custom insupportable!—
Geo. To this, to this low wretchedness of Life, your Servant, Sir—was destin’d by his Parents, and am yet this bound indentur’d Slave.
Prince. Thou hast no cause to quarrel with thy Stars, since Virtue is most valu’d when opprest—Are all your Merchants Apprentices thus gay?
Geo. Not all—but, Sir, I could not bow my Mind to this so necessary Drudgery; and yet however, I assum’d my native Temper, when out o’th’ Trading City; in it, I forc’d my Nature to a dull slovenly Gravity, which well enough deceiv’d the busy Block-heads; my Clothes and Equipage I lodg’d at this End of the Town, where I still pass’d for something better than I was, whene’er I pleas’d to change the Trader for the Gentleman.
Prince. And liv’d thus undiscover’d—
Geo. With Ease, still lov’d and courted by the Great, ever play’d high with those durst venture most; and durst make Love where’er my Fancy lik’d: but sometimes running out my Master’s Cash, (which was supply’d still by my Father) they sent me, to reform my expensive Life, a Factor, into France—still I essay’d to be a plodding Thriver, but found my Parts not form’d for dirty Business.
Prince. There’s not a Thought, an Action of thy Soul, that does not tend to something far more glorious.
Geo. If yet you think me worthy of your Favour, command that Life you have so oft preserv’d.