Act. 1. Scaen. 5.
Cutter, Dogrel, Lucia.
I'll leave him alone with you, that you may have the better sport: he'll not shew half his tricks before me. I think I ha' spoil'd his markets. Now will I stand behinde the hangings, and hear how she abuses him. I know by her eye she loves me. Cutter, thou'rt blest
Exit.
Dog.
Fairer, O fairer then the Lilly,
Then Primerose fair, or Daffa• illy;
Less red then thy cheeks the Rose is,
When the Spring it doth disclose his
Leaves; thy eyes put down the star-light;
When they shine, we see afar—light.
O these eyes do wound my heart
With pretty little Cupids dart;
Wounded I am with deadly smart;
The pain raigns in every part.
Draw me as horses draw a Cart.
O that I had Rhetoricks art—impart-sart-mart-start.
To move thee; for I would not start
Till I—
Luc.
Take heed, Sir, you'll be out of breath anon.
Y'ha' done enough for any honest Poet.
Dog.
Fairest nymph, I swear to thee,
The later part was made ex tempore?
Not a bit of prose goes down with me.
Luc.
(I must know't.)
May I be so bold as to enquire of you
Your friends name that was here; he seems to be
A man of worth and quality.
Cut.
That's I again. If whoring, drinking, cheating, poverty and cowardice be qualities, he's one of the best qualified men in the Christian world.
Luc.
He's a great traveller.
Dog.
In suburbs and by-lanes; he never heard a gun but in Moor-fields or Finsbury at a mustering▪ and quak'd then as if they had been the Spaniards: I•ll undertake a Pot-gun shall dismay him
Dog.
Those breeches he wears, and his hat, I gave him: till then, he went like a Pa∣per-mill all in rags, and like some old statue in a ruin'd Abbey. About a month ago, you might ha' seen him peep out at a grate, and cry, Kinde merciful Gentlemen, for the Lords sake, poor prisoners undone by sur••tish•p, and the like.
Cut.
Contain thy self▪ great spirit; keep in a while.
Dog.
We call him Colonel in an humour onely. The furniture of his chamber (for now, at mine and some other Gentlemens charges, he has got one) is half a chair, and an earthen chamber-pot, the bottom of an inkhorn for a candlestick, and a dozen of little gally-pots with salve in 'um; for he has more diseases—
Cut.
I can endure no longer.
Enters.
Dogrel, thou lyest; there's my glove; meet me an hour hence.
Dog.
And there's mine. I'll put a good face on't; he dares not fight, I•m sure.
Cut.
Two hours hence
Expect the Saracens head; I'll do't, by hea∣vens.
Though hills were set on hills, and seas met seas, to guard thee,
I'd reach thy head, thy head, proud Dogrel.
Exit.
Luc.
Nay, y'are both even: just such an ex'lent character
He did bestow on you. Why thou vile wretch
Go to the stews, the gaole, seek there a wife;
Thou'lt finde none there but such as will scorn thee.
Was thy opinion of my birth or fortune,
My chastity or beauty (which I willingly
Confess to be but small) so poor and lowe,
That thou couldst think thy self a match for me?
I•ll sooner marry with my grave; for thou
Art worser dirt then that. See me no more.
Exit.
Dog.
Scorn'd by a mistress? with a friend to sight?
Hence, lighter Oder; I'll biting Satyrs write.
Exit.
