To urge you or to drown or hang yourself;
I'll do the like to him, if you command me.

Well. You are a rascal! he that dares be false To a master, though unjust, will ne'er be true To any other. Look not for reward

Or favour from me; I will shun thy sight
As I would do a basilisk's: thank my pity,..

If thou keep thy ears: howe'er, I will take order
Your practice shall be silenced.

Greedy. I'll commit him,

If you will have me, sir.

Welt. That were to little purpose;

His conscience be his prison. Not a word,
But instantly be gone.

Ord. Take this kick with you.

Amb. And this.

Furn. If that I had my cleaver here,

I would divide your knave's head.

Mar. This is the haven

False servants still arrive at.

Re-enter OVERREACII.

Lady. Come again!

Lov. Fear not, I am your guard.
Well. His looks are ghastly.

Are friends and servants? Say they were a squadron Of pikes, lined through with shot, when I am mounted

Upon my injuries, shall I fear to charge them?
No: I'll through the battalia, and, that routed,
[Flourishing his sword sheathed.
I'll fall to execution.-Ha! I am feeble:
Some undone widow sits upon mine arm,
And takes away the use of't! and my sword,
Glewed to my scabbard with wronged orphans'
tears,

Will not be drawn. Ha! what are these? Sure, hangmen,

That come to bind my hands, and then to drag

me

Before the judgment-seat.-Now they are new shapes,

And do appear like furies, with steel whips,
To scourge my ulcerous soul! Shall I then fall
Ingloriously, and yield? No: spite of fate,
I will be forced to hell like to myself;
Though you were legions of accursed spirits,
Thus would I fly among you.-

[Rushes forward

Well. There's no help;
Disarm him first, then bind him.
Greedy. Take a mittimus,
And carry him to Bedlam.
Lov. How he foams!

Weil. And bites the earth!
Welldo. Carry him to some dark room,
There try what art can do for his recovery.
Marg. Oh, my dear father!

[They force OVER. off. All. You must be patient, mistress.

Lov. Here is a precedent to teach wicked men, That, when we leave religion, and turn atheists, Their own abilities leave them. Pray you take [To MARG.

comfort.

I will endeavour you shall be his guardians
In his distraction: and for your land, Master
Wellborn,

Be it good or ill in law, I'll be an umpire
Between you and this the undoubted heir
Of Sir Giles Overreach; for me, here's the
anchor

Welldo. Some little time I have spent, under your favours,

In physical studies, and if my judgment err not, He's mad beyond recovery: but observe him, And look to yourselves.

Over. Why, is not the whole world Included in myself? to what use then

And payment of my debts, that I must practise.
I had a reputation, but 'twas lost
In my loose course; and, till I redeem it
Some noble way, I am but half made up.
It is a time of action; if your lordship
Will please to confer a company upon me,
In your command, I doubt not, in my service
To my king and country, but I shall do some-

thing

That may make me right again. Lov. Your suit is granted, And you loved for the motion.

Well. Nothing wants, then, [To the Audience. But your allowance-and, in that, our all Is comprehended; it being known, nor we, Nor he that wrote the comedy, can be free Without your manumission; which, if you Grant willingly, as a fair favour due

The poet's and our labours, as you may, (For we despair not, gentlemen, of the play) We jointly shall profess your grace hath might To teach as action, and him how to write. [Exeunt omnes.

BY

To cheat the most judicious eyes, there be
Ways in all trades, but this of poetry;
Your tradesman shews his ware by some false
light,

To hide the faults and slightness from your sight;
Nay, though 'tis full of bracks, he'll boldly swear
'Tis excellent, and so help off his ware;
He'll rule your judgment by his confidence,
Which in a poet you'd call impudence;
Nay, if the world afford the like again,
He swears he'll give it you for nothing then.

Those are words too a poet dares not say;
Let it be good or bad, you're sure to pay.
-Would 'twere a penn'worth;-but in this
you are

Abler to judge than he that made the ware;
However, his design was well enough;
He try'd to shew some newer-fashion'd stuff:
Not that the name Committee can be new;
That has been too well known to most of you:
But you may smile, for you have past your doom;
The poet dares not,-his is still to come.

SCENE I.

Enter Mrs DAY, brushing her hoods and scarfs, Mrs ARBELLA, Mrs RUTH, Colonel BLUNT, and a Stage-coachman.

Mrs Day. Now, out upon't, how dusty 'tis All things consider'd, 'tis better travelling in the winter, especially for us of the better sort, that ride in coaches. And yet, to say truth, warm weather is both pleasant and comfortable: 'tis a thousand pities that fair weather should do any hurt.-Well said, honest coachman, thou hast done thy part! My son Abel paid for my place at Reading; did he not?

Coach. Yes, an't please you.

Mrs Day. Well, there's something extraordinary, to make thee drink.

Coach. By my whip, 'tis a groat of more than ordinary thinness.-Plague on this new gentry, how liberal they are. [Aside.] Farewell, young mistress; farewell, gentlemen. Pray, when you come by Reading, let Toby carry you. [Exit. Mrs Day. Why, how now, Mrs Arbella! What, sad! Why, what's the matter?

Arb. I am not very sad.

Mrs Day. Nay, by my honour, you need not, if you knew as much as I. Well-I'll tell you one thing; you are well enough; you need not fear, whoever does; say I told do you so-if you not hurt yourself; for as cunning as he is, and let him be as cunning as he will, I can see, with half an eye, that my son Abel means to take care of you in your composition, and will needs have you his guest. Ruth and you shall be bedfollows. I warrant, that same Abel many and many a time will wish his sister's place; or else his father ne'er got him—Though I say it, that should not say it, yet I do say it—'tis a notable fellow

Arb. I am fallen into strange hands, if they prove as busy as her tongue. [Aside. Mrs Day. And now you talk of this same Abel, I tell you but one thing:-I wonder that neither he nor my husband's honour's chief clerk, Obadiah, is not here ready to attend me. I dare warrant my son Abel has been here two hours before us; 'tis the veriest Princox; he will ever be gallopping, and yet he is not full oneand-twenty, for all his appearances. He never

stole this trick of gallopping; his father was just such another before him, and would gallop with the best of 'em: he and Mrs Busie's husband were counted the best horsemen in Readingay, and Berkshire to boot. I have rode formerly behind Mr Busie, but in truth I cannot now enplure to travel but in a coach; my own is at pre

sent in disorder, and so I was fain to shift in this;-but I warrant you, if his honour, Mr Day, chairman of the honourable committee of sequestrations, should know that his wife rode in a stage-coach, he would make the house too hot for some. Why, how is't with you, sir? What, weary of your journey? [To the Colonel.

Blunt. Her tongue will never tire. [Aside.]— So many, mistress, riding in the coach, has a little distemper'd me with heat.

Mrs Day. So many, sir! why there were but six-What would you say if I should tell you that I was one of eleven that travell'd at one time in one coach?

Blunt. O, the devil! I have given her a new theme. [Aside. Mrs Day. Why, I'll tell you-Can you guess how 'twas?

Blunt. Not I, truly. But 'tis no matter, I do believe it.

Mrs Day. Look you, thus it was: there was, in the first place, myself, and my husband I should have said first, but his honour would have pardon'd me if he had heard me; Mr Busie that I told you of, and his wife; the mayor of Reading and his wife; and this Ruth that you see there, in one of our laps-but now, where do you think the rest were?

Blunt. A top o' th' coach, sure.

Mrs Day. Nay, I durst swear you would never guess-why-would you think it; I had two growing in my belly, Mrs Busie one in hers, and Mrs Mayoress of Reading a chopping boy, as it proved afterwards, in hers, as like the father as if it had been spit out of his mouth; and if he had come out of his mouth, he had come out of as honest a man's mouth as any in forty miles of the head of him: for, would you think it? at the very same time, when this same Ruth was sick, it being the first time the girl was ever coach'd, the good man, Mr Mayor, I mean, that I spoke of, held his hat for the girl to ease her stomach in.

Enter ABEL and OBADIAH.

-O, are you come? Long look'd for comes at last. What-you have a slow, set pace, as well as your hasty scribble, sometimes. Did you not think it fit that I should have found attendance ready for me when I alighted?

Ob. I ask your honour's pardon; for I do profess unto your ladyship, I had attended sooner, but that his young honour, Mr Abel, demurr'd me by his delays.

Mrs Day. Well, son Abel, you must be obey'd; and I partly, if not quite, guess your business; providing for the entertainment of one I have

in my eye. Read her and take her.———Ah, is't not so?

Abel. I have not been deficient in my care, forsooth.

Mrs Day. Will you never leave your forsooths? Art thou not ashamed to let the clerk carry himself better, and shew more breeding, than his master's son ?

Abel. If it please your honour, I have some business for your more private car.

Mrs Day. Very well.

Ruth. What a lamentable condition has that gentleman been in! faith I pity him.

Arb. Are you so apt to pity men? Ruth. Yes, men that are humoursome, as I would children that are froward; I would not make them cry on purpose.

Arb. Well, I like his humour; I dare swear he's plain and honest.

Ruth. Plain enough, of all conscience; faith, I'll speak to him.

Arb. Nay, pr'ythee don't: he'll think thee rude.

Ruth. Why then I'll think him an ass.-How is't after your journey, sir?

Blunt. Why, I am worse after it.

Ruth. Do you love riding in a coach, sir? Blunt. No, forsooth, nor talking after riding in a coach.

Ruth. I should be loath to interrupt your meditations, sir: we may have the fruits hereafter. Blunt. If you have, they shall break loose spite of my teeth.-This spawn is as bad as the great pike. [Aside. Arb. Pr'ythee peace!--Sir, we wish you all happiness.

Blunt. And quiet, good sweet ladies-I like her well enough.- -Now would not I have her say any more, for fear she should jeer too, and spoil my good opinion. If 'twere possible, I would think well of one woman.

Mrs Day. Come, Mrs Arbella, 'tis as I told you; Abel has done it; say no more. Take her by the hand, Abel; I profess, she may venture to take thee for better for worse. Come, mistress, the honourable committee will sit suddenly. Come, let's along. Farewell, sir.

[Exeunt all but BLUNT.

Blunt. How! the committee ready to sit ! Plague on their honours; for so my honour'd lady, that was one of the eleven, was pleas'd to call 'em. I had like to have come a day after the fair. 'Tis pretty, that such as I have been must compound for their having been rascals. Well, I must go look a lodging, and a solicitor: I'll find the arrantest rogue I can, too: for, according to the old saying, set a thief to catch a thief.

Enter Colonel CARELESS and Lieutenant. Care. Dear Blunt, well met; when came you, man?

Blunt, Dear Careless, I did not think to have met thee so suddenly. Lieutenant, your servant. I am landed just now, man.

Care. What business brought thee? Blunt. May be the same with yours; I am come to compound with their honours.

Care. That's my business too. Why, the committee sits suddenly.

Blunt. Yes, I know it; I heard so in the storm I told thee of.

Care. What storm, man?

Blunt. Why, a tempest, as high as ever blew from woman's breath. I have rode in a stagecoach, wedged in with half a dozen; one of them was a committee-man's wife; his name is Day; and she accordingly will be call'd your honour, and your ladyship; with a tongue that wags as much faster than all other women's, as, in the several motions of a watch, the hand of the minute moves faster than that of the hour. There was her daughter, too; but a bastard, without question: for she had no resemblance to the rest of the notch'd rascals, and very pretty, and had wit enough to jeer a man in prosperity to death.-There was another gentlewoman, and she was handsome; nay, very handsome; but I kept her from being as bad as the rest. Care. Pr'ythee, how, man?

Blunt. Why, she began with two or three good words, and I desired her she would be quiet while she was well.

Care. Thou wert not so mad.

Blunt. I had been mad if I had not-

-But

when we came to our journey's end, there met us two such formal and stately rascals, that yet pretended religion and open rebellion ever painted: they were the hopes and guide of the honourable family, viz. the eldest son, and the chiefest clerk, rogues-and hereby hangs a tale. -This gentlewoman, I told thee, I kept civil, by desiring her to say nothing, is a rich heiress of one that died in the king's service, and left his estate under sequestration. This young chicken has this kite snatch'd up, and designs her for this her eldest rascal.

Care. What a dull fellow wert thou, not to make love, and rescue her!

Blunt. I'll woo no woman.

Care. Wouldst thou have them court thee? A soldier, and not love a siege !--How now, whe art thou?

Enter TEAGUE.

Teague. A poor Irishman, Heav'n save me, and save all your three faces; give me a thirteen. Care. I see thou wouldst not lose any thing for want of asking.

Teague. I can't afford it.

Care. Here, I am pretty near; there's sixpence for thy confidence.

Teague. By my troth it is too little; give me another sixpence half-penny, and I'll drink your healths.

Care. How long hast thou been in England?