wonder what courteous itch possest you.

You

never did absurder part in your life, nor a greater trespass to friendship or humanity.

Daup. Faith, you may forgive it best; 'twas your cause principally.

Cler. I know it; would it had not.

Enter CUTBEARD.

Daup. How now, Cutbeard! what news? Cut. The best, the happiest that ever was, sir. There has been a mad gentleman with your uncle this morning, [seeing Truewit.]-I think this be the gentleman-- that has almost talk'd him out of his wits, with threatning him from marriage

Daup. On, I prithee.

Cut. And your uncle, sir, he thinks 'twas done by your procurement; therefore he will see the party you wot of presently; and if he like her, he says, and that she be so inclining to dumb as I have told him, he swears he will marry her to day, instantly, and not defer it a minute longer. Daup. Excellent! beyond our expectation! True. Beyond our expectation! By this light I knew it would be thus.

Daup. Nay, sweet Truewit, forgive me. True. No, I was ignorantly officious, impertinent; this was the absurd, weak part.

Cler. Wilt thou ascribe that to merit now, was mere fortune?

True. Fortune! mere providence. Fortune had not a finger in't. I saw it must necessarily in nature fall out so: my genius is never false to me in these things. Shew me how it could be otherwise.

Daup. Nay, gentlemen, contend not; 'tis well

now.

True. Alas, I let him go on with inconsiderate, and rash, and what he pleased.

Cler. Away, thou strange justifier of thyself, to be wiser than thou wert, by the event!

True. Event! by this light, thou shalt never persuade me, but I foresaw it as well as the stars themselves.

Daup. Nay, gentlemen, 'tis well now. Do you two entertain sir John Daw with discourse, while I send her away with instructions.

True. I'll be acquainted with her first, by your favour.

Cler. Master Truewit, lady, a friend of ours. True. I am sorry I have not known you sooner, lady, to celebrate this rare virtue of your silence. [Exeunt Daup. Epi. and Cutbeard.

Cler. Faith, an you had come sooner, you should have seen and heard her well celebrated in sir John Daw's madrigals.

True. [advances to Daw.] Jack Daw, God save you! when saw you La-Foole?

Daw. Not since last night, master Truewit. True. That's a miracle! I thought you two had been inseparable.

Daw. He's gone to invite his guests.

True. 'Odso! 'tis true! What a false memory have I towards that man! I am one: I met him even now, upon that he calls his delicate fine black horse, rid into foam, with posting from place to place, and person to person, to give them the cue

I am one.] i. e. one of the guests. Whalley has strangely mistaken the sense of this simple passage; I am one, he says, is elliptical for, I am such a one! and is used when a person forgets what he ought to remember."

66

VOL. III.

C c

Cler. Lest they should forget?

True. Yes: There was never poor captain took more pains at a muster to shew men, than he, at this meal, to shew friends.

Daw. It is his quarter-feast, sir.

Cler. What do you say so, sir John?

True. Nay, Jack Daw will not be out, at the best friends he has, to the talent of his wit: Where's his mistress, to hear and applaud him? is she gone?

Daw. Is mistress Epicone gone?

Cler. Gone afore, with sir Dauphine, I warrant, to the place.

True. Gone afore! that were a manifest injury, a disgrace and a half; to refuse him at such a festival-time as this, being a bravery, and a wit too!

Cler. Tut, he'll swallow it like cream: he's better read in Jure civili, than to esteem any thing a disgrace, is offer'd him from a mistress.

Daw. Nay, let her e'en go; she shall sit alone, and be dumb in her chamber a week together, for John Daw, I warrant her. Does she refuse me?

Cler. No, sir, do not take it so to heart; she does not refuse you, but a little neglects you. Good-faith, Truewit, you were to blame, to put it into his head, that she does refuse him.

True. Sir, she does refuse him palpably, however you mince it. An I were as he, I would swear to speak ne'er a word to her to-day for't. Daw. By this light, no more I will not. True. Nor to any body else, sir.

Daw. Nay, I will not say so, gentlemen. Cler. It had been an excellent happy condition company, if you could have drawn him

for the to it.

[Aside.

Daw. I'll be very melancholy, i'faith.

Cler. As a dog, if I were as you, sir John. True. Or a snail, or a hog-louse: I would roll myself up for this day; in troth, they should not unwind me.

Daw. By this pick-tooth, so I will.

Cler. 'Tis well done: he begins already to be angry with his teeth.

Daw. Will you go, gentlemen?

Cler. Nay, you must walk alone, if right melancholy, sir John.

you be True. Yes, sir, we'll dog you, we'll follow you afar off.

[Exit Daw. Cler. Was there ever such a two yards of knighthood measured out by time, to be sold to laughter?

True. A mere talking mole, hang him! no mushroom was ever so fresh. A fellow so utterly nothing, as he knows not what he would be.

Cler. Let's follow him: but first let's go to Dauphine, he's hovering about the house to hear what news.

True. Content.

[Exeunt.

2 No mushroom was ever so fresh.] Taken, as Upton observes, from Plautus:

Jam nihil sapit,

Nec sentit; tanti 'st, quanti est fungus putidus.”

Mole, Upton" corrects" (why, it is impossible to guess) into mule. Animal for animal, the former was surely best adapted to represent the imbecility of this purblind knight.

SCENE III.

A Room in Morose's House.

Enter MOROSE and MUTE, followed by CUTBEARD with EPICENE.

Mor. Welcome, Cutbeard! draw near with your fair charge: and in her ear softly entreat her to unmask [Epi. takes off her mask.]-So! Is the door shut? [Mute makes a leg.]-Enough. Now, Cutbeard, with the same discipline I use to my family, I will question you. As I conceive, Cutbeard, this gentlewoman is she you have provided, and brought, in hope she will fit me in the place and person of a wife? Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise: [Cut. makes a leg.]-Very well done, Cutbeard. I conceive besides, Cutbeard, you have been pre-acquainted with her birth, education, and qualities, or else you would not prefer her to my acceptance, in the weighty consequence of marriage. [makes a leg.]-This I conceive, Cutbeard. Answer me not but with your leg, unless it be otherwise. [bows again.]-Very well done, Cutbeard. Give aside now a little, and leave me to examine her condition, and aptitude to my affection. [goes about her and views her.]-She is exceeding fair, and of a special good favour; a sweet composition or harmony of limbs; her temper of beauty has the true height of my blood. The knave hath exceedingly well fitted me without: I will now try her within.-Come near, fair gentlewoman; let not my behaviour seem rude, though unto you, being fare, it may haply appear strange.