Beau. There, there's another of my acquaintance; he was my father's footman not long since, and has pimped for me oftener than he prayed for himself; that good quality recommended him to a nobleman's service, which, together with flattering, fawning, lying, spying and informing, has raised him to an employment of trust and reputation, though the rogue can't write his name, nor read his neck-verse,[37] if he had occasion.
Cour. 'Tis as unreasonable to expect a man of sense should be preferred, as 'tis to think a hector can be stout, a priest religious, a fair woman chaste, or a pardoned rebel loyal.
Enter two others, seeming earnestly in discourse.
Beau. That's seasonably thought on. Look there, observe but that fellow on the right hand, the rogue with the busiest face of the two; I'll tell thee his history.
Cour. I hope hanging will be the end of his history, so well I like him at the first sight.
Beau. He was born a vagabond, and no parish owned him: his father was as obscure as his mother public; everybody knew her, and nobody could guess at him.
Cour. He comes of a very good family, Heaven be praised!
Beau. The first thing he chose to rise by was rebellion; so a rebel he grew, and flourished a rebel; fought against his king, and helped to bring him to the block.
Cour. And was he not religious too?
Beau. Most devoutly! he could pray till he cried, and preach till he foamed; which excellent talent made him popular, and at last preferred him to be a worthy member of that never-to-be-forgotten Rump Parliament.