To my wife's beauty, and so very prodigal
Unto my patience, that, for the short parley
Of one swift hour's quarter, with my wife,
He will depart with (let me see) this cloke here,
The price of folly ?-Sir, are you the man?
Wit. I am that venturer, sir.

Fitz. Good time! your name

Is Wittipol?

Wit. The same, sir.

Fitz. And 'tis told me

You have travell❜d lately?

Wit. That I have, sir.
Fitz. Truly,

Your travels may have alter'd your complexion;
But sure your wit stood still.

Wit. It may well be, sir;

All heads have not like growth.

Fitz. The good man's gravity,

That left you land, your father, never taught you
These pleasant matches.

Wit. No, nor can his mirth,

With whom I make them, put me off.

Fitz. You are

Resolved then?

Wit. Yes, sir.

Fitz. Beauty is the saint,

You'll sacrifice your self into the shirt to?

Wit. So I may still clothe and keep warm your wisdom.

Fitz. You lade me, sir! 5

Wit. I know what you will bear, sir.

now, perhaps, for the first time indebted to a preceding writer for any part of his plot, the incident seems scarcely worth the borrowing.

5 You lade me, sir!] you do not spare me. The word occurs

me.

This is equivalent to the modern phrase, You lay what imputations you please upon again in this sense, p. 33.

Fitz. Well, to the point. 'Tis only, sir, you say, To speak unto my wife?

Wit. Only to speak to her. Fitz. And in my presence? Wit. In your very presence. Fitz. And in my hearing? Wit. In your hearing; so You interrupt us not.

Fitz. For the short space

You do demand, the fourth part of an hour,
I think I shall, with some convenient study,

And this good help to boot, [shrugs himself up in the cloke.] bring myself to't.

Wit. I ask no more.

Fitz. Please you, walk toward my house, Speak what you list; that time is yours; my right I have departed with: but not beyond

A minute, or a second, look for.

Length,

And drawing out may advance much to these matches. And I except all kissing: kisses are

Silent petitions still with willing lovers.

Wit. Lovers! how falls that o' your phantasy?

Fitz. Sir,

I do know somewhat; I forbid all lip-work.
Wit. I am not eager at forbidden dainties :
Who covets unfit things, denies himself.

Fitz. You say well, sir; 'twas prettily said, that

same:

He does indeed. I'll have no touches therefore,
Nor takings by the arms, nor tender circles
Cast 'bout the waste, but all be done at distance.
Love is brought up with those soft migniard handlings:
His pulse lies in his palm; and I defend

All melting joints and fingers, that's my bargain,
I do defend them any thing like action.

6 I do defend them any thing like action.] To defend, from the Fr. defendre, is to forbid. This sense of the word is common in

But talk, sir, what you will. Use all the tropes
And schemes, that prince Quintilian can afford you:
And much good do your rhetoric's heart. You are
welcome, sir. [Opens the door of his house.

Engine, God be wi' you!

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 you room straight: but I'll shew you

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.

Wittipol.

NGINE, 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.

our old writers. Thus Chaucer, in The Wife of Bath's Prologue, v. 59,

And Spenser,

"Where can you say in any manir age
That ever God defendid marriage?'

แ That, O ye heavens, defend! and turn away."

Faerie Queene, B. 5. C. 8. St. 10.

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,

66

a

7 Thou art a niaise.] A marginal note in the old copy says, 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.