Step. Ay, I know that, sir. I would not ha' come else. How doth my cousin Edward, uncle?

Kno. O, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt he be scarce stirring yet.

Step. Uncle, after I go in, can you tell me an' he have e'er a book of the sciences of hawking and hunting? I would fain borrow it.

no. Why, I hope you will not a hawking now, will you?

Step. No wosse, but I'll practise against the next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing but a book to keep it by.

Kno. O, most ridiculous!

Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, uncle. Why, you know, an' a man have not skill in the hawking and hunting languages now-adays, I'll not give a rush for him. They are more studied than the Greek, or the Latin. He is for no gallant's company without them. And by Gad's lid I scorn it, I, so I do, to be a consort for every hum-drum; hang them scroyls, there's nothing in them, in the world. What do you talk on it? Because I dwell at Hogsdet. I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury or the citizens, that come a ducking to Islington ponds! A fine jest i'faith! slid, a gentleman mun show himself like a gentleman.Uncle, I pray you be not angry. I know what I have to do; I trow, I am no novice.

Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb: go to!

Nay, never look at me, 'tis I that speak.
Take it as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you.
Have you not yet found means enow to waste
That, which your friends have left you, but you

must

Go cast away your money on a kite,

And know not how to keep it, when you've done? O, 'tis comely! this will make you a gentleman! Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it, You look another way.

Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive;
That would I have thee do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bauble, that you fancy,
On every foolish brain, that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on all societies,
Till men's affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He, that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I you should melt away yourself
In flashing bravery, lest, while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the world,
A little puff of scorn extinguish it,
And you be left like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I'd have you sober and contain yourself:
Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat:
But moderate your expences now (at first),
As you may keep the same proportion still.
Nor stand so much on your gentility,
Which is an airy, and mere borrowed thing,
From dead men's dust and bones: and none of
yours

Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?
Enter a Servant.

Serv. Save you, gentlemen.

Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and I assure you mine uncle here is a man of a thousand a-year, Middlesex land; he has but one son in all the world; I am his next heir (at the common law) master Stephen, as simple as I stand here f my cousin die (as there is hope he will.) I have a pretty living o' my own too, beside, hard by

here.

Serv. In good time, sir.

Step. In good time, sir! why? and in very good time, sir. You do not flout, friend, do you? Serv. Not I, sir.

Step. Not you, sir! you were best not, sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too: go to. And they can give it again soundly too, an' need be.

Serv. Why, sir, let this satisfy you: good faith, I had no such intent.

Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.

Serv. Good master Stephen, so you may, sir, at your pleasure.

Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy companion, an' you were out of my uncle's ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand upon my gentility neither in it.

Kno. Cousin! cousin! Will this ne'er be left? Step. Whoreson, base fellow? a mechanical serving man? By this cudgel, an' 'twere not for shame, I would

Kno. What would you do, you peremptory gull?

If you cannot be quiet, get you hence.
You see, the honest man demeans himself
Modestly towards you, giving no reply

To your unseasoned, quarrelling, rude fashion:
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,
As void of wit, as of humanity.

Go, get you in! 'fore Heaven, I am ashamed
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

[Exit STEPHEN. Serv. I pray you, sir, is this master Kno'well's house?

Kno, Yes, marry, is it, sir.

Serv. I should inquire for a gentleman here, one master Edward Kno'well: do you know any such, sir, I pray you?

Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry your mercy, sir: I was required by a gentleman in the city, as I rode out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, sir.

sent the like to the Grand Signior. One is a rhimer, sir, o' your own batch, your own leven; but doth think himself poet-major o' the town; 'willing to be shewn, and worthy to be seen.The other-I will not venture his description with you till you come, because I would have you make hither with an appetite. If the worst of them be not worth your journey, draw your 'bill of charges, as unconscionable as any Guild'hall verdict will give it you, and you shall be 'allowed your Viaticum.

From the Windmill.

From the Burdello, it might come as well;
The Spittal is this the man,
My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times have sent us
forth?

I know not what he may be in the arts;
Nor what in schools: but, surely, for his man-

ners,

Kno. Make this honest friend drink here.— Pray you go in.

[Exeunt BRAINWORM and Servant.

This letter is directed to my son :
Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may,
With the safe conscience of good manners, use
The fellow's error to my satisfaction.
Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious)
Be it but for the style's sake, and the phrase,
To see if both do answer my son's praises,
Who is almost grown the idolater

Of this young Well-bred: What have we here?
What's this?

[The letter.]

Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou foresworn all thy friends i' the Old Jewry? or dost 'thou think us all Jews, that inhabit there? Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over his 'green apricots, evening and morning, o' the north-west wall: an' I had been his son, I had 'saved him the labour long since; if taking in all the young wenches that pass by, at the back'door, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for them would have served. But prithee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I have such ' a present for thee! Our Turkey company never

.

Why, what unhallowed ruffian would have writ
In such a scurrilous manner to a friend?
Why should he think, I tell my apricots?
Or play the Hesperian dragon with my fruit,
To watch it? Well, my son, I thought
You'd had more judgment to have made elec-

Brain. O lord, sir, that were a jest indeed! Kno. I am resolved I will not stop his journey;

Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,
Restrained, grows more impatient.
There is a way of winning, more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:
Force works on servile natures, not the free.
He, that's compelled to goodness, may be good;
But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn
By softness, and example, get a habit.

E. Kno. That's bad. What countenance, pray thee, made he in the reading of it? Was he angry, or pleased?

Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, I assure your worship.

E. Kno. No! how know'st thou, then, that he did either?

Brain. Marry, sir, because he charged me, on my life, to tell nobody that he opened it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have trevealed.

E. Kno. That's true: well, I thank thee, Brain[Exit.

worm.

Enter Master STEPHEN. Step. Oh! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a fellow here, in a what sha'-call him doublet? He brought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

Brain. Yes, master Stephen, what of him? Step. Oh! I ha' such a mind to beat him where is he? can'st thou tell?

Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen.

Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long since?

Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door.

Step. And I staid i' the fields! whoreson, scanderberg rogue! O that I had but a horse to fetch him back again!

Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's gelding, to save your longing, sir.

Step. But I ha' no boots, that's the spite on't. Brain. Why, a fine wisp of hay, rolled hard, master Stephen.

Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him now; let him c'en go and hang. Prithee, help to truss me a little. He does so vex me

Brain. You'll be worse vexed, when you are trussed, master Stephen. Best keep unbraced, and walk yourself till you be cold; your choler may founder you else.

Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Brain-worm?

Brain. A very good leg, master Stephen; but the woollen stocking does not commend it so well.

Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough, now summer is coming on, for the dust: I will have a pair of silk against winter, that I go to dwell in

he

Enter Young KNO'WELL.

E. Kno. Ha, ha, ha!

Step. 'Slid! I hope he laughs not at me; an' do—

E. Kno. Here was a letter, indeed, to be intercepted by a man's father! He cannot but think most virtuously both of me and the sender, sure, that make the careful coster-monger of him in our familiar epistles. I wish I knew the end of it, which now is doubtful, and threatens-what! my wise cousin! nay, then, I will furnish our feast with one gull more toward the mess. He writes to me of a brace, and here's one, that's three: O, for a fourth! Fortune! if ever thou❜lt use thine eyes, I entreat thee

Step. O, now I see who he laughs at. He laughs at somebody in that letter. By this good light, an' he had laughed at me—

E. Kno. How now, cousin Stephen, melancholy?

Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laughed at me, cousin.

E. Kno. Why, what an' I had, coz, what would you ha' done?

cle.

Step. By this light, I would ha' told mine un

E. Kno. Nay, if you would ha' told your uncle, I did laugh at you, coz. Step. Did you, indeed ? E. Kuo. Yes, indeed. Step. Why, thenE. Kno, What then?

And I pray

Step. I am satisfied; it is sufficient. E. Kno. Why, be so, gentle coz. you, let me entreat a courtesy of you. I am sent for, this morning, by a friend i' the Old Jewry, to come to him: 'tis but crossing o'er the field to Moor-gate: will you bear me company? I protest, it is not to draw you into bond, or any plot against the state, coz.

Step. Sir, that's all one, an' 'twere; you shall command mc, twice so far as Moor-gate, to do you good, in such a matter. Do you think I would leave you? I protest

E. Kno. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Step. By my fackins, but I will, by your leave; I will protest more to my friend, than I will speak of at this time.

E. Kno. You speak very well, coz.

last night, by a sort of gallants, where you were wished for, and drank to, I assure you..

Mat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain. Bob. Marry, by young Well-bred, and others. Why, hostess! a stool here for this gentleman. Mat. No haste, sir, 'tis very well.

Bob. Body of me! It was so late ere we parted last night, I can scarce open my eyes yet: I was but new risen as you came. How passes the day abroad, sir? can you tell? Mat. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging here, very neat, and private!

Bob. Ay, sir: sit down. I pray you, Master Matthew, in any case, possess no gentleman of our acquaintance with notice of my lodging.

Mat. Who? I, sir? No

Bob. Not that I need to care who know it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard I would not be too popular and generally visited,

as some are.

Mat. True, captain, I conceive you.

Bob. For, do you see, sir, by the heart of valour in me, except it be to some peculiar and choice spirits, to whom I am extraordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so, I could not extend thus far.

Mat. O lord, sir, I resolve so.

[Pulls out a paper, and reads. Bob. I confess, I love a cleanly and quiet privacy, above all the tumult and roar of fortune. What new piece ha' you there? Read it. Mat. [Reads.] To thee, the purest object of

Mat. Troth, captain, and now you speak o' the fashion, Master Well-bred's elder brother and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other day, I happened to enter into some discourse of a hanger, which I assure you, both for fashion and workmanship, was most peremptory-beautiful, and gentleman-like; yet he condemned, and cried it down, for the most pied and ridiculous that ever he saw.

Bob. 'Squire Downright, the half-brother, was't not?

Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright.

Bob. Hang him, rook! He! why, he has no more judgment than a malt-horse. By St. George, I wonder you'd lose a thought upon

such an animal! the most peremptory absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is holden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleman and a soldier, I ne'er changed words with his like. By his discourse, he should cat nothing but hay. He was born for the manger, pannier or packsaddle! He has not so much as a good phrase in his belly, but all old iron and rusty proverbs! a good commodity for some smith to make hobnails of.

Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry it away with his manhood still, where he comes. He brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I hear.

Bob. How! he the bastinado! how came he by that word, trow?

Mat. Nay, indeed, he said cudgel me; I termed it so, for my more grace.

Bob. That may be: for I was sure, it was none of his word. But when? when said he so? Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say: a young gallant, a friend of mine, told me so.

Bob. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' 'twere my case now, I should send him a challenge, presently. The bastinado! A most proper, and sufficient dependence, warranted by the great Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge him. I'll shew you a trick or two, you shall kill him with, at pleasure: the first stoccata, if you will, by this air.

Mat, Indeed, you have absolute knowledge i' the mystery, I have heard, sir.

Bob. Of whom? Of whom ha' you heard it, I beseech you?

Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of by divers, that you have very rare and un-in onebreath-utterable skill, sir.

Bob. By Heaven, no, not I; no skill i' the earth! some small rudiments i' the science, as to know my time, distance, or so. I have profest it more for noblemen and gentlemen's use than mine own practice, I assure you. I'll give you a lesson. Look you, sir. Exalt not your point above this state, at any hand; so, sir. Come on! O, twine your body more about, that you may fall to a more sweet, comely, gentleman-like guard. So, indifferent. Hollow your body more, sir, thus. Now, stand fast o' your left leg; note your distance; keep your due proportion of time

-Oh, you disorder your point most irregularly! Come, put on your cloak, and we'll go to some private place, where you are acquainted; some tavern or so-and have a bit-What money ha' you about you, Master Matthew?

Mat. Faith, I have not past a two shillings, or