University of Virginia Library

Act II.

Scene I.

Keepe. Placentia. Pleasance.
Kee.
Sweet Mistris, pray you be merry: you are sure
To have a husband now.

Pla.
I, if the store
Hurt not the choise.

Ple.
Store is no sore, young Mistris,
My mother is wont to say.

Keep.
And shee'l say wisely,
As any mouth i' the Parish. Fixe on one,
Fixe upon one, good Mistris.

Pla.
At this call, too,
Here's Mr. Practise, who is call'd to the Bench
Of purpose.

Kee.
Yes, and by my Ladies meanes—

Ple.
'Tis thought to be the man.

Kee.
A Lawyers wife.

Ple.
And a fine Lawyers wife.

Kee.
Is a brave calling.

Ple.
Sweet Mistris Practise!

Kee.
Gentle Mistris Practise!

Ple.
Faire, open Mistris Practise!

Kee.
I, and close,
And cunning Mrs. Practise!

Pla.
I not like that,
The Courtiers is the neater calling.

Ple.
Yes,
My Lady Silke-worme.

Kee.
And to shine in Plush.

Ple.
Like a young night Crow, a Diaphanous Silkeworme.

Kee.
Lady Diaphanous sounds most delicate!

Ple.
Which would you choose, now Mistris?

Pla.
Cannot tell.
The copie does confound one.

Ple.
Here's my Mother.

Scene II.

Polish. Keepe. Placentia. Pleasance. Needle.
Pol.
How now, my dainty charge, and diligent Nurse?
What were you chanting on? ( To her daughter kneeling.
God blesse you Maiden.)

Kee.
Wee were inchanting all; wishing a husband
For my young Mistris here. A man to please her.

Pol.
Shee shall have a man, good Nurse, and must have a man:
A man, and a halfe, if wee can choose him out:
We are all in Counsell within, and sit about it:
The Doctors, and the Schollers, and my Lady;
Who's wiser then all us—. Where's Mr. Needle?
Her Ladiship so lacks him to prick out
The man? How does my sweet young Mistris?
You looke not well, me thinkes! how doe you, deare charge?
You must have a husband, and you shall have a husband;
There's two put out to making for you: A third,
Your Vncle promises: But you must still
Be rul'd by your Aunt: according to the will
Of your dead father, and mother (who are in heaven.)
Your Lady-Aunt has choise i'the house for you:
Wee doe not trust your Vncle, hee would keepe you
A Batchler still, by keeping of your portion:
And keepe you not alone without a husband,
But in a sicknesse: I, and the greene sicknesse,
The Maidens malady; which is a sicknesse:
A kind of a disease, I can assure you,
And like the Fish our Mariners call remora—.

Kee.
A remora Mistris!

Pol.
How now goody Nurse?
Dame Keepe of Katernes? what? have you an oare
I' the Cockboat, 'cause you are a Saylors wife?
And come from Shadwell? I say a remora:
For it will stay a Ship, that's under Saile!
And staies are long, and tedious things to Maids!
And maidens are young ships, that would be sailing,
When they be rigg'd: wherefore is all their trim else?

Nee.
True; and for them to be staid—.

Pol.
The stay is dangerous:
You know it Mrs. Needle.

Nee.
I know somewhat:
And can assure you, from the Doctors mouth,
Shee has a Dropsie; and must change the ayre,
Before she can recover.

Pol.
Say you so, Sir?

Nee.
The Doctor saies so.

Pol.
Sayes his worship so?
I warrant 'hem he sayes true, then; they sometimes
Are Sooth-sayers, and alwayes cunning men.
Which Doctor was it?

Nee.
Eeene my Ladies Doctor:
The neat house-Doctor: But a true stone-Doctor.

Pol.
Why? heare you, Nurse? How comes this geare to passe?
This is your fault in truth: It shall be your fault,
And must be your fault: why is your Mistris sicke?
Shee had her health, the while shee was with me.

Kee.
Alas good Mistris Polish, I am no Saint,
Much lesse, my Lady, to be urg'd give health,
Or sicknesse at my will: but to awaite
The starres good pleasure, and to doe my duty.

Pol.
You must doe more then your dutie, foolish Nurse:
You must doe all you can; and more then you can,
More then is possible: when folkes are sick,
Especially, a Mistris; a young Mistris.

Kee.
Here's Mr. Doctor himselfe, cannot doe that

Pol.
Doctor Doo-all can doe it. Thence he's call'd so.

Scene III.

Rut. Polish. Lady. Keepe. Placentia.
Rut.
Whence? what's hee call'd?

Pol.
Doctor, doe all you can,
I pray you, and beseech you, for my charge, here.

Lad.
She's my tendring Gossip, loves my Neice.

Pol.
I know you can doe all things, what you please, Sir,
For a young Damsel, my good Ladies Neice, here!
You can doe what you list.

Rut.
Peace Tiffany.

Pol.
Especially in this new case, o' the Dropsie.
The Gentlewoman (I doe feare) is leven'd.

Rut.
Leven'd? what's that?

Pol.
Puft, blowne, and't please your worship.

Rut.
What! Darke, by darker? What is blowne? puff'd? speake
English—

Pol.
Tainted (and't please you) some doe call it.
She swels, and swels so with it.—

Rut.
Give her vent,
If shee doe swell. A Gimblet must be had:
It is a Tympanites she is troubled with;
There are three kinds: The first is Ana-sarca
Vnder the Flesh, a Tumor: that's not hers.
The second is Ascites, or Aquosus,
A watry humour: that's not hers neither.
But Tympanites (which we call the Drum)
A wind bombes in her belly, must be unbrac'd,
And with a Faucet, or a Peg, let out,
And she'll doe well: get her a husband.

Pol.
Yes,
I say so Mr. Doctor, and betimes too.

Lad.
As
Soone as wee can: let her beare up to day,
Laugh, and keepe company, at Gleeke, or Crimpe.

Pol.
Your Ladiship sayes right, Crimpe, sure, will cure her.

Rut.
Yes, and Gleeke too; peace Gossip Tittle-Tattle,
Shee must to morrow, downe into the Countrey,
Some twenty mile; A Coach, and six brave Horses:
Take the fresh aire, a moneth there, or five weekes:
And then returne a Bride, up to the Towne,
For any husband i'the Hemisphere,
To chuck at; when she has dropt her Timpane.

Pol.
Must she then drop it?

Rut.
Thence, 'tis call'd a Dropsie.
The Timpanites is one spice of it;
A toy, a thing of nothing, a meere vapour:
Ile blow't away.

Lad.
Needle, get you the Coach
Ready, against to morrow morning.

Nee.
Yes Madam.

Lad.
Ile downe with her my selfe, and thanke the Doctor.

Pol.
Wee all shall thanke him. But, deare Madam, thinke,
Resolve upon a man, this day.

Lad.
I ha' done't.
To tell you true, (sweet Gossip;) here is none
But Master Doctor, hee shall be o' the Counsell:
The man I have design'd her to, indeed,
Is Master Practise: he's a neat young man,
Forward, and growing up, in a profession!
Like to be somebody, if the Hall stand!
And Pleading hold! A prime young Lawyers wife,
Is a right happy fortune.

Rut.
And shee bringing
So plentifull a portion, they may live
Like King, and Queene, at common Law together!
Sway Judges, guide the Courts; command the Clarkes,
And fright the Evidence; rule at their pleasures,
Like petty Soveraignes in all cases.

Pol.
O, that
Will be a worke of time; she may be old
Before her husband rise to a chiefe Judge;
And all her flower be gone: No, no, a Lady
O' the first head I'ld have her; and in Court:
The Lady Silk-worme, a Diaphanous Lady:
And be a Vi-countesse to carry all
Before her (as wee say) her Gentleman-usher:
And cast off Pages, bare, to bid her Aunt
Welcome unto her honour, at her lodgings.

Rut.
You say well, Ladies Gossip; if my Lady
Could admit that, to have her Neice precede her.

Lad.
For that, I must consult mine owne Ambition,
My zealous Gossip.

Pol.
O, you shall precede her:
You shall be a Countesse! Sir Diaphanous,
Shall get you made a Countesse! Here he comes;
Has my voice certaine: O fine Courtier!
O blessed man! the bravery prick't out,
To make my dainty charge, a Vi-countesse!
And my good Lady, her Aunt, Countesse at large!

Scene IIII.

To them.
Diaphanous. Palate.
Dia.
I tell thee Parson, if I get her, reckon
Thou hast a friend in Court; and shalt command
A thousand pound, to goe on any errand,
For any Church preferment thou hast a mind too.

Pal.
I thanke your worship: I will so worke for you,
As you shall study all the wayes to thanke me:
Ile worke my Lady, and my Ladies friends;
Her Gossip, and this Doctor; and Squire Needle,
And Mr. Compasse, who is all in all:
The very Fly shee moves by: Hee is one
That went to Sea with her husband, Sir Iohn Loadstone,
And brought home the rich prizes: all that wealth
Is left her; for which service she respects him:
A dainty Scholler in the Mathematicks;
And one shee wholly imployes. Now Dominus Practise
Is yet the man (appointed by her Ladiship)
But there's a trick to set his cap awry:
If I know any thing; hee hath confest
To me in private, that hee loves another,
My Ladies woman, Mrs. Pleasance: therefore
Secure you of Rivalship.

Dia.
I thanke thee
My noble Parson: There's five hundred pound
Waites on thee more for that.

Pal.
Accoast the Neice:
Yonder shee walkes alone: Ile move the Aunt:
But here's the Gossip: shee expects a morsell.
Ha' you nere a Ring, or toy to throw away?

Dia.
Yes, here's a Diamont of some threescore pound,
I pray you give her that.

Pal.
If shee will take it.

Dia.
And there's an Emerauld, for the Doctor too:
Thou Parson, thou shalt coine me: I am thine.

Pal.
Here Mr. Compasse comes: Doe you see my Lady?
And all the rest? how they doe flutter about him!
Hee is the Oracle of the house, and family!
Now, is your time: goe nick it with the Neice:
I will walke by; and hearken how the Chimes goe.

Scene V.

To them;
Compasse.
Com.
Nay Parson, stand not off; you may approach;
This is no such hid point of State, wee handle,
But you may heare it: for wee are all of Counsell.
The gentle Mr. Practise, hath dealt clearly,
And nobly with you, Madam.

Lad.
Ha' you talk'd with him?
And made the overture?

Com.
Yes, first I mov'd
The busines trusted to me, by your Ladiship,
I' your owne words, almost your very Sillabes:
Save where my Memory trespass'd 'gainst their elegance:
For which I hope your pardon. Then I inlarg'd
In my owne homely stile, the speciall goodnesse,
And greatnesse, of your bounty, in your choice,
And free conferring of a benefit,
So without ends, conditions, any tye
But his meere vertue, and the value of it,
To call him to your kindred, to your veines,
Insert him in your family, and to make him
A Nephew, by the offer of a Neice,
With such a portion; which when hee had heard,
And most maturely acknowledg'd (as his calling
Tends all unto maturity) he return'd
A thankes, as ample as the Curtesie,
(In my opinion) said it was a Grace,
Too great to be rejected, or accepted
By him! But as the termes stood with his fortune,
Hee was not to prevaricate, with your Ladiship,
But rather to require ingenious leave,
He might with the same love, that it was offer'd
Refuse it, since he could not with his honesty,
(Being he was ingag'd before) receive it.

Pal.
The same he said to me.

Com.
And name the party.

Pal.
He did, and he did not.

Com.
Come, leave your Schemes,
And fine Amphibolies, Parson.

Pal.
You'l heare more.

Pol.
Why, now your Ladiship is free to choose,
The Courtier Sir Diaphanous: he shall doe it,
Ile move it to him my selfe.

Lad.
What will you move to him?

Pol.
The making you a Countesse.

Lad.
Stint, fond woman.
Know you the partie Mr. Practise meanes?

To Compasse.
Com.
No, but your Parson sayes he knowes, Madam.

Lad.
I feare he fables; Parson doe you know
Where Mr. Practise is ingag'd?

Pal.
Ile tell you!
But under seale, her Mother must not know:
'T is with your Ladiships woman, Mrs. Pleasance.

Com.
How!

Lad.
Hee is not mad.

Pal.
O hide the hideous secret
From her, shee'l trouble all else. You doe hold
A Cricket by the wing.

Com.
Did he name Pleasance?
Are you sure Parson?

Lad.
O' tis true, your Mrs!
I find where your shooe wrings you, Mr. Compasse:
But, you'l looke to him there.

Com.
Yes, here's Sir Moath,
Your brother, with his Bias, and the Partie
Deepe in discourse: 'twill be a bargaine, and sale;
I see by their close working of their heads,
And running them together so in Councell.

Lad.
Will Mr. Practise be of Councell against us?

Com.
He is a Lawyer, and must speake for his Fee,
Against his Father, and Mother, all his kindred;
His brothers, or his sisters: no exception
Lies at the Common-Law. He must not alter
Nature for forme, but goe on in his path
It may be he will be for us. Doe not you
Offer to meddle, let them take their course:
Dispatch, and marry her off to any husband;
Be not you scrupulous; let who can have her:
So he lay downe the portion, though he gueld it:
It will maintaine the suit against him: somewhat,
Something in hand is better, then no birds.
He shall at last accompt, for the utmost farthing,
If you can keepe your hand from a discharge.

Pol.
Sir, doe but make her worshipfull Aunt a Countesse,
And she is yours: her Aunt has worlds to leave you!
The wealth of six East Indian Fleets at least!
Her Husband, Sir Iohn Loadstone, was the Governour
O' the Company seven yeares.

Dia.
And came there home,
Six Fleets in seven yeares.

Pol.
I cannot tell,
I must attend my Gossip, her good Ladiship.

Pla.
And will you make me a Vi-countesse too? For,
How doe they make a Countesse? in a Chaire?
Or 'pon a bed?

Dia.
Both wayes, sweet bird, Ile shew you.

Scene VI.

Interest. Practise. Bias. Compasse. Palate. Rut. Ironside.
To them.
Int.
The truth is, Mr. Practise, now wee are sure
That you are off, we dare come on the bolder:
The portion left, was sixteene thousand pound,
I doe confesse it, as a just man should.
And call here Mr. Compasse, with these Gentlemen,
To the relation: I will still be just.
Now for the profits every way arising,
It was the Donors wisedome, those should pay
Me for my watch, and breaking of my sleepes;
It is no petty charge, you know, that summe;
To keepe a man awake, for fourteene yeare.

Pra.
But (as you knew to use it i' that time)
It would reward your waking.

Int.
That's my industry;
As it might be your reading, studie, and counsell;
And now your pleading, who denies it you?
I have my calling too. Well, Sir, the Contract
Is with this Gentleman, ten thousand pound.
(An ample portion, for a younger brother,
With a soft, tender, delicate rib of mans flesh,
That he may worke like waxe, and print upon.)
He expects no more then that summe to be tendred,
And hee receive it: Those are the conditions.

Pra.
A direct bargaine, and sale in open market.

Int.
And what I have furnish'd him with all o' the by,
To appeare, or so: A matter of foure hundred,
To be deduc'd upo' the payment—.

Bia.
Right.
You deale like a just man still.

Int.
Draw up this
Good Mr. Practise, for us, and be speedy.

Pra.
But here's a mighty gaine Sir, you have made
Of this one stock! the principall first doubled,
In the first seven yeare; and that redoubled
I'the next seven! beside sixe thousand pound,
There's threescore thousand got in fourteene yeare,
After the usuall rate of ten i' the hundred,
And the ten thousand paid.

Int.
I thinke it be!

Pra.
How will you scape the clamour, and the envie?

Int.

Com.
Gentlemen,
Doctors, and Schollers, yo'll heare this, and looke for
As much true secular wit, and deepe Lay-sense,
As can be showne on such a common place.

Int.
First, wee all know the soule of man is infinite
I' what it covers. Who desireth knowledge,
Desires it infinitely. Who covers honour,
Covets it infinitely. It will be then
No hard thing, for a coveting man, to prove
Or to confesse, hee aimes at infinite wealth.

Com.
His soule lying that way.

Int.
Next, every man
Is i'the hope, or possibility
Of a whole world: this present world being nothing,
But the dispersed issue of first one:
And therefore I not see, but a just man
May with just reason, and in office ought
Propound unto himselfe.

Com.
An infinite wealth!
Ile beare the burden: Goe you on Sir Moath.

Int.
Thirdly, if wee consider man a member,
But of the body politique, we know,
By just experience, that the Prince hath need
More of one wealthy, then ten fighting men.

Com.
There you went out o' the road, a little from us.

Int.
And therefore, if the Princes aimes be infinite,
It must be in that, which makes all.

Com.
Infinite wealth.

Int.
Fourthly, 'tis naturall to all good subjects,
To set a price on money; more then fooles
Ought on their Mrs. Picture; every piece
Fro' the penny to the twelve pence, being the Hieroglyphick,
And sacred Sculpture of the Soveraigne.

Com.
A manifest conclusion, and a safe one.

Int.
Fiftly, wealth gives a man the leading voice,
At all conventions; and displaceth worth,
With generall allowance to all parties:
It makes a trade to take the wall of vertue;
And the mere issue of a shop, right Honourable.
Sixtly, it doth inable him that hath it
To the performance of all reall actions,
Referring him to himselfe still: and not binding
His will to any circumstance, without him;
It gives him precise knowledge of himselfe;
For, be he rich, he straight with evidence knowes
Whether he have any compassion,
Or inclination unto vertue, or no;
Where the poore knave erroniously beleeves,
If he were rich, he would build Churches, or
Doe such mad things. Seventhly, your wise poore men
Have ever beene contented to observe
Rich Fooles, and so to serve their turnes upon them:
Subjecting all their wit to the others wealth.
And become Gentlemen Parasites, Squire Bauds,
To feed their Patrons honorable humors.
Eightly, 'tis certaine that a man may leave
His wealth, or to his Children, or his friends;
His wit hee cannot so dispose, by Legacie?
As they shall be a Harrington the better for't.

Com.
He may intaile a Jest upon his house, though:
Enter Ironside.
Or leave a tale to his posteritie,
To be told after him.

Iro.
As you have done here?
T'invite your friend, and brother to a feast,
Where all the Guests are so mere heterogene,
And strangers, no man knowes another, or cares
If they be Christians, or Mahumetans!
That here are met.

Com.
Is't any thing to you brother,
To know Religions more then those you fight for?

Iro.
Yes, and with whom I eat. I may dispute,
And how shall I hold argument with such,
I neither know their humors, nor their heresies;
Which are religions now, and so receiv'd?
Here's no man among these that keepes a servant,
To inquire his Master of: yet i' the house,
I heare it buzz'd, there are a brace of Doctors;
A Foole, and a Physician: with a Courtier,
That feeds on mulbery leaves, like a true Silkeworme:
A Lawyer, and a mighty Money-Baud,
Sir Moath! has brought his politique Bias with him:
A man of a most animadverting humor:
Who, to indeare himselfe unto his his Lord,
Will tell him, you and I, or any of us,
That here are met, are all pernitious spirits,
And men of pestilent purpose, meanely affected
Vnto the State wee live in: and beget
Himselfe a thankes, with the great men o' the time,
By breeding Jealouses in them of us,
Shall crosse our fortunes, frustrate our endeavours,
Twice seven yeares after: And this trick be call'd
Cutting of throats, with a whispering, or a pen-knife.
I must cut his throat now: I'am bound in honour,
And by the Law of armes, to see it done;
I dare to doe it; and I dare professe
The doing of it: being to such a Raskall,
Who is the common offence growne of man-kind;
And worthy to be torne up from society.

Com.
You shall not doe it here, Sir.

Iro.
Why? will you
Intreat your selfe, into a beating for him,
My courteous brother? If you will, have at you,
No man deserves it better (now I thinke on't)
Then you: that will keepe consort with such Fidlers,
Pragmatick Flies, Fooles, Publicanes, and Moathes:
And leave your honest, and adopted brother.

Int.
'Best raise the house upon him, to secure us;
Hee'll kill us all!

Pal.
I love no blades in belts.

Rut.
Nor I.

Bia.
Would I were at my shop againe,
In Court, safe stow'd up, with my politique bundels.

Com.
How they are scatter'd!

Iro.
Run away like Cimici,
Into the cranies of a rotten bed-stead.

Com.
I told you such a passage would disperse 'hem,
Although the house were their Fee-simple in Law,
And they possest of all the blessings in it.

Iro.
Pray heaven they be not frighted from their stomacks:
That so my Ladies Table be disfurnish'd
Of the provisions!

Com.
No, the Parsons calling
By this time, all the covey againe, together.
Here comes good tydings! Dinners o' the boord.

Scene VII.

Compasse. Pleasance.
Com.
Stay Mrs. Pleasance, I must aske you a question:
Ha' you any suites in Law?

Ple.
I, Mr. Compasse?

Com.
Answer me briefly, it is dinner time.
They say you have retain'd brisk Mr. Practise
Here, of your Councell; and are to be joyn'd
A Patentee with him.

Ple.
In what? who sayes so?
You are dispos'd to jest.

Com.
No, I am in earnest.
It is given out i' the house so, I assure you;
But keepe your right to your selfe, and not acquaint
A common Lawyer with your case. If hee
Once find the gap; a thousand will leape after.
Ile tell you more anone.

Ple.
This Riddle shewes
A little like a Love-trick, o' one face,
If I could understand it. I will studie it.

Chorus.

Dam.

But whom doth your Poët meane now by this—Mr. Bias?
what Lords Secretary, doth hee purpose to personate, or perstringe?

Boy.

You might as well aske mee, what Alderman, or Aldermans Mate,
hee meant by Sir Moath Interest? or what eminent Lawyer, by the ridiculous
Mr. Practise? who hath rather his name invented for laughter,
then any offence, or injury it can stick on the reverend Professors of the
Law: And so the wise ones will thinke.

Pro.

It is an insidious Question, Brother Damplay! Iniquity it selfe

would not have urg'd it. It is picking the Lock of the Scene; nor opening
it the faire way with a Key. A Play, though it apparell, and present
vices in generall, flies from all particularities in persons. Would you
aske of Plantus, and Terence, (if they both liv'd now, who were Davus, or
Pseudolus in the Scene? who Pyrgopolinices, or Thraso? who Euclio or
Menedemus?

Boy.

Yes, he would: And inquire of Martial,or any other Epigrammatist,
whom he meant by Titius, or Seius (the common John à Noke, or
Iohn à Style) under whom they note all vices, and errors taxable to the
Times? As if there could not bee a name for a Folly fitted to the Stage,
but there must be a person in nature, found out to owne it.

Dam.

Why, I can phant'sie a person to my selfe Boy, who shall hinder
me?

Boy.

And, in not publishing him, you doe no man an injury. But if
you will utter your owne ill meaning on that person, under the Authors
words, you make a Libell of his Comœdy.

Dam.

O, hee told us that in a Prologue, long since.

Boy.

If you doe the same reprehensible ill things, still the same reprehension
will serve you, though you heard it afore: They are his owne
words. I can invent no better, nor he.

Pro.

It is the solemne vice of interpretation, that deformes the figure
of many a faire Scene, by drawing it awry; and indeed is the civill murder
of most good Playes: If I see a thing vively presented on the Stage,
that the Glasse of custome (which is Comedy) is so held up to me, by the
Poet, as I can therein view the daily examples of mens lives, and images
of Truth, in their manners, so drawne for my delight, or profit, as I
may (either way) use them: and will I, rather (then make that true use)
hunt out the Persons to defame, by my malice of misapplying? and imperill
the innocence, and candor of the Author, by his calumnie? It is
an unjust way of hearing, and beholding Playes, this, and most unbecomming
a Gentleman to appeare malignantly witty in anothers Worke.

Boy.

They are no other but narrow, and shrunke natures, shriveld up,
poore things, that cannot thinke well of themselves, who dare to detract
others. That Signature is upon them, and it will last. A halfe-witted
Barbarisme! which no Barbers art, or his bals, will ever expunge
or take out.

Dam.

Why, Boy? This were a strange Empire, or rather a Tyrannie,
you would entitle your Poet to, over Gentlemen, that they should come
to heare, and see Playes, and say nothing for their money.

Boy.

O, yes; say what you will: so it be to purpose, and in place.

Dam.

Can any thing be out of purpose at a Play? I see no reason, if
I come here, and give my eighteene pence, or two shillings for my Seat,
but I should take it out in censure, on the Stage.

Boy.

Your two shilling worth is allow'd you: but you will take your
ten, shilling worth, your twenty shilling worth, and more: And teach
others (about you) to doe the like, that follow your leading face; as if
you were to cry up or downe every Scene, by confederacy, be it right or
wrong.

Dam.

Who should teach us the right, or wrong at a Play?

Boy.

If your owne science can not doe it, or the love of Modesty, and

Truth; all other intreaties, or attempts—are vaine. You are fitter Spectators
for the Beares, then us, or the Puppets. This is a popular ignorance
indeed, somewhat better appareld in you, then the People: but a hard handed,
and stiffe ignorance, worthy a Trewel, or a Hammer-man, and not
onely fit to be scorn'd, but to be triumph'd ore.

Dam.

By whom, Boy?

Boy.

No particular, but the generall neglect, and silence. Good Master
Damplay, be your selfe still, without a second: Few here are of your
opinion to day, I hope; to morrow, I am sure there will bee none, when
they have ruminated this.

Pro.

Let us mind what you come for, the Play, which will draw on to
the Epitasis now.