A little ignorant, to entertain The good that's proffer'd; and (by your beauty's leave)

Not all so wise as some true politic wife Would be; who having match'd with such a Nupson [face (I speak it with my master's peace) whose Hath left t' accuse him, now, for't doth confess him, [scruple, What you can make him; will yet (out of And a spic'd conscience) defraud the poor gentleman,

At least delay him in the thing he longs for, And makes it his whole study, how to com

You are a stranger to the plot! you see not
Your sawcy Devil here, to tempt your wife,
With all the insolent uncivil language,
Or action, he could vent?

Fit. Did you so, devil?

Mrs. Fit. Not you? you were not planted i' your hole to hear him, Upo' the stairs, or here behind the hangings? I do not know your qualities? he durst do it, And you not give directions?

Fit. You shall see, wife,

Whether he durst or no, and what it was,
I did direct.

[Her husband goes out, and enters presently with a cudgel upon him.

Pug. Sweet mistress, are you mad? Fit. You most mere rogue! you open manifest villain!

You fiend apparent you! you declar'd hellhound!

Fit. Nay, there is one blow more for exercise:

[After a pause he strikes him again.

I told you I should do it.

Pug. Would you had done, sir!

Fit. O wife, the rarest man! (yet there's another [man, wife! To put you in mind o' the last) such a brave Within, he has his projects, and does vent [And again. The gallantest! were you tentiginous! ha? Would be acting of the incubus?

'em

you

Did her silk's rustling move you?

Pug. Gentle sir.

Fit. Out of my sight. not Devil,

If thy name were

[In, Thou should'st not stay a minute with me. Go, yet stay, yet go too. I am resolv'd What I will do, and you shall know't afore

hand.

Soon as the gentleman is gone, do you hear? I'll help your lisping. Wife, such a man, wife! [Devil goes out. He has such plots! he will make me a duke! No less by heaven! six mares to your coach, wife! [man bald, That's your proportion! and your coachBecause he shall be bare enough. Do not

you laugh,

[map,

We are looking for a place, and all, i' the What to be of. Have faith, be not an infidel.

You know I am not easy to be gull'd. I swear, when I have my millions, else I'll make

Another dutchess, if you ha' not faith. Mrs. Fit. You'll ha' too much, I fear, in these false spirits. [mere wit!

Fit. Spirits? O, no such thing, wife; wit, This man defies the devil and all his works! He does't by Engine, and devices, he! He has his winged ploughs, that go with sails, [mills Will plough you forty acres at once! and Will spout you water ten miles off' All Crowland [folk,

Is ours, wife; and the fens, from us, in NorTo the utmost bounds of Lincolnshire! we have view'd it,

And measur'd it within all, by the scale! The richest tract of land, love, i' the kingdom! [millions, There will be made seventeen or eighteen Or more, as't may be handled! wherefore

think,

Sweet-heart, if th' hast a fancy to one place
More than another, to be dutchess of,
Now name it; I will ha't whate'er it cost,
(If't will be had for money) either here,
Or in France, or Italy.

Mrs. Fit. You ha' strange phantasies!

SCENE IV.

Meer-craft, Fitz-dottrel, Engine. Meer. Where are you, sir?

work,

You make the reputation of that greater,
And stay't the longer i' your name.
Fit. "Tis true.

Drown'd-lands will live in drown'd-land!

Meer. Yes, when you

Ha' no foot left; as that must be, sir, one day.
And though it tarry in your heirs some forty,
Fifty descents, the longer liver at last, yet,
Must thrust 'em out on't, if no quirk in law,
Or odd vice o' their own not do it first.
We see those changes daily; the fair lands
That were the clients', are the lawyers' now
And those rich manors there of goodman
[yard

Taylor's,

Had once more wood upon 'em than the By which th' were measur'd out for the last

It was a shrewd disheartning this, at first! Who would ha' thought a woman so well harness'd,

Or rather well caparison'd, indeed, That wears such petticoats, and lace to her smocks,

Broad scaming laces (as I see 'em hang there)
And garters which are lost, if she can shew
'em,
[brave?

Could ha' done this? Hell! why is she so
It cannot be to please duke Dottrel, sure,
Nor the dull pictures in her gallery,
Nor her own dear reflexion in her glass;
Yet that may be: I have known many of

'em

Mrs. Fit. Either he understood him not;
or else,

The fellow was not faithful in delivery
Of what I bade. And, I am justly paid,
That might have made my profit of his ser-
vice,

But by mistaking, have drawn on his envy,
And done the worst defeat upon myself.

[Manly sings; Pug enters and perceives it. How! musick? then he may be there: and is sure.

Pug. O is it so? is there the interview? Have I drawn to you, at least, my cunning lady?

The Devil is an Ass! fool'd off! and beaten!
Nay, made an instrument! and could not
scent it!
[woman,
Well, since you have shewn the malice of a
No less than her true wit and learning, mis-
tress,

I'll try, if little Pug have the malignity
To recompense it, and so save his danger.
'Tis not the pain, but the discredit of it,
The devil should not keep a body entire.
Wit. Away, fall back, she comes.
Man. I leave you, sir,

The master of my chamber. I have business.
Wit. Mistress!

Mrs. Fit. You make me paint, sir.
Wit. They're fair colours, lady, and na

tural! I did receive

[lady, Some commands from you, lately, gentle [This scene is acted at two windows, as out of two contiguous buildings. Put so perplex'd, and wrapt in the delivery, As I may fear to have mis-interpreted: But must make suit still, to be near your

grace.

Mrs. Fit. Who is there with you, sir?
Wit. None but myself.

Eing. It falls out, lacy, to be a dear friend's lodg Wherein there's some conspiracy of fortune With your poor servant's blest affections.

Mrs. Fit. Who was it sung? Wit. He, lady, but he's gone, Upon my entreaty of him, seeing you Approach the window. Neither need you doubt him,

If he were here; he is too much a gentleman. Mrs. Fit. Sir, if you judge me by this

simple action,

And by the outward habit, and complexion Of easiness it hath, to your design;

You may with justice say, I am a woman: And a strange woman. But when you shall please

To bring but that concurrence of my fortune To memory, which to-day yourself did

And rosy hand; he hath the skill to draw Their nectar forth, with kissing; and could make [tory', More wanton salts from this brave promonDown to this valley, than the nimble roe; [Plays with her paps, kisseth her hands, &c. Could play the hopping sparrow 'bout these [groves; And sporting squirrel in these crisped Bury himself in every silk-worm's kell, Is here unravel'd; run into the snare, Which every hair is cast into a curl, To catch a Cupid flying: bathe himself In milk and roses here, and dry him there; Warm his cold hands, to play with this

nets;

smooth, round,

[ball; And well-turn'd chin, as with the billiardRoll on these lips, the banks of love, and

there

At once both plant and gather kisses. Lady, Shall I, with what I've made to-day here, call

Alls nse to wonder, and all faith to sign
The mysteries revealed in your form?
And will love pardon me the blasphemy
I utter'd, when I said, a glass could speak
This beauty, or that fools had power to
judge it?

"Do but look on her eyes! they do light-
"All that love's world compriseth!
"Do but look on her hair! it is bright
"As love's star when it riseth!

"Do but mark, her forehead's smoother "Than words that soothe her! "And from her arched brows, such a grace "Sheds itself through the face; "As alone, there triumphs to the life,

"All the gain, all the good, of the elements strife!

"Have you seen but a bright lily grow, "Before rude hands have touch'd it?

"Have you mark'd but the fall of the snow, "Before the soil hath smutch'd it? "Have you felt the wool of the beaver?

"Or swan's down ever?

"Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier? "Or the nard i' the fire?

"Or have tasted the bag of the bee?

O, so white! O, so soft! O, so sweet is she!

SCENE VII.

Fitz-dottrel, Wittipol, Pug.

[Her husband appears at her back. Fit. Is she so, sir? and I will keep her so, If I know how, or can; that wit of man Will do't, I'll go no farther. At this window She shall no more be buz'd at. Take your leave on't.

If you be sweet-meats, wedlock, or sweet flesh, [you. All's one: I do not love this hum about A fly-blown wife is not so proper: In: For you, you, sir, look to hear from me. [He speaks out of his wife's window. Wit. So I do, sir.

Fit. No, but in other terms. There's no man offers

This to my wife, but pays for't.

Wit. That have I, sir.

Fit. Nay then, I tell you, you are-
Wit. What am I, sir?

Fit. Why, that I'll think on, when I ha'
cut your throat.

Wit. Go, you are an ass.
Fit. I am resolv'd on't, sir.
Wit. I think you are.

Fit. To call you to a reckoning.

Wit. Away, you broker's block, you pro

perty.

Fit. 'Slight, if you strike me, I will strike your mistress.

[He strikes his wife. Wit. O! I could shoot mine eyes at him for that now,

Or leave my teeth in him, were they cuckold's bane,

Enough to kill him. What prodigious, Blind, and most wicked change of fortune's this?

I ha' no air of patience: all my veins Swell, and my sinews start at iniquity of it. I shall break, break.

[The devil speaks below. Pug. This for the malice of it, And my revenge may pass! but now my

conscience

Tells me, I have profited the cause of hell But little, in the breaking off their loves.

Meer. The other month? the week. Thou dost not know the privileges, Engine, Follow that title; nor how swift: to-day, When he has put on his lord's face once, [enough,

then

Fit. Sir, for these things I shall do well There is no fear of me. But then my wife is Such an untoward thing, she'll never learn How to comport with it! I am out of all Conceit, on her behalf.

Meer. Best have her taught, sir.

Fit. Where? are there any schools for ladies? is there

An academy for women? I do know,
For men there was: I learn'd in it myself,
To make my legs, and do my postures.
Eng. Sir,

Do you remember the conceit you had

Latest from thence, and keeps the Spanish habit.

Such a rare woman! all our women here, That are of spirit and fashion, flock unto her, As to their president, their law, their canon; More than they ever did to oracle Foreman. Such rare receipts she has, sir, for the face, Such oils, such tinctures, such pomatums, Such perfumes, med'cines, quintessences, et cætcra;

And such a mistress of behaviour,

She knows from the duke's daughter to the doxey,

What is their due just, and no more!
Fit. O sir!

You please me i' this, more than mine own greatness.

Where is she? Let us have her.
Meer. By your patience,

We must use means, cast how to be acquainted.

Fit. Good sir, about it.

Meer. We must think how, first.
Fit. O!

I do not love to tarry for a thing,

When I have a mind to't. You do not know me,

If you do offer it.

Meer. Your wife must send

[ment,

Some pretty token to her, with a compliAnd pray to be receiv'd in her good graces. All the great ladies do't.

Fit. She shall, she shall.
What were it best to be?
Meer. Some little toy,

I would not have it any great matter, sir:
A diamond-ring of forty or fifty pound
Would do it handsomely, and be a gift
Fit for your wife to send, and her to take.
Fit. I'll go and tell my wife on't straight.
[Fitz-dottrel goes out.

Meer. Why, this Is well! the clothes we have now, but where's this lady?

If we could get a witty boy now, Engine, That were an excellent crack, I could instruct him

To the true height. For any thing takes this Dottrel.

Eng. Why, sir, your best will be one o' the players!

Meer. No, there's no trusting them. They'll talk on't, And tell their poets.

Eng. What if they do? the jest Will brook the stage. But there be some of 'em