University of Virginia Library

Scene VII.

To them.
Interest. Bias.
Pal.
What is he, Mr. Compasse?

Com.
A Vi-politique!
Or a sub-aiding Instrument of State!
A kind of a laborious Secretary
To a great man! (and likely to come on)
Full of attendance! and of such a stride
In busines politique, or œconomick,
As, well, his Lord may stoope t'advise with him,
And be prescribed by him, in affaires
Of highest consequence, when hee is dull'd,
Or wearied with the lesse.

Dia.
'Tis Mr. Bias,
Lord Whach'um's Politique.

Com.
You know the man?

Dia.
I ha' seene him waite at Court, there, with his Maniples
Of papers, and petitions.

Pra.
Hee is one
That over-rules tho', by his authority
Of living there; and cares for no man else:
Neglects the sacred letter of the Law;
And holds it all to be but a dead heape,
Of civill institutions: the rest only
Of common men, and their causes, a farragoe,
Or a made dish in Court; a thing of nothing:

Com.
And that's your quarrell at him? a just plea.

Int.
I tell you sister Loadstone—

Com.
(Hang your eares
This way: and heare his praises, now Moath opens)

Int.
I ha'brought you here the very man! the Jewell
Of all the Court! close Mr. Bias! Sister,
Apply him to your side! or you may weare him
Here o' your brest! or hang him in your eare!
He's a fit Pendant for a Ladies tip!
A Chrisolite, a Gemme: the very Agat
Of State, and Politie: cut from the Quar
Of Macchiavel, a true Cornelian,
As Tacitus himselfe! and to be made
The brooch to any true State-cap in Europe!

Lad.
You praise him brother, as you had hope to sell him.

Com.
No Madam, as hee had hope to sell your Neice
Vnto him.

Lad.
'Ware your true jests, Mr. Compasse;
They will not relish.

Int.
I will tell you, sister,
I cannot cry his Carract up enough:
He is unvaluable: All the Lords
Have him in that esteeme, for his relations,
Corrant's, Avises, Correspondences
With this Ambassadour, and that Agent! Hee
Will screw you out a Secret from a Statist—.

Com.
So easie, as some Cobler wormes a Dog.

Int.
And lock it in the Cabinet of his memory—.

Com.
Till 't turne a politique insect, or a Fly!
Thus long.

Int.
You may be merry Mr. Compasse,
But though you have the reversion of an office,
You are not in't Sir.

Bia.
Remember that.

Com.
Why, should that fright me, Mr. Bi---, from telling
Whose as you are?

Int.
Sir he's one, can doe
His turnes there: and deliver too his letters,
As punctually, and in as good a fashion,
As ere a Secretary can in Court.

Iro.
Why, is it any matter in what fashion
A man deliver his letters, so he not open 'hem?

Bia.
Yes, we have certaine precedents in Court,
From which wee never swerve, once in an age:
And (whatsoere he thinkes) I know the Arts,
And Sciences doe not directlier make
A Graduate in our Vniversities;
Then an habituall gravitie prefers
A man in Court.

Com.
Which by truer stile,
Some call a formall, flat servility.

Bia.
Sir you may call it what you please. But wee
(That tread the path of publike businesses)
Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrinke;
The wearing the Callott; the politique hood:
And twenty other parerga, o' the by,
You Seculars understand not: I shall trick him,
If his reversion came, i' my Lords way.

Dia.
What is that Mr. Practise? you sure know?
Mas' Compasses reversion?

Pra.
A fine place
(Surveyor of the Projects generall)
I would I had it.

Pal.
What is't worth?

Pra.
O Sir,
A Nemo scit.

Lad.
Wee'l thinke on't afore dinner.