Diego?
Nay, if he be not just Alonzo's picture—

Lea.

Lord, how I blush for these two impudents!

Die.

Well Gentleman, I think your name's Leandro.

Lea.

It is indeed, sir,
Gra'-mercy letter, thou hadst never known else.

Die.

I have dandled ye, and kist ye and plaid with ye
A hundred, and a hundred times, and danc'd ye,
And swong ye in my Bell-ropes, ye lov'd swinging.

Lop.

A sweet Boy.

Lea.

Sweet lying knaves.
What would these doe for thousands?

Lop.

A wondrous sweet Boy then it was, see now
Time that consumes us, shoots him up still sweeter.
How do's the noble Gentleman? how fares he?
When shall we see him? when will he bless his Country?

Lea.

O, very shortly, Sir, till his return
He has sent me over to your charge.

Lop.

And welcome,
Nay, you shall know you are welcome to your friend, sir.

Lea.

And to my Study, Sir, which must be the Law.
To further which, he would entreat your care
To plant me in the favour of some man
That's expert in that knowledge: for his pains
I have three hundred Duckets more: For my Diet,
Enough, Sir, to defray me: which I am charged
To take still, as I use it, from your custodie,
I have the mony ready, and I am weary.

Lop.

Sit down, sit down, and once more ye are most welcome,
The Law you have hit upon most happily,
Here is a Master in that art, Bartolus,
A neighbour by, to him I will prefer ye,
A learned man, and my most loving neighbour,
I'le doe ye faithful service, Sir.

Die.

He's an Ass,
And so wee'll use him; he shall be a Lawyer.

Lop.

But if ever he recover this mony again—before, Diego,
And get some pretty pittance: my Pupill's hungry.

Lea.

Pray ye Sir, unlade me.

Lop.

I'le refresh ye Sir;
When ye want, you know your Exchequer.

Lea.

If all this get me but access, I am happy.

Lop.

Come, I am tender of ye.

Lea.

I'le go with ye.
To have this fort betray'd these fools must fleece me.

[Exeunt.

SCENA II.
Enter Bartolus, and Amaranta.

Bar.

My Amaranta, a retir'd sweet life,
Private and close, and still, and houswifely,
Becomes a Wife, sets off the grace of woman.
At home to be believ'd both young, and handsome,
As Lilies that are cas'd in crystall Glasses,
Makes up the wonder: shew it abroad 'tis stale,
And still the more eyes cheapen it 'tis more slubber'd,
And what need windowes open to inviting?
Or evening Tarrasses, to take opinions?
When the most wholsome air (my wife) blows inward,
When good thoughts are the noblest Companions,
And old chast stories, wife, the best discourses;
But why do I talk thus, that know thy nature?

Ama.

You know your own disease: distrust, and jealousie,
And those two, give these Lessons, not good meaning,
What trial is there of my honestie,
When I am mew'd at home? to what end Husband,
Serves all the vertuous thoughts, and chast behaviours
Without their uses? Then they are known most excellent
When by their contraries they are set off, and burnish'd.
If ye both hold me fair, and chast, and vertuous,
Let me goe fearless out, and win that greatness:
These seeds grow not in shades, and conceal'd places:
Set 'em i'th' heat of all, then they rise glorious.

Bar.

Peace, ye are too loud.

Ama.

You are too covetous.
If that be rank'd a vertue, you have a rich one.
Set me (like other Lawyers wives) off handsomely,
Attended as I ought, and as they have it,
My Coach, my people, and my handsome women,
My will in honest things.

Bar.

Peace Amaranta.

Ama.

They have content, rich clothes, and that secures 'em,
Binds, to their carefull husbands, their observance,
They are merry, ride abroad, meet, laugh.

Bar.

Thou shalt too.

Ama.

And freely may converse with proper Gentlemen,
Suffer temptations daily to their honour.

Enter Woman-Mo[o]re.

Bar.

You are now too far again: thou shalt have any thing,
Let me but lay up for a handsome Office,
And then my Amaranta—

Ama.

Here's a thing now,
Ye place as pleasure to me: all my retinue,
My Chamber-maid, my Kitchin-maid, my friend,
And what she fails in, I must doe my self.
A foyle to set my Beauty off, I thank ye,
You will place the Devil next for a Companion.

Bar.

No more such words, good wife,
What would you have, Maid?

Moor.

Master Curate, and the Sexton, and a stranger, sir,
Attend to speak with your worship.

Bar.

A stranger?

Ama.

You had best to be jealous of the man you know not.

Bar.

'Pray thee no more of that.

Ama.

'Pray ye goe out to 'em,
That will be safest for ye, I am well here,
I only love your peace, and serve like a slave for it.

Bar.

No, no, thou shalt not; 'tis some honest Client,
Rich, and litigious, the Curate has brought to me,
Pre'thee goe in (my Duck) I'le but speak to 'em,
And return instantly.

Ama.

I am commanded,
One day you will know my sufferance.—

[Exit.

Bar.

And reward it.
So, so, fast bind, fast find; Come in my neighbours,
My loving neighbours pray ye come in, ye are welcome.

Enter Lopez, Leandro, and Diego.

Lop.

Bless your good reverence.

Bar.

Good-day, good Master Curate,
And neighbour Diego, welcom: what's your business?
And 'pray ye be short (good friends) the time is pretious,
Welcom, good Sir.

Lop.

To be short then with your Mastership,
(For I know your several hours are full of business)
We have brought ye this young-man, of honest parents,
And of an honest face.

Bar.

It seems so, Neighbours,
But to what end?

Lop.

To be your Pupil, Sir,
Your Servant, if you please.

Lea.

I have travell'd far, Sir,
To seek a worthy man.

Bar.

Alas, good Gentleman,
I am a poor man, and a private too,
Unfit to keep a Servant of your Reckoning;
My house a little Cottage, and scarce able
To hold my self, and those poor few live under it;
Besides, you must not blame me Gentlemen,
If I were able to receive a Servant,
To be a little scrupulous of his dealing,
For in these times—

Lop.

'Pray let me answer that, sir,
Here is five hundred Duckets, to secure him,
He cannot want, Sir, to make good his credit,
Good gold, and coin.

Bar.

And that's an honest pledge;
Yet sure, that needs not, for his face, and carriage,
Seem to declare an in-bred honesty.

Lea.

And (for I have a ripe mind to the Law, sir,
In which I understand you live a Master)
The least poor corner in your house, poor Bed, sir,
(Let me not seem intruding to your worship)
With some Books to instruct me, and your counsel,
Shall I rest most content with: other Acquaintance
Than your grave presence, and the grounds of Law
I dare not covet, nor I will not seek, sir,
For surely mine own nature desires privacy.
Next, for your monthly pains (to shew my thanks,)
I do proportion out some twenty Duckets;
As I grow riper, more: three hundred now, sir,
To shew my love to learning, and my Master,
My diet I'le defray too, without trouble.

Lop.

Note but his mind to learning.

Bar.

I do strangely, yes, and I like it too, thanks to his mony.

Die.

Would he would live with me, and learn to dig too.

Lop.

A wondrous modest man, sir.

Bar.

So it seems,
His dear love to his Studie must be nourish'd,
Neighbour, he's like to prove.

Lop.

With your good counsel,
And with your diligence, as you will ply him;
His Parents, when they know your care—

Bar.

Come hither.

Die.

An honester young man, your worship ne're kept,
But he is so bashfull—

Bar.

O I like him better.
Say I should undertake ye, which indeed, sir,
Will be no little straitness to my living,
Considering my Affairs, and my small house, sir,
For I see some promises that pull me to ye;
Could you content your self, at first thus meanly,
To lie hard, in an out-part of my house, sir?
For I have not many Lodgings to allow ye;
And studie should be still remote from company;
A little fire sometimes too, to refresh ye;
A Student must be frugal: sometimes Lights too,
According to your labour.

Lea.

Any thing, Sir,
That's dry, and wholsome: I am no bred-wanton.

Bar.

Then I receive you: but I must desire ye
To keep within your confines.

Lea.

Ever Sir,
There's the Gold, and ever be your servant,
Take it and give me Books: