Five new playes, (viz.) The madd couple well matcht. Novella. Court begger. City witt. Damoiselle. By Richard Brome.

ACT. I.

SCENE. I.

Carlesse, Wat.

Car.

THou hast delivered my Letter?

Wat.

Yes Sir, to Mr. Saveall your Unkles friend: But hee has stood your friend so long, and so often, to so little purpose in moving your Unkle for you, that he holds it utterly in vaine, to urge him any further, he told me.

Car.

Thou should'st ha' told him, I would not be so answer'd.

Wat.

Yes; and then he would have told me, let your Master take his course.

Car.

Then you should ha' told him again, I have taken all the courses I could, or as any Gentleman can to main∣taine my selfe like one; But all my courses are run out, and I have not breath, nor know any ground whereon to begin a new one, unlesse that thing my Unkle sets me

up againe, nor have I any meanes to attaine to that, but by his Mediation.

Wat.

Then would he ha' told me againe, what all your courses have been. Namely, running into debt by all the wayes can be imagin'd, and cheating by all could be in∣vented, then that the said thing, (as you call it) your Unkle, before he cast you quite off, had redeem'd you out of Prison, and severall holds, within the space of 15. Moneths 14. times.

Car.

That was not once a Moneth then, or if it had, what had that been to him? 'twas I that suffer'd, thou shouldst ha' told him, not he.

Wat.

Hee would ha' told me then againe, That seve∣rall Redemptions, cost your Unkle at least 2000 l. And that upon your last revolt when he quite gave you over for a cast-away, two yeares since, he cast the third thou∣sand with you, upon condition never to afflict him more. And then he Married in hope to get an heire.

Car.

I that Marrying spoy'ld all.

Wat.

Because you should not after his death cast away all the rest of the thousands, and ten thousands which you might have liv'd to inherit, if your Unkles love or Mr. Savealls counsell could have prevay'd with you against the Divill, and Debauchednes.

Car.

Pox on't, let it all goe, let that wretched Unkle goe, and let Saveall goe for a punctuall asse as hee is. I confesse he has by his saving helpe peec'd mee with my Unkle a score of times at least. What had once more been to him?

Wat.

Sir, it were better for you to thinke upon some course by our selfe, and me your Creature (that have stuck to you, or followed you through all fortunes) to maintaine Rich Lace, and Bravery upon you. And thinke in time too before this be worne out, upon some new wayes for your supplies—

Car.

I cannot, nor will I trouble my braines to thinke of any, I will rather die here in Ram alley, or walk down to the Temple, and lay my selfe down alive, in the old Synagogue, cross-leg'd among the Monumentall Knights there, till I turne Marble with'em. Thinke quoth a •• what should I think on?

Wat.

On your poor Whore Sir (as you have brought her) shee's in worse case then your selfe; your Cloaths are good enough—

Car.

I ther's the Devill. I would doe something for her if I knew how. But what have I not done that can be done by a forlorn heire?

Wat.

Why though the Dice, and all other Household games, and all the Cheats belonging unto them have fayld you by your and their discoveries, till none dare venture so neare you as a Man hu••les a Die or Skirrs a Card. Though all your hidden wayes in Hide-parke races are trod out, and all your bowling booties beaten bare off o' the Grounds and Allies; and the sweete Honey-combes of all your Cockpit cosenages cut off. Though all your Arts of borowing are crost out of all Mens Bookes before you offer at 'em, while your old Debts stand fairely written, and all your Marts miscarry of putting out for credit, Venison to Citizens, or early Cherries, Codlings and Apricocks to their Wives availe you nothing, cannot something yet be found?

Car.

Nothing, nothing. All Projects are confounded.

Wat.

Did your Father leave you nothing but wit to live upon for this? And did hee leave you that but for yeares, and not for Life? and is the terme ex∣pir'd?

Car.

Hold thy peace. I am casting for something to be done by me, that shall be worth, and cost my life, to shame my Unkle.

Wat.

There's a plot! Think of your poore whore Sir,

how shall she live, if you cast away your selfe?

Car.

I must leave her once thou knowst.

Wat.

If you could leave her now, and betake your selfe handsomely to other Women, I have thought on a course.

Car.

What, quickly, what ist?

Wat.

To set up a Male bawdy house.

Car.

Fy upon'••.

Wat.

You are handsome, lovely, and I thinke able to do one Mans worke, two or three such Gentlemen more which I know, and can describe to you, with the wayes I'le finde to bring in custome shall fill your purses—

Car.

And empt our bones. I ever had enough of one Mistris Variety would destroy me. No Gentlemen can be able to hold it out. They are too weake to make com∣mon He whores.

Wat.

For a little while Sir, till we have got a stock of rich cloathes; And then we will put Drey-men, and Wine∣porters, Cornish Wrastlers & such like into those cloaths; and make them Country Cavaliers. Have you not seen course snowt-faire drudges, clapt into bravery, that would doe more bodily service in a Brothell then twenty Ladies Daughters? They are the Game-beares of a Bawdy-house, can play ten single courses for a cleane-bred Gentle-wo∣mans one, wee will hire fellowes for groates a peece a day, that shall (without the additaments of Clary, Cawdle or Cock-broth) get us forty peeces a Man before Night, or perhaps a hundred by next Morning, out of such shee▪ customers, as an Aunt of mine shall finde ou•• for us.

Car.

O base Villaine! No I'le never fall so deep below a Gentleman, as to be Master of a Baudy-house.

Wat.

Very good decay'd Gentlemen have done a much; though I urge this, but for your pastime sir.

Car.

No my first plot shall stand, I will do some no∣torious death-deserving thing (though these cloaths goe to th'Hangman for't, what care I) in defiance of him that was my Unkle, and his Methodicall, Grave, and Ortho∣graphicall speaking friend, Mr. Saveall that cals People Pe-o-ple.

Enter Saveall.

O Mr. Saveall how have you honord mee, how am I bound to you for this visit! Sir hearing that my Unkle was come to Town, and you with him, I did pre∣sume to write to you.

Sav.

Send forth your Man.

Car.

Goe forth—

Exit Wat.

Sav.

One Servant is not fit for all Offices, although you keepe no more; you presumed indeed, I can no lesse then call it a presumption, although it were but unto mee you write; I speak not this in the behalfe of any dignity in me; but that you should overweene that I had ability to wrastle any more with your overgratefull Unkle in your behalfe. Therein was your outrecuidance.

Car.

The miserablest Man on Earth! in having we••∣ried out my worthiest friend, on whom the sum of all my hopes was cast.

Sav.

No, I am not wearied; But still in the same full strength: yet my modesty disswadeth mee from using strength above reason, and my reason prevaileth with me not to strive against a Torrent.

Car.

He is then inexorable, and I must perish. But did you try him for me this last time?

Sav.

I have both tryed, and tempted him to his vexation.

Car.

But did you urge that pious act of mine Which he once vow'd should never be forgot, O•• unrewarded by him?

Sav.

Your standing upon merit in that Act Perplexeth nature in him, and confounds

Both your desert, and his benevolence, And now since you have urged it, I'le tell you, Your Act was undenyable, most noble, And glorious in a Nephew, greater piety Could not have been expected in a Sonne: When from the Swords of Theeves and Murderers, Your valor rescued him—But—

Car.

I and my Man I'me sure made four of the stowtest purses fly for't, that ever set our Country o' the skore: After they had him downe, and their points at his brest and throat, hee crying out for helpe, when I came on by chance at a time too when I was in his displeasure, nay he hated mee a whole yeare together before that, and yet I did it, and more then so—

Sav.

Fare you well Sir, I thought to have said all this for you, and more then so too. But—

Car.

Nay sweet Mr. Saveall—

Sav.

Good Mr. Carelesse, as I can hear I would be heard sometimes.

Car.

Ind••ed I cry you mercy, pray sir speake.

Sav.

I was commending of your act, and do so still. You did expresse your selfe in blood and nature A perfect Kinsman; and your piety Drew blessings on you: for whereas before Your Unkle left you off to Reprobation, He then receives you a Son, (being his Sisters.) Adopted you, intended you his heire, And out of his Estate then presently Allowed you two hundred pounds per annum, And gave your Man for what he suffered In the confl••ct an hundred Marks—

Car.

Poore Rogue! and he deserv'd it, I'le be sworne for a Theeves marke that he receiv'd; a cut o' the Cocks∣combe that crackt his skull, so that ••ee could never bear his drinke since, as hee could ha' done before. For sir, as we

came in, I having put by the thrusts of three of 'em, the fourth man with a full blow—

Sav.

Fare you well Sir the second time—

Car.

Nay curteous Mr. Saveall.

Sav.

I came to speake not with you altogether, but unto you for to be heard.

Car.

Sir I will heare you with all due respect.

Sav.

Your Unkle having done so gratefully, and so plentifully for you. You building still on merit for that service, Did hold him so fast bound that you presumed To run upon more extravagancies In all the out-wayes of debauchery, Till for the one good deed you did for him He did you forty, in restoring you From Surfets, Wants, Wounds and Imprisonments, Till overborne with charge, and more with anguish, At your outragious, unexampled Riots, Hee gave you an irrevocable farewell, yet then at your departure.—

Car.

Yet then I liv'd and could have done till now, meerly by being his Nephew, and suppos'd his heire, had not he married; but his Marriage turnd the hearts of all believing Citizens from me, where before a Taylor could have made mee run through all the credit i' the Town, When in a sute Chinquant, and Ala-mode They could informe themselves, whose heire I was, But to say truth I vex'd him into Wed-lock, for before he valud not a Wife at a batchelors Button.

Sav.

Farewell to you the third time.

Car.

Sir, you shall see mee die first, and that instantly; That you may tell my Uncle I'le be no more his trouble, or charge, unlesse in charity hee'l send to bury me.

Sav.

You will not desperately work a violent end up∣on your selfe?

Car.

No Sir, the D••vills not so great with mee; but my heart, I feele it ready to breake. My Unkle is no more my Unkle, nor you my friend, all by my own fau••t, and what should I do here, but in to my Bed, and out o' the World presently. Wat. Wat.

Enter Wat.

I here Sir!

Sav.

I have dalyed too long, and tempted him too far I feare.

Car.

Lay down my Bed.

Wat.

Your Wench is come indeed, but I hope you will not to bed before he be gone.

Car.

Lay down my bed I say. But first unbutton me.

Wat.

Lord how his heart beats! pangs of death I fear.

Sav.

Not so I hope. I will now come to the point Sir, Mr. Carelesse be comforted.

Car.

I am, and well resolv'd, I thanke my better Angell.

Sav.

Your Unkle's friends with you.

Car.

Alas, how can that be?

Sav.

I thought your spirit had been higher.

Car.

It will be Sir anon, I hope.

Sav.

I have but dallied with you to search your temper.

Wat.

But you have searched too deep I feare sir.

Car.

Ah!—

Sav.

Your Unkle is friends with you, I say so farre as to make a further tryall of your nature, you may be yet his heire; for your Aunt despaireth of any Child by him, having fruitlesly been married now these two years.

Car.

Ah!—But good Sir, can this be?

Sav.

It is, and I will bring you to him. And see that all be well.

Car.

Your noble friendship hath reviv'd me sir, O run and fetch my cloake.

Enter Wat with his Cloake.

Tell Phebe I cannot stay to give her any satisfaction now, I must go see my Unkle first.

Exit Wat.

Sav.

Poore Gentleman, how weakly he standeth! The sight of his Unkle will recover him. Come Mr. Careless let us goe.

Car.

Sir what do you thinke if I should first according to the reformation of my mind cut off my undecent hair, and change this garish apparrell for a civill well worne Students sute, I can be fitted presently hard by.

Sav.

No, the mind reformed is enough, your habit well becometh you.

Exit.

Wat.

Now Wit and't be thy will go with him. And I hope this will be his last hot fit of the Unkle.

Enter Phebe.

Phe.

Your Masters gone forth it seemes.

Wat.

Cal'd by his fortune, hee is so.

Phe.

Shuns he the sight of me? i'le overtake him.

Wat.

O your patience sweete Mistris Phebe, a little patience.

Hee's gone to be happy, and to make you happy. I dare promise you a Sattin Gowen within this sea'night.

Phe.

For let me tell thee Mistris Phebe bright Hee's reconciled to his Unkle Knight.

Away Pimpe, Flamsted, I came to be serious with him, to let him know the miseries I suffer, by the wrongs hee has done mee, and that I can nor will no longer beare 'em.

Wat.

Nor him neither will you? Take heede what you say Madam Marion▪

Phe.

No nor him neither, you pandarly Parasite, till ••e make his vowes good, and me an honest Woman.

Wat.

Birlady, a shrewd taske, and I fear an impossible worke.

Phe.

Sirra, I will claw your ugly Face till thou under∣tak'st it with him, to make it easie.

Wat.

Hold, hold, I'le doe you all the good I can,

Phe.

O will you so?

Wat.

How desperatly valiant a Whore growes, when she is so poore that her cloathes feare no tearing.

But by what meanes can you hope to bring this worke about?

Phe.

You know I have a wealthy Kinsman in the City.

Wat.

O Mr. Saleware, and he has a Wife too that bears it up bravely.

Phe.

Pimpe impudent, shall I claw your Face into blushes at my injuryes, to be mockt out of my Mayden∣head, when I was upon a good Match in the Countrey; Then with a promise of Marriage, to be intic'd from my friends into fooles Paradice (that was a new title for the City) and here to be used, and abused from Lodging to Lodging, by him that now flies me, for the decayes hee hath brought mee to? But my Kinsman has money though I have none, and for money there is Law to be found, and in a just cause he will not let me sink, he sayes: for I have told him all.

Wat.

But not the how many times, the whens, the where's, and the wherewithalls, I hope have you?

Phe.

Sirrah, I shall shew you and your Master too a way to more civility, since I am thus abused, and slighted.

Wat.

You have schoold mee handsomely, and brought mee into sense of your injuries: you have beene over∣wrong'd, but not over-wrought, nor over-worne, you doe excell in Beauty, Strength and Spirit, which makes you in your very anger now appeare so lovely, that I professe my selfe your Creature. What would a kisse of this faire Hand now make mee do, and of those Lipps what not?

Shee strikes him.

Phe.

Away you Creature.

Wat.

Leave these temptations; doe not strike me too deeply in love with you.

Phe.

Away you Creature.

Wat.

'Tis true I am your Creature, as I am my Masters; And sometimes the serving Creature, breakes his fast with a bit off the Spit before the same meat is serv'd up to his Masters table, but is never denyed to Diue upon his Ma∣sters leavings, you cannot thinke what an appetite that frown gives me.

Phe.

You are no saucy Rascall.

Wat.

Good wit too! My appetit•• needs no Sauce; nor shall you need to make use of Law, or Friend against my Master, but my selfe.

Phe.

You!

Wat.

Be rul'd by me, if I doe not lay you downe, and joyne with you presently in a course that shall content you, then—hang me Lady at your doore.—

Phe.

What doe you meane?

Wat.

In the next roome we shall finde Pen, Inke and Paper, you shall write him such a Letter (as I will dictate to you) that shall so nettle him.

Phe.

Nay I did intend to leave him part of my mind in writting before I went.—

Enter Saleware.

Ph.

O Cosen, I want you.—

Wat.

A pox of this interupting Cuckold, hee hinders all Trading, but his Wives, zownds I was going with full speed a Tilt, as the learned say, had not this horne-head come, we had writ lines together should have put down Her•• and Leander—

Harke you Mistris Phebe, is this your Kinsman that you told me, you had told all the businesse to?

Sale.

Yes, sir, I am the Gentleman, and shee has told me so much, Sir that I must tell you, to tell your Master from mee, and as I would tell him my selfe if hee were here personally present, hee is a most dishonest Gentle∣man if he doe her not lawfull right by Marrying her; and

that right I came to demand, and obtaine of him, or to denounce the Law against him.

Wat.

How happy are you, that you came short to tell him so, else hee would ha•• so beaten you, as never was Citizen beaten, since the great Battaile of Finsbury-Field.

Sal.

Your great words cannot make▪ mee feare his blowes (I am not dasht nor basht) nor crosse him out of my Booke, for feare of any such payment. I have him there for foure score pound as you know, though you are pleas'd to forget mee, But Sapientia mea mihi stultitia tua tibi.

Wat.

Cry mercy Mr. Saleware, is it you? I hope Mi∣stris Saleware is well, your most exquisite, and most court∣ly wife; the Flower-de-luce of the City.

Sal.

Well wag well, you must not now put me off with my wife, shee's well and much respected; I come to speake of, and for my distressed Kinswoman, her whom your wicked Master has most wickedly dealt withall. Hee has deflower'd and deluc'd her, and led her from her Friends, and out of her Countrey into Fooles Pa∣radice—By making her believe he would Marry her, and here he has put her on, and put her off, with hopes and delayes till shee is come to both woe and want; And (which may prove her most affliction, if hee be suffered to forsake her) shee is with child by him.

Wat.

Say you so, Mistris Phebe? here's small shew of it yet.

Pre.

Sirrah, I shall shew you and your Master too a way to more civility, if I be thus abused and slighted.

Wat.

By the way Mr. Saleware, how many children have you by your most amiable wife?

Sal.

Sir, that needs not to fall by the way of our dis∣course.

Wat.

But by the way I speake of getting children. Or

I pray tell me, did not you correct one of her children once, for which your wife reprehended you, and bad you correct your own? And how then shall my Master be sure that this (if it be one) is his?

Sal.

What an Asinego's this? I shall finde a time sir, to talke with your Master. In the meane time I tell you that my Kinsewoman is a Gentlewoman of as good blood as himself, and of the best in Herefordshire.

Wat.

Yes, Welsh-blood.

Sal.

And shall find friends that shall not see her abus'd by you nor him. There is Law to be found for money, and money to be found for Friends, and Friends to be found in the Arches, and so tell your Master, come away Cosen.

Wat.

But one word before you goe Sir, is this Gentle∣woman, (who was but a Countrey Chamber-maide when my Master tooke her to his mercy) of such boasted blood, your Cozen by your owne, or by your Wives side I pray?

Sal.

Sirrah, like a saucy companion as you are, though you meddle with me that am a Common-councell-Man; I charge you meddle not with my wife, you have had two or three jerks at her.

Wat.

I was warn'd before Sir, in my own understand∣ing: for she is for great persons.

Sal.

Then know your distance Sir.

Wat.

Yet give me leave to wait you down Sir, cud shoe did it tell it Kinseman that it is got with Champkin.

Phe.

You are a Pandarly Rascall, and I'le be a terror both to you, and your Patron.

Exit omnes.

Enter Thrivewell, Lady.

Thr.

How can you thinke so?

La.

Thinke! I see't apparently upon your Face, and heare it in your sighes, your broken sleepes to night, when your owne groanes wak'd you, declard no lesse;

But had I had the power of some wifes with their hus∣bands I could have fetch'd it out of you waking once (•• thanke you) you tooke me in your arme, but when you found 'twas I you turn'd away as in a dreame.

Thr.

Sure you dreame now, whence can this talke pro∣ceed else?

La.

I must not give it over till I know the cause of your melancholly fit, doe you doubt my duty, or my loyalty? perhaps you do, and so make me the cause of your affliction.

Thr.

May such a thought within mee, stick mee to the endlesse torments.

La.

'Tis lately entertained, what e're it be; you came heart whole to Town, and Joviall. Ha' you been drawn for security into Bonds by any of my friends, for great summs, and forc'd to pay 'em?

Thr▪

Fie, fie.

La.

Are any great friends of yours in question, attaint∣ed, imprisoned, or run away?

Thr.

Psewh.

La.

Or are you further griev'd about your Nephew, Carelesse? I thought that your friend Saveall, and my selfe had made his peace with you; and that you had sent for him, do you repent that?

Thr.

No, no, sweete heart, hee shall be welcome. And pray let me intreate you make no further inquisition; If (as you suppose) there be a trouble in my thoughts, I shall soon passe it over.

La.

Tell me, or I shall prove the greater trouble. I would those few examples of women, that could not keepe their husbands counsells had beene burnt, and the woman too rather then I should be distrusted thus, and slighted by a Husband—

Thr.

Nay then you'l grieve me indeed.

La.

There has beene many examples of discreet wo∣men

that have not onely kept their husbands councells, but advise and help 'em in extremities, and deliver'd 'em out of dangers.

Thr.

I pray content your selfe.

La.

Be you content to tell me then what troubles you. And I pray you tell mee speedily, now presently; or (excuse me in my vow,) it is the last request that ever I will make to you, and the last question I'le ever aske you, and (the easier to get it from you) I promise you by the continuance of my faith to you (which by this kisse I seale) Be it a deadly injury to my selfe, I will for∣give it freely; not be troubled at it.

Thr.

I shall do that now, which few wise men would. But shee's discreet, and has a fortitude Above the boast of women; should that faile, And this too weighty knowledge for a wife Should prove a torment to her, I'm excus'd Shee pulls it on her selfe, and for Revenge Should she against her protestation move it, I am enough above her.

La.

You are resolv'd it seems to keepe your secret Unto your selfe, much good Sir may it doe you.

Thr.

No, you shall know it, sir, and (if unshaken Now, in your love to me) the wonder of all wives Y'are bound by a faire pledge, the kisse you gave me, To be unmov'd, and to forgive it though It be a deadly injury to your self; It is, and 'tis a great one; and so great But that you have seald my pardon, the hid knowledge Of it should feed upon my Heart, and Liver, Till life were banish'd thence, rather then pull Your just revenge upon me; yet you frown not! But before I declare it to your Justice, Let me renew your mercy.

Kisse.

And on this Altar, which I have prophan'd

While it breath'd sacred incence, now with penitence Offer religious vowes, never to violate My Faith or Love to you againe. One more

Kisse.

Before you heare it: for if then you stand not Firme to your Mercy, it must be my last.

La.

What do you but violate your Love to mee, Now in your most unjust suspition?

Thr.

I'le trespasse so no more; yet many husbands (I wish they had my sorrow, and no lesse Purposer to reformation) wrong their wives.

La.

Leave these perambulations; to the point: You have unlawfully lyen with some woman!

Thr.

'Tis said; and now your doome.

La.

Ha, ha, ha. Here's a busiesse! Would somebody heard you faith: nay of five hundred That now might overheare us (I meane not only Gallants, but grave substantiall Gentlemen) Could be pick'd out a twelve good men and true, To finde you guilty, I would then condemne you, But such a Jury must be pannell'd first.

Thr.

And can you be so mild? then farwell thought.

La.

Thought of your Mistris Sir, And then farwell My jealousy, for let me tell you Sir, That I have had an ache upon these browes Since your last being in Town. And since you have dealt So faithfully as to tell me it is one, (There's no more, is there?)

Thr.

No upon my vow.

La.

Name me the woman: if it be the same That I suspect, I'le never suspect more.

Thr.

As faithfully as to my Confessor;

Light weight▪

Saleware my Silke-mans wife.

La.

The same I meant, Y'are a faire dealing husband. On what condition? Come this is merry talke. Prithee on what condition?

Only to bring good custome to her shop, And send her husband Venison (flesh for flesh) I did observe you bought all there last terme, And wish'd me to her Shop, and Mr. Saveall With divers others to bestow our monies. Troth shee's a handsome one; Prithee on what con∣ditions?

Thr.

Thou shalt know all to purge me of my folly.

La.

Well said.

Thr.

After a costly, and a tedious Sute With many an answer no, and no such Woman, At length shee yeilds for a hundred pieces; Had 'em, and I enjoy'd her once.

La.

That was, When you last Terme sat up all Night, and said you sat up with the three Lady Gamesters.

Thr.

It is confess'd.

La.

Faire dealing still.

Thr.

But here was the foule dealing, and for which I hate her now: I having paid so great a fine, and Tane possession thought after to deale Rent-free.

La.

A Pepper-corne a quarter, if shee be Pepper∣proofe.

Thr.

But shee at my very next approach, which was but yesterday denyes me Egresse, except I make it a new purchase at the same former rate, and so for all times after.

La.

Troth 'tis unreasonable, a hundred pound a time? How rich would Citizens be, if their wives were all so paid, and how poore the Court and Country! But husht, here comes Mr. Saveall with your Nephew, I take it; A handsome Gentleman, could hee be so de∣bauch'd?

Enter Saveall, Carelesse.

Sav.

Sir, I have brought you home a Reformado▪

and doe intreat (for what I have said unto him, and he hath fairely answered unto me) that words may not by you be multiplied.

Thr.

Not a word of unkindnesse, Nephew, you are welcome, give me your hand. George, thou art welcome.

Car.

I shall be George o' horse-back once more I see. In all humility I thanke you Sir.

Thr.

Nay now thou speakest, and look'st too tamely George, I would have thee keepe and use the lively spirit that thou hadst, but not to let it flie at randome, as it has done George.

Car.

Sir, I have learnt now by the inconveniences I have met with, in those extravagant out fl••ghes, the better to containe it within the limits of your leave, and faire allowance hereafter.

Thr.

Well said, and againe welcome George. But (and this you shall give me leave to say Mr. Saveall) I remit your thanks for any inclination I had towards this re∣concilement till I doe you some further kindnesse; only you had good advocates, who pleaded friendly for you, Mr. Saveall, and your Aunt there before she ever saw you whom you may thanke.

Car.

A man must be so tied now.

Thr.

Pray take notice of her.

Car.

I cannot use respect enough Sir.

Thr.

I like that modesty.

Sav.

Doubt him in nothing, for he is come home.

Car.

Madam as you are my gracious Patronesse, and my selfe so all unworthy, my duty checks me in my ap∣proach to you.

La.

You are the more intirely welcome Cosen.

Kisse.

Car.

Shee Kisses like an old mans wife, That is, as a Child late sterv'd at Nurse, sucks a fresh flowing Breast.

La.

You must not Sir be bashfull.

Car.

'Twill lesse become mee to presume good Ma∣dam.

Thr.

George, here's a Lodging for you in this house, and my Table has a place for you, send for your man to wait upon you.

Ha' you Wat still?

Car.

Yes Sir, an honest true hearted civill fellow he is, as I have manag'd him, he can say grace now.

Thr.

The world's well mended. To morrow you shall give me a note of your debts George, which I'le take or∣der for, if I may presume you have any.

Car.

Some driblets Sir, My credit has not lately wrong'd me much.

Sav.

You speake sententiously, for credit sought With Trades-men, then their wares are dearer bought; So Gentlemen are wronged.

Thr.

Then not to wrong our selves, lets in to Dance.

Exeunt omnes.