Y. Kno. You shall not buy it, I say.

Step. By this money, but I will, though I give more than 'tis worth.

Y. Kno. Come away, you are a fool.

[Exit. Step. Friend, I am a fool, that's granted: but I'll have it, for that word's sake. Follow me for your money. He says, I am a fool!

Brain. Yes, sir, the gentleman seems to know you.

Enter KNO'WEll.

[Exeunt.

Kno. I cannot lose the thought yet of this letter Sent to my son; nor leave to admire the change Of manners, and the breeding of our youth Within the kingdom, since myself was one. When I was young, he liv'd not in the stews Durst have conceived a scorn, and utter'd it, 'On a grey head;

And a man had then

A certain reverence paid unto his

That had none due unto his life.

years,

But now we are fall'n; youth from their fear,
And age from that which bred it, good example.

Enter BRAINWORM.

Brain. My master! Nay, faith have at you; I am fleshed now, I have sped so well; though I must attack you in a different way. Worshipful sir, I beseech you, respect the state of a poor soldier! I am ashamed of this base course of life (God's my comfort) but extremity provokes me to't: what remedy?

Kno. I have not for you now.

Brain. By the faith I bear unto truth, gentleman, it is no ordinary custom in me, but only to preserve manhood. I protest to you, a man I have been, a man I may be, by your sweet bounty.

Kno. Pr'ythee, good friend, be satisfied.

Brain. Good sir, by that hand, you may do the part of a kind gentleman, in lending a poor soldier the price of two cans of beer, a matter of small value: the King of Heav'n shall pay you, and I shall rest thankful: sweet worship-

Kno. Nay, an' you be so importunate

Brain. Oh, tender sir, need will have his course: I was not made to this vile use! Well, the edge of the enemy could not have bated me so much. [He weeps.] It's hard, when a man has served in his prince's cause, and be thus-Honourable worship, let me derive a small piece of silver from you, it shall not be given in the course of time. By this good ground, I was fain to pawn my rapier last night, for a poor supper; I had suck'd the hilts long before, I am a pagan else: sweet honour.

Kno. Believe me, I am taken with some wonder,
To think a fellow of that outward presence,
Should, in the frame and fashion of his mind,
Be so degenerate and sordid base!

Art thou not a man, and sham'st thou not to beg?
To practise such a servile kind of life?
Why, were thy education ne'er so mean,
Having thy limbs, a thousand fairer courses
Offer themselves to thy election.

Either the wars might still supply thy wants,
Or service of some virtuous gentleman.

Brain. Faith, sir, I would gladly find some other course, if so

Kno. Ay, you'd gladly find it, but you will not seek it.

Brain. Alas! sir, where should a man seek? In the wars there's no ascent by desert in these days, but— and for service, would it were as soon purchased as wished for! (the air's my comfort) I know what I would say

Say that a man should entertain thee now,
Would'st thou be honest, humble, just and true?
Brain. Sir, by the place and honour of a soldier—
Kno. Nay, nay, I like not those affected oaths!
Speak plainly, man; what think'st thou of my
words?

Brain. Nothing, sir; but wish my fortunes were as happy as my service should be honest.

Kno. Well, follow me; I'll prove thee, if thy deeds will carry a proportion to thy words.

[Exit. Brain. Yes, sir, straight: I'll but garter my hose. Oh, that my belly were hooped now, for 1 am ready to burst with laughing! Never was bottle or bagpipe fuller. 'Slid, was there ever seen a fox in years to betray himself thus? Now I shall be possessed of all his counsels, and by that conduct my young master! Well, he's resolved to prove my honesty; faith, and I am resolved to prove his patience. Oh, I shall abuse him intolerably! This small piece of service will bring him clean out of love with the soldier for ever. He will never come within the sight of a red coat, or a musket, again. Well, I'll follow him. Oh, how I long to be employed!

With change of voice, these scars, and many an oath, I'll follow son and sire, and serve 'em both.

[Exit.

ACT THE THIRD

SCENE I.

Stocks Market.

Enter MATTHEW, WELLBRED, and BOBADIL.

Mat. Yes, faith, sir! We were at your lodgings to seek you, too.

Well. Oh, I came not there to-night.

Bob. Your brother delivered us as much.
Well. Who? My brother Downright ?

Bob. He!-Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what kind you hold me; but let me say to you this as sure as honour, I esteem it so much out of the sunshine of reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon such a

Well. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother. Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved about me, I never saw any gentlemanlike partWell. Good Captain [Faces about.] to some other

discourse.

Bob. With your leave, sir, an' there were no more men living upon the face of the earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George.

Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, I know not how; he doth not carry himself like a gentleman of fashion

Well. Oh, Mr. Matthew, that's a grace peculiar but to a few

Enter YOUNG KNO'WELL and STEPHEN. Ned Kno'well! By my soul, welcome! How dost thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid, I shall love Apollo, and the mad Thespian girls, the better whilst I live for this, my dear fury. Now I see there's some love in thee!-Sirrah, these be the two I writ to you of. Nay, what a drowsy humour is this now? Why dost thou not speak ?

Y. Know. O, you are a fine gallant ; you sent me a rare letter.

Well. Why, was't not rare?

Y. Kno. Yes, I'll be sworn, I was never guilty of reading the like. But I marvel what camel it was that had the carriage of it; for doubtless he was no ordinary beast that brought it.

Well. Why?

Y. Kno. Why, sayest thou? Why, dost thou think that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the day too, could have mistaken my father for me?

Well. 'Slid, you jest I hope.

Y. Kno. Indeed, the best use we can turn it to is to make a jest on't now; but I'll assure you, my father had the full view o' your flourishing style, before I saw it.

Well. What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith?

Y. Kno. Nay, I know not what he said; but I have a shrewd guess what he thought.

Well. What, what?

Y. Kno. Marry, that thou art some strange dissolute young fellow, and I not a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.

Well. Tut, that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly. But, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-bys here;