But well-dress’d captains, and approving squires.
C. What these to me, admit th’ account be true?
D. Nay, that yourself describe—they came to you!
C. Well! to my friend I may the truth confess,
Poor Captain Glimmer loved me to excess;
Flintham, the young solicitor, that wrote
Those pretty verses, he began to dote;
That Youth from Oxford, when I used to stop
A moment with him, at my feet would drop;
Nor less your Brother, whom, for your dear sake, 40}