Wit. Sir, I must condition

To have this gentleman by, a witness.

Fitz. Well,

I am content, so he be silent.

Man. Yes, sir.

Fitz. Come, Devil, I'll make

but I'll shew you

you room straight:

First to your mistress, who's no common one, You must conceive, that brings this gain to see her. I hope thou'st brought me good luck.

Pug. I shall do't, sir. [They all enter the house.

SCENE III.

A Room in FITZDOTTREL's House.

Enter WITTIPOL, MANLY, and ENGINE.

Wit. Engine, you hope of your half piece? 'tis there, sir.

Be gone. [Exit Engine.]-Friend Manly, who's within here? fixed! [knocks him on the breast. Man. I am directly in a fit of wonder

What will be the issue of this conference.

Wit. For that ne'er vex yourself till the event. How like you him?

Man. I would fain see more of him.

Wit. What think you of this?

Man. I am past degrees of thinking.

Old Afric, and the new America,

With all their fruit of monsters, cannot shew
So just a prodigy.

Wit. Could you have believed,

Without your sight, a mind so sordid inward, Should be so specious, and laid forth abroad, To all the show that ever shop or ware was?

Man. I believe any thing now, though I confess His vices are the most extremities

I ever knew in nature. But why loves he
The devil so?

Wit. O, sir! for hidden treasure

He hopes to find; and has proposed himself
So infinite a mass, as to recover,

He cares not what he parts with, of the present,
To his men of art, who are the race may coin him.
Promise gold mountains, and the covetous
Are still most prodigal.

Man. But have you faith,

That he will hold his bargain?

Wit. O dear sir!

He will not off on't; fear him not: I know him.
One baseness still accompanies another.
See! he is here already, and his wife too.

Man. A wondrous handsome creature, as I live!

Enter FITZDOTTREL, with Mrs. FRANCES his wife.

Fitz. Come, wife, this is the gentleman; nay, blush not.

Mrs. Fitz. Why, what do you mean, sir, have you your reason?

Fitz. Wife,

I do not know that I have lent it forth

To any one; at least, without a pawn, wife:
Or that I have eat or drunk the thing, of late,
That should corrupt it. Wherefore, gentle wife,
Obey, it is thy virtue; hold no acts

Of disputation.

Mrs. Fitz. Are you not enough

The talk of feasts and meetings, but you'll still Make argument for fresh?

Fitz. Why, careful wedlock,

If I have a longing to have one tale more
Go of me, what is that to thee, dear heart?
Why shouldst thou envy my delight, or cross it,
By being solicitous, when it not concerns thee?
Mrs. Fitz. Yes, I have share in this: the scorn
will fall

As bitterly on me, where both are laugh'd at. Fitz. Laugh'd at, sweet bird! is that the scruple? come, come,

Thou art a niaise.' Which of your great houses, (I will not mean at home here, but abroad,) Your families in France, wife, send not forth Something within the seven year, may be laugh'd

at?

I do not say seven months, nor seven weeks,
Nor seven days, nor hours; but seven year, wife:
I give them time. Once within seven year,
I think they may do something may be laugh'd at;
In France, I keep me there still. Wherefore, wife,
Let them that list laugh still, rather than weep
For me. Here is a cloke cost fifty pound, wife,
Which I can sell for thirty, when I have seen
All London in't, and London has seen me."
To-day I go to the Blackfriars play-house,
Sit in the view, salute all my acquaintance,
Rise up
between the acts, let fall my cloke,
Publish a handsome man, and a rich suit,
As that's a special end why we go thither,

Thou art a niaise.] A marginal note in the old copy says, "a niaise is a young hawk taken crying out of the nest." This explanation could scarcely come from Jonson; for it explains nothing. A niaise (or rather an eyas, of which it is a corruption) is unquestionably a young hawk, but the niaise of the poet is the French term for," a simple, witless, inexperienced gull," &c. The word is very common in our old writers. when I have seen

All London in't and London has seen me.]

Had Pope read this passage?

"Europe he saw, and Europe saw him too."

All that pretend to stand for't on the stage: The ladies ask, who's that? for they do come To see us, love, as we do to see them.

Now I shall lose all this, for the false fear
Of being laugh'd at! Yes, wusse. Let them laugh,
wife.

Let me have such another cloke to-morrow,
And let them laugh again, wife, and again,
And then grow fat with laughing, and then fatter,
All my young gallants, let 'em bring their friends.

too;

Shall I forbid them? No, let heaven forbid them: Or wit, if it have any charge on 'em. Come, thy ear wife,

Is all I'll borrow of thee.-Set your watch, sir.Thou only art to hear, not speak a word, dove, To aught he says: that I do give you in precept, No less than counsel, on your wivehood, wife, Not though he flatter you, or make court, or love, As you must look for these, or say he rail; Whate'er his arts be, wife, I will have thee Delude them with a trick, thy obstinate silence. I know advantages; and I love to hit

These pragmatic young men at their own weapons. Is your watch ready? Here my sail bears for you: Tack toward him, sweet pinnace. [He disposes his wife to her place.] Where's your watch?

Wit. I'll set it, sir, with yours.

Mrs. Fitz. I must obey.

[Aside.

Man. Her modesty seems to suffer with her

beauty,

And so, as if his folly were away,

It were worth pity.

Fitz. Now they are right; begin, sir.'

But first, let me repeat the contract briefly.

Now they are right.] i. e. the watches. Whalley says that the old copy has Now thou art right, meaning his wife; but he is mistaken, it reads as in the text.

I am, sir, to enjoy this cloke I stand in,
Freely, and as your gift; upon condition
You may as freekly speak here to my spouse,
Your quarter of an hour, always keeping
The measured distance of your yard or more,
From my said spouse; and in my sight and
hearing.

This is your covenant?

Wit. Yes, but you'll allow

For this time spent now?

Fitz. Set them so much back.

Wit. I think I shall not need it.

Fitz. Well, begin, sir,

There is your bound, sir; not beyond that rush. Wit. If you interrupt me, sir, I shall discloke

you.

The time I have purchased, lady, is but short;
And therefore, if I employ it thriftily,

I hope I stand the nearer to my pardon.
I am not here to tell you, you are fair,
Or lovely, or how well you dress you, lady;
I'll save myself that eloquence of your glass,
Which can speak these things better to you than I.
And 'tis a knowledge wherein fools
may be
As wise as a court-parliament. Nor come I
With any prejudice or doubt, that you
Should, to the notice of your own worth, need
Least revelation. She's a simple woman,
Knows not her good, whoever knows her ill,
And at all caracts. That you are the wife
To so much blasted flesh, as scarce hath soul,
Instead of salt, to keep it sweet;' I think,

4 And at all caracts.] i. e. to the nicest point, to the minutest circumstance. Caracts, as Whalley has somewhere before observed, are the weights by which gold and precious stones are weighed and valued.

As scarce hath soul,

Instead of salt to keep it sweet.] See vol. iv. p. 474.