Part 13 (1/2)

_Mor._ Captain I shall deserve some of your love too.

_Capt._ Thou shalt have heart and hand too, n.o.ble _Morecraft_, if them wilt lend me mony. I am a man of Garrison, be rul'd, and open to me those infernal gates, whence none of thy evil Angels pa.s.s again, and I will stile thee n.o.ble, nay _Don Diego_. I'le woo thy _Infanta_ for thee, and my Knight shall feast her with high meats, and make her apt.

_Mor._ Pardon me Captain, y'are beside my meaning.

_Young Lo._ No Mr. _Morecraft_, 'tis the Captains meaning I should prepare her for ye.

_Capt._ Or provok her. Speak my modern man, I say provoke her.

_Poet._ Captain, I say so too, or stir her to it. So say the Criticks.

_Young Lo._ But howsoever you expound it sir, she's very welcom, and this shall serve for witness. And Widow, since y'are come so happily, you shall deliver up the keyes, and free possession of this house, whilst I stand by to ratifie.

_Wid._ I had rather give it back again believe me, 'Tis a miserie to say you had it. Take heed?

_Young Lo._ 'Tis past that Widow, come, sit down, some wine there, there is a scurvie banquet if we had it. All this fair house is yours Sir _Savil_?

_Savil._ Yes Sir.

_Young Lo._ Are your keyes readie, I must ease your burden.

_Sav._ I am readie Sir to be undone, when you shall call me to't.

_Young Lo._ Come come, thou shalt live better.

_Sav._ I shall have less to doe, that's all, there's half a dozen of my friends i'th' fields sunning against a bank, with half a breech among 'em, I shall be with 'em shortly. The care and continuall vexation of being rich, eat up this rascall. What shall become of my poor familie, they are no sheep, and they must keep themselves.

_Young Lo._ Drink Master _Morecraft_, pray be merrie all: Nay and you will not drink there's no societie, Captain speak loud, and drink: widow, a word.

_Cap._ Expou[n]d her throughly Knight. Here G.o.d o' gold, here's to thy fair possessions; Be a Baron and a bold one: leave off your tickling of young heirs like Trouts, and let thy Chimnies smoke. Feed men of war, live and be honest, and be saved yet.

_Mor._ I thank you worthie Captain for your counsel. You keep your Chimnies smoking there, your nostrils, and when you can, you feed a man of War, this makes you not a Baron, but a bare one: and how or when you shall be saved, let the Clark o'th' companie (you have commanded) have a just care of.

_Poet._ The man is much moved. Be not angrie Sir, but as the Poet sings, let your displeasure be a short furie, and goe out. You have spoke home, and bitterly, to me Sir. Captain take truce, the Miser is a tart and a wittie whorson--

_Cap._ Poet, you feign perdie, the wit of this man lies in his fingers ends, he must tell all; his tongue fills his mouth like a neats tongue, and only serves to lick his hungrie chaps after a purchase: his brains and brimstone are the devils diet to a fat usurers head: To her Knight, to her: clap her aboard, and stow her. Where's the brave Steward?

_Savil._ Here's your poor friend, and _Savil_ Sir.

_Capt._ Away, th'art rich in ornaments of nature. First in thy face, thou hast a serious face, a betting, bargaining, and saving face, a rich face, p.a.w.n it to the Usurer; a face to kindle the compa.s.sion of the most ignorant and frozen Justice.

_Savil._ 'Tis such I dare not shew it shortly sir.

_Capt._ Be blithe and bonny steward: Master _Morecraft_, Drink to this man of reckoning?

_Mor._ Here's e'ne to him.

_Savil._ The Devil guide it downward: would there were in't an acre of the great broom field he bought, to sweep your durtie Conscience, or to choak ye, 'tis all one to me, Usurer.

_Young Lo._ Consider what I told you, you are young, unapt for worldly business: Is it fit one of such tenderness, so delicate, so contrarie to things of care, should stir and break her better meditations, in the bare brokage of a brace of Angels? or a new Kirtel, though it be Satten? eat by the hope of surfeits, and lie down only in expectation of a morrow, that may undo some easie hearted fool, or reach a widows curses? Let out mony, whose use returns the princ.i.p.al? and get out of these troubles, a consuming heir: For such a one must follow necessarily, you shall die hated, if not old and miserable; and that possest wealth that you got with pining, live to see tumbled to anothers hands, that is no more a kin to you, than you to his couzenage.