Lil. To avoid suites in Law, I would grant a litle,
But should fierce Andrew know it, what would become
Of me? And. A whore, a whore! Bri. Nothing but well Wench,
I will put such a strong bit in his mouth,
As thou shalt ride him how thou wilt, my Lilly:
Nay, he shall hold the doore, as I will worke him,
And thank thee for the office. Mir. Take heed Andrew,
These are shrewd temptations. And. Pray you know
Your Cue, and second me Sir; By your Worships favour.
Bri. Andrew! And. I come in time to take possession
Of th' office you assigne me; hold the doore,
Alas 'tis nothing for a simple man
To stay without when a deepe understanding
Holds conference within, say with his wife:
A trifle Sir, I know I hold my farme
In Cuckolds Tenure: you are Lord o'the soile Sir,
Lilly is a Weft, a Straie shee's yours, to use Sir,
I claime no interest in her. Bri. Art thou serious?
Speak honest Andrew, since thou hast oreheard us,
And wink at small faults, man; I'me but a pidler,
A little will serve my turne; thou'lt finde enough
When I've my bellyfull; wilt thou be private
And silent? And. By all meanes, Ile onely have
A Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd Tune,
And the name of it shall be Justice Trap,
It will sell rarely with your Worships name,
And Lillies on the top. Bri. Seek not the ruine
O' my reputation, Andrew. And. Tis for your credit,
Monsieur Brisac printed in capital letters,
Then pasted upon all the posts in Paris.
Bri. No mercy, Andrew? And. O, it will proclaim you From th' Citie to the Court, and prove sport royal.
Bri. Thou shall keep thy Farm. Mir. He does afflict him rarely.
And. You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, The vizard of his hypocrisie poll'd off To the Judge criminal. Bri. O, I am undone.
And. Hee's put out of Commission with disgrace,
And held uncapable of bearing Office
Ever hereafter. This is my revenge,
And this Ile put in practice. Bri. Doe but heare me.
And. To bring me back from my Grammer to my horne-book, It is unpardonable. Bri. Do not play the Tyrant; Accept of composition. Lil. Heare him, Andrew.
And. What composition? Bri. Ile confirme thy farme,
And add unto't an hundred acres more
Adjoyning to it. And. Umb, This mollifies,
But y'are so fickle: and will again denie this,
There being no witness by. Bri. Call any witness,
Ile presently assure it. And. Say you so,
Troth there's a friend of mine Sir, within hearing,
That is familiar with all that's past,
His testimonie will be authentical.
Bri. will he be secret? And. You may tye his tongue up. As you would doe your purse-strings. Br. Miramont. M. Ha, Ha, Ha.
And. this is my witness. Lord how you are troubled?
Sure, y'have an ague, you shake so with choler;
Hee's your loving brother Sir, and will tell no bodie
But all he meets, that you have eate a snake,
And are grown young, gamesom, and rampant. Bri. Caught thus?