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Ant. Cousin Curio, You and I must be better acquainted. Curio. It is my wish, sir. ['tis so long Ant. I should not have known you neither, Since we saw each other; we were but children then: But you have shew'd yourself an honest man Curio. I would be ever so.

Enter Ricardo and Viola. Mother. Look you! who's there? Andr. Say nothing to me; for Thy peace is made.

Ric. Sir, I can nothing say,

[to me.

But that you are her father; you can both Not only pardon, when you have a wrong, But love where you've receiv'd most injury. Just. I think I shall hear of no hanging this year!

[said, There's a tinker and a where yet, the cryer That robb'd her, and are in prison; I hope They shall be hang'd.

Andr. No, truly, sir, they have broke prison.

Just. 'Tis no matter; then the jailor shall be hang'd.

Andr. You are deceiv'd in that too, sir; 'twas known

To be against his will, and he hath got
His pardon; I think, for nothing;
But if't doth cost him

any thing, I'll pay it. Just. Mark, up with your papers; away! Merc. Oh,

You shall stay dinner; I've a couple of brawling

Neighbours, that I'll assure you won't agree, And you shall have the hearing of their matJust. With all my heart.

[ter.

Merc. Go, gentlemen, go in. Ric. Oh, Viola, that no succeeding age Might lose the memory of what thou wert! But such an overswayed sex is yours, That all the virtuous actions you can do Are but as inen will call them: and I swear, 'Tis my belief, that women want but ways To praise their deeds, but men want deeds to praise. [Exeunt omnes.

EPILOGUE.

'Tis ended; but my hopes and fears begin : Nor can it be imputed as a sin

In me to wish it favour. If this night
To the judicious it hath giv'n délight,

I have my ends: and may such, for their grace

Vouchsaf'd to this, find theirs in every place!

002

WIT

WIT AT SEVERAL WEAPONS.

A COMEDY.

This Play is ascribed to Fletcher by the Commendatory Verses of Gardiner; the Epilogue, however, speaks of it as the production of both Authors. The first publication of it was in the folio of 1657. It was brought on the stage, altered by Colley Cibber, about the beginning of the present century, under the title of the Rival Fools, but without any success.

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The second year's approaching.

Olde. A fine time for

A youth to live by his wits then, I should think, If e'er he mean to make account of any. Witty. Wits, sir?

[thee, Oldc. Ay, wits, sir; if it be so strange to I'm sorry I spent that time to get a fool, I might have employ'd my pains a great deal better: [wits. Thou know'st all that I have I ha' got by my And yet to see how urgent thou art too! It grieves me thou art so degenerate

To trouble me for means; I never offer'd it My parents from a school-boy; past nineteen

once,

(See what these times are grown to) before twenty [like I rush'd into the world, which is indeed much The art of swimming, he that will attain to't Must fall plump, and duck himself at first, And that will make him hardy and advent'rous; And not stand putting in one foot, and shiver, And then draw t'other after, like a quakebuttock;

Well he may make a padler in the world, From hand to mouth, but never a brave swimmer,

Borne up by th' chin, as I bore up myself, With my strong industry that never fail'd me; For he that lies borne up with patrimonies, Looks like a long great ass that swims with bladders:

Come but one prick of adverse fortune to him, He sinks, because he never tried to swim,

When

When wit plays with the billows that choak'd him.

[sir, Witty. Why, is it not a fashion for a father, Out of his yearly thousands to allow His only son a competent brace of hundreds, Or such a toy?

Olde. Yes; if he mean to spoil him, Or mar his wits, he may, but never I. [stant; This is my humour, sir, which you'll find conI love wit so well, because I liv'd by't, that I'll Give no man power out of my means to hurt it, And that's a kind of gratitude to my raiser, Which great ones often forget. I admire

much

This age's dullness! When I scarce writ man, The first degree that e'er I took in thriving, I lay intelligencer close for wenching: Could give this lord or knight a true certificate Of all the maidenheads extant; how many lay 'Mongst chambermaids, how many 'mongst exchange wenches

(Tho' never many there, I must confess, They have a trick to utter ware so fast); I knew which lady had a mind to fall, Which gentlewoman new divorc'd, which tradesman breaking,

The price of every sinner to a hair, And where to raise each price; which were the termers [gowns,

That would give velvet petticoats, tissue Which pieces, angels, suppers, and half

crowns:

I knew how to match, and make my market;
Could give intelligence where the pox lay lege,
And then to see the lechers shift a point
'Twas sport and profit too; how they would
shun
[fully,
Their ador'd mistress' chambers, and run fear-
Like rats from burning houses; so brought [
My clients o' the game still safe together,
And noble gamesters lov'd me, and I felt it.
Give me a man that lives by his wits, say I,
And's never left a groat! there's the true gal-

lant.

When I grew somewhat pursy, I grew then
In men's opinious too, and confidences;
They put things call'd executorships upon me,
The charge of orphans, little senseless crea-
tures,
[feltmakers,
Whom in their childhoods I bound forth to
To make 'em lose, and work away their gen-
try,
[tom,
Disguise their tender natures with hard cus-
So wrought 'em out in time; there I rose un-
gently.

Nor do I fear to discourse this unto thee;
I'm arm'd at all points against treachery,
I hold my humour firm; if I can see thee
thrive by
Thy wits while I live, I shall have the more
To trust thee with my lands when I die; if not,

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And even arriv'd at my last cheat, I fear me; But 'twill make shift to bury me, by daylight too.

And discharge all my legacies, 'tis so wealthy, And never trouble any interest money. I've a niece to wed, over whose steps I have plac'd a trusty watchful guardianess, For fear some poor earl steal her ('t has been threaten'd) [on't; To redeem niortgag'd land, but he shall miss To prevent which, I have sought out a match for her,

Fop of Fop-Hall he writes himself, (I take it, The ancient'st fop in England) with whom I've privately

Compounded for the third part of her portion,

me.

Enter Sir Gregory Fop and Cunningham. And she seems pleas'd; so two parts rest with [he, sir? Sir Gregory, welcome! What's Greg. Young Cunningham, a Norfolk gentleman,

He's comc.

One that has liv'd upon the fops, my kindred, Ever since my remembrance. He's a wit indeed,

And we all strive to have him; nay 'tis certain
Some of our name have gone to law for him.
Now 'tis my turn to keep him; and indeed
He's plaguy chargeable, as all your wits are:
But I will give him over when I list;
I ha' us'd wits so before.

Oldc. I hope when you're married, sir,
You'll shake him off.

Greg. Why, what do you take me to be,

■ Than e'er I did for't.] Sympson reads, Than e'er I did before.

Old

Old father-i'-law that shall be2? Do you think

I'll have any of the wits hang upon me after I am married once?

None of my kindred ever had before me. But where's this niece? Is it a fashion [her? In London to marry a woman, and never see Oldc. Excuse the niceness, sir! that care's your friend; [seen her: Perhaps, had she been seen, you had never There's many a spent thing, call'd An't like your honour, [a countess,

That lies in wait for her: at first snap she's Drawn with six mares thro' Fleet-street, and a coachman [tocks.Sitting bareheaded to their Flanders butThis whets him on.

Greg. Pray let's clap up the business, sir! I long to see her. Are you sure you have her? Is she not there already? Hark, hark, oh, hark!

Olde. How now? what's that, sir?
Greg. Every caroch goes by,

Goes ev'n to th' heart of me.

Olde. I'll have that doubt eas'd, sir, Instantly eas'd, sir Gregory: and, now I think on't, [there; A toy comes i' my mind, seeing your friend We'll have a little sport, give you but way to't, [ciously!

And put a trick upon her; I love wit preYou shall not be seen yet; we'll stale your friend first, [masque3. Ift please but him to stand for th' anti

Greg. Pho, he shall stand for any thing (why his supper

[else. Lies i'my breeches here); I'll make him fast Oldc. Then come you forth more unexpectedly,

The masque itself, a thousand a-year jointure: The cloud, your friend, will be then drawn

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What a true worth can make, such as yours is. Olde. And that's not worth a groat.-How like you him, niece?

Niece. It shall appear how well, sir: I humbly thank you for him. [well, i'faith. Olde. Ha, ha! good gullery! he does it 'Slight, as if he meant to purchase Lip-land Hold, hold! bear off, I say! [there: 'Slid, your part hangs too long.

Cunn. My joys are mockeries. Niece. You've both express'd a worthy care and love, sir:

Had mine own eye been set at liberty [sir), To make a publick choice (believe my truth, It could not ha' done better for my heart Than your good providence has.

[bard;

Olde. You will say so then! Alas, sweet niece, all this is but the scabNow I draw forth the weapon.

Niece. How!

Olde. Sir Gregory!

Approach, thou lad of thousands!

Enter Sir Gregory.

Greg. Who calls me?

2 Old father-i'-law that shall be.] But that 'tis plain he never could be. The mistaking of one letter for another is very usual; but here the editor has made a greater slip, and has changed one word for another. Uncle-in-law is what sir Gregory designs to call him. So in this act a little lower, the old knight says to sir Gregory,

Tush, nephew, I'll call you so,

And in act the third sir Gregory says to him,

It's as fine a noise, uncle, as heart can wish. We believe the text genuine, and the slip perhaps intentional. 3 Anti-mask.] This, I believe, properly means a masque of anticks.

Sympson.

Whalley.

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