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most part with applause, and established his reputation with the public as one of the supports of the English stage. In 1015 he was in France; but the occasion of his going, and the stay he made, are alike uncertain. In 1619 he went to Oxford, resided some time al Christchurch College, and in July 1619 was created M. A. in a full house of convocation, On the death of Samuel Daniel, in Ociober, the same year, he succeeded to the vacant laurel; the salary of which was then one hundred marks per annum; but ou our author's application in 1630, it was augmented to the annual sam of one hundred pounds and a tierce of Spanish wine. As we do not find Jonson's economical virtues any where recorded, it is the less to be wondered at, that quickly after we learn that he was very poor and sick, lodged in an obscure alley ; on which occasion it was, that king Charles, being prevailed on in his favour, sent him len guinens; which Ben receiving, said, “His Majesty has sent me ten guineas, because I am poor, and live in an alley; go and tell him that his soul lives in an alley." In justice, however, to the memory of Charles, it should he observed, that this story was probably forced from the cynicallness of Ben Jonsou's temper, sather than from any real fact; as it is certain that the king once bestowed a bounty of one hundred pounds on him, which is acknowledged in an epigram written on the occasion. He died of the palsy Aug. 16, 1637, aged 63 years, and was buried in. Westmiuster Abbey. We shall here add a character of Ben Jonson as sketched by Dryden: "If we look upon hiin while he was himself (for his last :plays were but his dolages), I think hin the most learned and judicious writer which any thcatre ever had. He was a most severe judge of himself as well as others. One cannot say he wanted wit, but rather that he was frugal of it. la his works you find little to retrench or alter. Wit and language, and humour also in some measure, we had before hinı; but something of art was wanting to the drama, till he came. He managed his strength to more advantage than any who preceded him. Yon seldorn find him making love in any of his scenes, or endeavouring to move the passions: his genius was too sullen and saturniue to do it gracefully, especially when he knew he came after those who had performed both to such a height, Humour was his proper sphere, and in that he delighted nost lo represent mechanic people. He was deeply conversant in the ancients, boul Greek and Latin, and he borrowed boldly from ther: there is scarce a poel or historian among the Roman authors of those times , whom he has not translated in Sejanus and Catiline. he has done his rohberics so openly, thal Oue inay see he fears not to be laxed by any law. He invades authors like a monarch, and what would be thelt in other pocis, is only victory in him. With the spoils of these writers he so represents old Rome to us in its riles, ceremonies, and customs, that if one of their puers had wrillen either of his tragedies, we had seen Jess of it than in hin. If there was any fault in his Language, it was, that lie weaved it too closedy and laboriously, in his comedies especially : perhaps too, he did a little too much Romanize our longue, leaving the words which he ranslated almost as ruach Latin as he found them; wherein, thongli he learnedly followed their language, he did not enough comply with the idiom of ours, If I would cumpare him with Shakspeare, I must acknowledge him the more correct poel, but Shakspeare the greater wit. Shakspeare was the Homer, or father of our dramatic ports; Jonson was the Virgil, the pallera of elaborate writing; I admire him, but I love Shakspeare. To conclude of him, as he has given is the inost correct plays, so in the precepts which he has laid down in his Discoveries, we have as inany aud profitable rules for perfecting the stage, as any where with the French cau furnisha us.”



Cemedy by Ben Jonson. Acted by the Lord Chamberlain's Servants 1598. This comedy is, perhaps, in point of the redundance of characters and power of language, not inferior to any of our author's works. From the character of Kitely it is pretty evident that Dr. Hoadly look the idea of his Strictland in The Suspicious Husband in which, horever, he has fallen (ar short of the original. This play had lain dormant and unemployed for many years, from its revival aller the Restoration, unál the year 1795 ; when it was again restored to the stage, with alterations, st Lincoln's Inu fields. From this time it was no more heard of, until Mr. Garrick, in the year 1751, brought it once more oa the stage, with some fuw alterations, and an additional scene of his own in the fourth act; ever since which time it has continued to be a stock-play, and to be performed very frequently every season. Yet it may be doubled if in any fature period tliis picce will ever appear to the advantage it did at that time; since, exclusive of Mr. Garrick's own abilities in Kitely, and those of Messrs. Woodward and Shuter, in the respective parts of Caplaiu Bobadiland Master Stephen, there was scarcely any one character throughout the whole, that could be conceived by an audience in the strong light, that they were represented by cach several performer: such is the prodigious advantage, with respect to an audience, of the conduct of a theatre being lodged in the bands of a man, who, being himself a perfect master in the profession, is able to distinguish the peculiar abilities of cach individual under him, and to adapi them to those eharacters in which they are, either by nature or acquirement, the best qualified to make a figure. Mr. Whalley observes, that, in this play, as originally written, the scene was at Florence, the persons represented were Italians, and the inaoners in greal measure conformable in the genius of the place; but in this very play, the humours of the ander characters are local, expressing not the manners of a Florentine, but the gulls and bullies of the times and country is which the poet lived. And as it was thus represenied on the slage, it was published in the same manner in 16oi. When it was printed again in the collection of his works, it had a more becoming and consistent aspect. The scene was transferred to London ; the names of the persons were changed to English ones, and the dialogue, incidents, and njanners, were suited to the place of action. And thus we now have it in the folio edition of 1616, and in the several edilions that have been printed since.

Young Kno'well.


Scene. - London.



Could I, by any practice, wean the boy SCENE I. - A Court-yard before Kno'WELL'S He is a scholar, if a man may trust

From onc vain course of study be affects. House.

The liberal voice of fame in her report, Enter Kno'well and BRAINWORM.

Of good account in both our universities; Kno. A goodly day toward, and a fresh Either of which have favour'd him with graces ;

morning. Brainworm, But their indulgence must not spring in me Call

up young master. Bid him rise, sir. A fond opinion, that he cannot err. Tell him'I have some business to employ him. Brain. I will, sir, presently.

Enter MASTER STEPHEN. Kno. But hear you, sirrah,

Cousin Stephen, If he be at his book, disturb him not. What news with you, that you are here so Brain. Well, sir.


early ? Kno. How happy, yet, should I ésteem Slep. Nothing, but e'en come to see how


you do, uncle.


go to!

Kno. That's kindly done; you are wel-1, Step: Sir, an' I thought you had, I would come, coz.

talk with you, and that presently. Step. Ay, I know that, sir, I would not ha' Sero. Good masler Stephen, so you may, come else. How doth my cousin Edward, sir, at your pleasure, uncle?

Step. And so I would, sir, good my saucy Kno. Oh, well, coz, go in and see: I doubt companion, an' you were out o'my uncle's he be scarce stirring yet.

ground, I can tell you; though I do not stand Step. Uncle, afore I go in, can you tell me upon my gentility neither in't. an' he have e'er a book of the sciences of Kno. Corisin! cousin! will this ne'er be left? hawking and bunting? I would sain bor- Step. Whoreson, base fellow! A mecharow it.

nical servingman! By this cudgel, and 'twere Kno. Why, I hope you will not a haw- not for shame, I would king now, will you ?"

Kno. What would you do, you perempStep. No wosse, but I'll practise against the

lory gull ? next year, uncle. I have bought me a hawk, If you cannot be quiel, get you hence. and a hood, and bells, and all; I lack nothing You see the honesi man demeans himself but a book to keep it by.

Modestly lowards you, giving no reply Kno. Oh, most ridiculous !

To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion:, Step. Nay, look you now, you are angry, And still you huff it

, with a kind of carriage, uncle. Why, you know, an'a man bare not As void of wit as of humanity. skill in the hawking and hunting languages Go get you in; 'fore heaven, I am asham'd now-a-days, I'll not give a rush for him. Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me. They are more studied than the Greek or the

[Exit Stephen Latin. What, do you talk on it? Because I Serv. I pray you, sir, is this master Kno'dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with well's house? none but citizens! A fine jest, i'faith! 'Slid, Kno. Yes, marry, is't, sir. a gentleman mun show himself like a gentle- Step. I should inquire for a gentleman here, Uucle, I pray you be not angry. I one master Edward Kno'well

. Do you know know what I have to do, I trow, I am no any such, sir, I pray you? novice.

Kno. I should forget myself else, sir. Kno. You are a prodigal, absurd coxcomb! Serv. Are you the gentleman?' Cry, you

mercy, sir, I was required by a gentleman Nay never look at me

'it's I that speak. i the city, as I rode out at this end of the Take't as you will, sir, I'll not flatter you. lown, to deliver you this letter, sir. Ha' you not yet found means enow, to waste Kno. To me, sir? [Reads] To his most That wbich your friends have left you, but selected friend, Master Edward Kno'well.

What might the gentleman's name be, sir, Go cast away your money on a kite,

that sent it ? And know not how to keep it, when you've Serv, One master Wellbred, sir.


Kno. Master Wellbred! young gentle-
So, now you're told on it, you look another way. man, is he not?
Step. Wbat would

ha' me do?

Serv. The same, sir; master Kitely married Kno. What would I bave you do? I'll tell his sister: the rich merchant i'the Old-jewry.

you, kinsman; Kno. You say very true. Brainworm! Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive; That would I have thee do; and not to spend

Re-enter BTAINWORM. Your coin on every bauble that you fancy, Brain. Sir. Or every foolish brain that humours you. Kno. Make this honest friend drink here. V ho comcs here?

Pray you go in.

[Exeunt Brainworm and Servant, Enter a Servant.

This letter is directed to my son: Sero. Save you, gentlemen.

Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may, Slep. Nay, we do not stand much on our With the sale conscience of good manners, use gentility, friend; yet, you are welcome; and The fellow's error to my satisfaction.

assure you, mine uncle bere is a man of a Well, I will break it ope, old men are curious. thousand a year, Middlesex land: he has but What's this?

[Reads. one son in all the world; I am bis next heir Why, Ned, I bescech thee, hast thou forat the common law, master Stephen, as simple sworn all thy friends in the Old-jewry? or as I stand here; if my cousin die, as there's dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit hope he will. I have a prelty living o'my there! Leave thy vigilant father alone, to own too, beside, hard by bere.

number over his green apricots, evening Serv. In good time, sir.

and morning, oʻthe north-west wall: an' 1 Step. In good time, sir! Why? And in had been his son, I had saved him the lavery good time, sir. You do not flout, friend, bour long since; if, taking in all the young do you?

wenches that pass by, at the back door, Serv. Not I, sir.

and coddling every kernel of the fruit for Step. Not you, sir! You were not best, 'ein would ha' served. But, pr'ythee, come sir; an' you should, bere be them can per- over to me quickly this morning : I have ceive it, and that quickly too. Go to. And such a present for thee. One is a rhymer, they can give it again soundly too, an'need be. sir, o'your own batch, your own leaven;

Sero. Why, sir, let this satisly you: good but doth think himself poet-major o'the town; faith, I had no such intent.

willing to be shown, and worthy to be seen.

you must


choler may

founder you

The other-I will not venture his descrip- Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is tion with you till you come, hecause I would gone, master Stephen. ha' you make hither with an appetite. If Step. Gone! which way? When went he? the worst of 'em be not worth your jour- How long since ? ney, draw your bill of charges as uncon- Step. He is rid hence. He took horse at scionable as any Guildhall verdict will give the street door. it you, and you shall be allow'd your via- Step. And I staid i'the fields! Whoreson, ticum.

From the Windmill. Scanderbeg rogue! O that I had but a horse From the Burdello, it might come as well ! to fetch bim back again. The Spital! Is this the man,

Brain. Why, you may ha' my master's My son bath sung so, for the happiest wit, gelding to save your longing, sir. The choicest brain, the times hath sent us forth? Step. But I have no boots, that's the spite I know not what he may be in the arts, on't. Nor what in schools; but surely, for bis manners, Brain. Why, a fine whisp of hay, rolld I judge him a profane and dissolute wretch. hard, master Stephen. Brainworm!

Step. No, faith, it's no boot to follow him

let him e'en go and hang. Pr'ythee, Re-enter BrainWORM.

help to truss me a little. He does so vex meBrain. Sir.

Brain. You'll be worse vex'd when you Kno. Is the fellow gone that brought this are trussed, master Stephen; best keep unletter?

bracd, and walk yourself till you be cold, Brain. Yes, sir, a pretty while since. your

else. Kno. And wbere's your young master? Step. By my faith, and so I will, now thou Brain. In his chamber, sir.

tell'st me on't. How dost thou like my leg, Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he? Brainworm? Brain. No, sir, he saw him not.

Brain. A very good lcg, master Stephen; Kno. Take you this letter, seal it, and de- but the woollen slocking does not commend liver it my son; But with no notice that I it so well. have opend it, on your life.

Step. Foh, the stockings be good enough, Brain. O Lord, sir, that were a jest indeed! now summer is coming on, for the dust : ril Kno. I am resolv'd I will not stop his have a pair of silk against the winter, that I

journey ;

go to dwell i'the town. I think my leg would Nor practise any violent means to stay show in a silk hose. The unbridled course of youth in him: for that, Brain. Believe me, master Stepben, rarely Restrain'd, grows more impatient.

well. There is a way of winning more by love, Step. In sadness, I think it would; I hare And urging of the modesty, than fear: a reasonable good leg. Force works on servile natures, not the free; Brain. You have an excellent good leg, He, that's compelld to goodness, may be good; master Stephen; but I cannot stay to praise But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn it longer now; I am very sorry for't. (Exit. By softness and example, get a habit,

Step. Another time will serve, Brainworm. Then if they stray, but warn 'em; and, the same Gramercy, for this. They would for virtue do, they'll do for share.


Re-enter Young Kxo'well.

Young K. Ha, ha, ha! Scene II.--Young Kno'well's Study. Step. 'Slid! I hope be laughs not at me;

an' he do

[ Aside. Enter Young Kno’well and BRAINWORM. Young K. Here was a letter, indeed, to be

Young K. Did he open it, say'st thou? intercepted by a man's father! He cannot Brain. Yes, o'my word,' sir, and read the but think most virtuously both of me and the

sender, sure, that make the careful costerYoung K. That's bad. What countenance, monger of him in our familiar epistles. I pray thec, made he i'the reading of it? Was wish I knew the end of it, which now is he angry or pleas'd ?

doubtful, and threatens-What! my wise couBrain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it,sin? Nay, then I'll furnish our feast with one nor open it, I assure your worship. gull more toward the mess. He writes to

Young K. No! how know'st thou, then, that me of a brace, and here's one, that's three; he did either?

O for a fourth! Fortune, if ever thou'll use Brain. Marry, sir, because he charg'd me, thine eyes, I entreat thee

[Aside. on my life, to tell nobody that he open'd it! Step. O, now I see who he laughs at. He which, unless he had done, he would never laughs at somebody in that letter. By this fear to have it revealed.

good light, an' he had laugh'd at me- [Aside. Young K. That's true; well, I thank thee, Young K. How now, cousin Stepben, meBrainworm.

[Exit. lancholy?

Step. Yes, a little. I thought you had laugh'd Enler MASTER STEPHEN.

at me, cousin. Step. O, Brainworm, didst thou not see a Young K. Why, what an' I had, co2, what fellow here in a what-sha'-call him doublet? would you ha' done? He brought mine uncle a letter, e'en now. Step. By this light, I would ba' told mine

Brain. Yes, master Stephen, 'what of him? uncle. Step. 0! ['ha' such a mind to beat bim- Young K. Nay, if you would ha' told your where is he? canst thou tell?

uncle, I did laugh at you, coz.


Step. Did you, indeed ?

he lodge in such a base, obscure place as thy Young K. Yes, indeed.

house! Tut, I know his disposition so well, Step. Why, then

he would not lie in thy bed, if thou'dst gi' Young K. What then?

it him. Step. I am satisfied; it is susficient.

Cob. I will not give it him, though, sir. Young K. Why, be so, gentle coz. And I Mass, I thought somewhat was in't, we could

let me entreat a courtesy of you. not get him lo bed all night! Well, sir, though pram sent , Old-jewry, to come to him; it's but crossing please you to go up, sir, you shall find him over the fields to Moorgale: will you bear with two cushions under his head, and his me company? I protest ii is not to draw you cloak wrapped about him, as though he had into bond, or any plot against the state, coz. neither won nor lost; and yet, I warrant, he

Step. Sir, thai's all one, an 't were; you ne'er cast better in his life, than he has done shall command me twice so far as Moorgate 10-night. to do you good in such a matter. Do you Mat. Why, was he drunk? think I would leave you? I protest

Cob. Drunk, sir! you hear not me say so. Young K. No, no, you shall not protest, coz. Perhaps be swallowed a tavern-token, or some

Step. By my fackins, but I will, by your such device, sir ; I have nothing to do withal. leave; I'll protest more to my friend than I'll I deal with water, and not with wine. Gi' speak of at this time.

me my bucket there hoa. God b'wi'you, sir, Young K. Your speak very well, coz, it's six o'clock; I should ba' carried two turns

Slep. Nay, nol so, neither; you shall par-by this. What, hoa! my stopple! come. don me: but I speak to serve my turn. Mat. Lie in a water-bearer's house! А

Young K You turn, coz! Do you know gentleman of his havings! well, I'll tell him wbat you say? · A gentleman of your sort, my mind.

[Aside. parts, carriage, and estimation, to talk o'your turn i'this company, and to me alone, like a

Enter Tıb. water-bearer at a conduit! Come, come, wrong Cob. What, Tib, show this gentleman up not the quality of your desert with looking to the captain. [Tib show's Master Matthew downward, coz; but hold up your head so; into the House] You should ba' some now, and let the idea of what you are be pourtray'd would take this Mr. Matthew to be a gentlei'your face, that men may read i'your physiog- man at the least. Flis father is an honest nomy, here, within this place, is to be seen, man, a worshipful fishmonger, and so forth; the true and accomplished monster, or miracle and now does he creep, and wriggle into acof nature, which is all one. What think you quaintance with all the brave gallants about of this, coz?

the town, such as my guest is. O, my guest Step. Why, I do think of it; and I will be is a fine man! he does swear the legiblest of more proud, and melancholy, and gentleman- any man christened: by saint Georgethe foot like, than I have been, I'll assure you. of Pharaoh-the body of me-as I am a gentle.

Young K. Why, that's resolute, master man and a soldier-such dainty oaths! And Stephen! Now, if I can but bold him up to withal, be does take this same filthy roguish bis height, as it is happily begun, it will do tobacco, the finest and cleanliest! it would do well for a suburb humour: we may hap bave a man good to see the fume come forth out a match with the city, and play biin for forly at's tonnels!. Well, he owes me forly shilpounds. [Aside] Come, coz.

lings, my wife lent him out of her purse by. Step. I'll follow you.

sixpence a time, besides his lodging; 'I would Young K. Follow me! you must go before. I had it. I shall ha' it, he says, the next acSlep. Nay, an' I must, I will. Pray you, tion. Heller-skelter, hang sorrow, care'll kill show good cousin. [Exeunt. a cat, uptails all, and a louse for the hang

[Exit. SCENE III.--The Street before CoB's House.

Scene IV.--A Room in Coe's House. Enter MASTER MATTHEW.

CAPTAIN BOBADIL discovered upon a Bench. Mat. I think this be the house. What, hoa!

Enter TIB.

Capt. B. Hostess, hostess!
Enter Cob, from the House.

Tib. What say you, sir? Cob. Who's there? O, master Matthew! Capt. B. A cup o'ihy small beer, sweet gi' your worship good morrow.

hostess. Mat. What, Cob! How dost thou, good Tib. Sir, there's a gentleman below would Cob? Dost thou inhabit here, Cob.

speak with you. Cob. Ay, sir; I and my lineage ha' kept a Capt. B. A gentleman! 'Ods so. I am not poor house here in our days.

within. Mat. Cob, canst thou show me of a gentle- Tib. My husband told him you were, sir. man, one caplain Bobadil, where his lod- Cupt. B. What a plague-wbat meant he?

Mat. [Within] Captain Bobadil! Cob. O, my guest, sir, you mcan!

Capt. B. Who's there? - Take away the Mat. Thy guest! alas! ha, ha!

bason, good hostess. Come up, sir. Cob. Why do you laugh, sir? do you not

Tib. He would desire you to come up, sir. mean captain Bobadil?

You come into a cleanly house berc. (Exit. Mat. Cob, pray thee, advice thyself well; do not wrong the gentleman and thyself too.

Enter MASTER MATTHEW. I dare be sworn he scorns thy house. He! Mat. Save you, sir; save you, caplain.



giug is?


Capt. B Gentle master Matthew! Is it you, absurd clown of Christendom, this day, he is sir? Please you sit down:

bolden. I protest to you, as I am a gentleMat. Thank you, good captain ; you may man and a soldier, 1 ne'er chang'd words see I am somewhat audacious.

with his like. By his discourse, he should Capt. B. Not so, sir. I was requested to eat nothing but hay. He was born for the supper last night, by a sort of gallants, where manger, pannier, or pack-saddle! He has not you were wish'd for, and drank to, I assure so much as a good phrase in his belly, but you.

all old iron and rusty, prorerbs; a good comMat. Vouchsafe me by whom, good captain. modity for some smith to make hob-nails of Capl. B. Marry, by young Wellbred, and Mat. Ay, and he thinks to carry il away others. Why, hostess! a siool here for this with his manhood still; where he comes,

be gentleman.

brags he will gi' me the bastinado, as I bear. Mat. No haste, sir; 'tis very well.

Capt. B. How? He the bastinado? How Capt. B. Body of me! it was so late ere came he by that word, trow? we parled last night, I can scarce open my Mat. Nay, indeed, he said, cudgel me; I cyes yet; I was but new risen as you came. term'd it so, for my more grace, How 'passes the day abroad, sir? you can tell. Capt. B. Thal may be; for I was sure it

Mai. Faith, some half hour to seven. Now, was none of his word. But when? wbea said trust me, you have an exceeding fine lodging he so ? kere, very neat and privale.

Mat. Faith, yesterday, they say; a young Capi. B. Ay, sir; sit down. I pray you, gallant, a friend of mine, told me so. master Matthew, in any case, possess no gentle-Capi. B. By the foot of Pharaoh, an' twer men of our acquaintance with notice of my my case now, I should send him a challenge lodging

presently. The bastinado! a most proper and Mai Who? I, sir ? No?

sufficient dependence, warranted by the great Capt. B. Not that I need to care who know Caranza. Come hither, you shall challenge it, for the cabin is convenient; but in regard him. I'll show you a trick or two, you I would not be too popular and generally vi- kill him with at pleasure; the first stoccata, u sited, as some are.

you will, by this air. Mat. True, captain; I conceive you. Mat. Indeed, you have absolute knowledge Capt. B. For, do you see, sir, by the heart i'the mystery, I have heard, sir. of valour in me, except it be to some pecu- Capt. B. Of whom? Of whom ha' you liar and choice spirils,' to whom I am extra- heard it, I beseech you? ordinarily engaged, as yourself, or so, I could Mat. Troth, I have heard it spoken of br not extend thus far.

divers, that you have very rare and un-inMat. O Lord, sir, I resolve so.

one-breath-uiterable skill, sir. [Pulls out a Paper, and reads. Capt. B. By heaven, no, not l; no skil Capi. B. f confess, I love cleanly and quiet i'the earth; some small rudiments i'the science

, privacy, above all the lumult and roar of as to know my time, distance, or so. I bave fortune. What new piece ba' you ibere? profess'd it more for noblemen and gentleRead it.

men's use than mine own practice, I assure Mat. [Reads] To thee, the purest object you. I'll give you a lesson. Look you, sir;

of my sense, exalt not your point above this state, at any The most refined essence heaven covers. band; so, sir, come on! Oh, twine your body Send I these lines, wherein I do commence more about, that you may fall to a more The happy state of turtle-billing lovers, sweet, comely, gentleman-like guard. So, in

Capt. B. 'Tis good; proceed, proceed. different. Hollow your body more, sir, thus What's this?

Now, stand fast o'your leit leg; note your Mat. This, sir? a loy o'mine own, in my distance; keep your due proportion of timenonage; the infancy of my muses. But, when Oh, you disorder your point most irregularly will you come and see my study? Good faith, Come, put on your cloak, and we'll I can show you some very good things i some private place, where you are acquainthave done of late.—That boot becomes your ed, some tavern or so- and have a bitleg passing well, captain, meihinks.

What money ba' you about you, Mr. Mattbew. Capt. B. So, so; 'it's the fashion gentlemen Mat. Faith, i 'ba' not past a two shillings, Mat. Troth, caplain, and now you speak Capt. B. 'Tis somewhat with the least

, but o'the fashion, master Wellbred's elder brother come, we will have a bunch of radishes, and and I are fallen out exceedingly: this other salt, to taste our wine; and a pipe of tobacco, day I happen'd to enter into some discourse to close the orifice of the stomach; and then of a hanger, which I assure you, both for we'll call upon young Wellbred. Perbaps we fashion and workmanship, was most peremp- shall meet the Corydon, his brother, there

, tory beautiful and gentleman-like; yet he con- and put him to the question. Come along, demn'd, and cry'd it down, for the most pied Mr. Matthew. and ridiculous ihat ever he saw. Capt. B. Squire Downright, the half-brother,

ACT II. was't not?

Scene II.- A Warehouse belonging to KITELY. Mat. Ay, sir, George Downright. Capt. B. Hang him, rook! He! Why he Enter KITELY, Cash, and DOWNRIGHT.

more judgement than a mall-horse. Kite. Thomas, come hither. By St. George, I wonder you'd lose a thought There lies a nole within, upon my

desk; upon such an animal! The most peremptory Here, take my key-It is no maitér, neither.



now use.

or so.


has no

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