Enter Cunningame.
Wit. Zo, zo, zufficient. Master Cuningame?
I never have ill luck when I meet a wit.
Cun. A Wit's better to meet, than to follow then,
For I ha' none so good I can commend yet,
But commonly men unfortunate to themselves,
Are luckiest to their friends, and so may I be.
Wit. I run o'er so much worth, going but in haste from you,
All my deliberate friendship cannot equal.
Cun. 'Tis but to shew, that you can place sometimes,
Enter Mirabell.
Your modesty a top of all your virtues. [Exit Wit.
This Gentleman may pleasure me yet agen;
I am so haunted with this broad-brim'd hat,
Of the last progress block, with the young hat-band,
Made for a sucking Devil of two years old,
I know not where to turn my self.
Mir. Sir?
Cun. More torture?
Mir. 'Tis rumor'd that you love me.