 | The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd |  |
Scene VIII.
Interest. Bias. Rut. Palate.Int.
My truest friend in Court, deare Mr. Bias;
You heare o'the recovery of our Neice
In fame, and credit?
Bia.
Yes, I have beene with her,
And gratulated to her; but I am sory
To find the Author o' the fowle aspersion
Here i' your company, this insolent Doctor.
Int.
You doe mistake him: He is cleare got off on't.
A Gossips Jealousie first gave the hint.
He drives another way, now, as I would have him.
Hee's a rare man, the Doctor, in his way.
H' has done the noblest cure here, i' the house,
On a poore Squire, my sisters Taylor, Needle
That talk'd in's sleepe; would walke to Saint Iohn's wood,
And Waltham Forrest, scape by all the ponds,
And pits i' the way; run over two-inch bridges;
With his eyes fast, and i' the dead of night!
Ile ha' you better acquainted with him. Doctor,
Here is my deare, deare, dearest friend in Court,
Wise, powerfull Mr. Bias; pray you salute
Each other, not as strangers, but true friends.
Rut.
This is the Gentleman you brought to day,
A Suitor to your Neice?
Int.
Yes.
Rut.
You were
Agreed, I heard; the writings drawne betweene you?
Int.
And seald.
Rut.
What broke you off?
Int.
This rumour of her?
Was it not Mr. Bias?
Bia.
Which I find
Now false, and therefore come to make amends
I' the first place. I stand to the old conditions.
Rut.
Faith give 'hem him, Sir Moath, what ere they were.
You have a brave occasion now, to crosse
The flanting Mr. Compasse, who pretends
Right to the portion, by th'other Intaile.
Int.
And claimes it. You doe heare he's married?
Bia.
We heare his wife is run away from him,
Within: She is not to be found i' the house,
With all the Hue, and Cry is made for her,
Through every roome; the Larders ha' beene search'd,
The Bak-houses, and Boulting-tub, the Ovens,
Wash-house, and Brew-house, nay the very Fornace,
And yet she is not heard of.
Int.
Be she nere heard of,
60
You are content with the ten thousand pound,
Defalking the foure hundred garnish money?
That's the condition here, afore the Doctor,
And your demand, friend Bias.
Bia.
It is Sir Moath.
Enter Palate.
Rut.
Here comes the Parson then, shall make all sure.
Int.
Goe you with my friend Bias, Parson Palate,
Vnto my Neice; assure them wee are agreed.
Pal.
And Mrs. Compasse too, is found within.
Int.
Where was she hid?
Pal.
In an old Botle-house,
Where they scrap'd trenchers; there her mother had thrust her.
Rut.
You shall have time, Sir, to triumph on him,
When this fine feate is done, and his Rud-Ironside.
| The Magnetick Lady :or, Hvmors Reconcil'd | |