Volume Iv Part 8 (2/2)

Sir _Pat._ Pray spare your Hat and Legs, Sir, till you come to Court, they are thrown away i'th' City.

Sir _Cred._ O Lord! dear Sir, 'tis all one for that, I value not a Leg nor an Arm amongst Friends, I am a _Devons.h.i.+re_ Knight, Sir, all the World knows, a kind of Country Gentleman, as they say, and am come to Town, to marry my Lady _Knowell's_ Daughter.

Sir _Pat._ I'm glad on't, Sir. [Walks away, he follows.

Sir _Cred._ She's a deserving Lady, Sir, if I have any Judgment; and I think I understand a Lady, Sir, in the Right Honourable way of Matrimony.

Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, that is to say, you have been married before, Sir; and what's all this to me, good Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Married before! incomparable, Sir! not so neither, for there's difference in Men, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Right, Sir, for some are Wits, and some are Fools.

Sir _Cred._ As I hope to breathe, 'twas a saying of my Grandmother's, who us'd to tell me, Sir, that bought Wit was best. I have brought Money to Town for a small purchase of that kind; for, Sir, I wou'd fain set up for a Country Wit.--Pray, Sir, where live the Poets, for I wou'd fain be acquainted with some of them.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, I do not know, nor do I care for Wits and Poets. Oh, this will kill me quite; I'll out of Town immediately.

Sir _Cred._ But, Sir, I mean your fine railing Bully Wits, that have Vinegar, Gall and a.r.s.enick in 'em, as well as Salt and Flame, and Fire, and the Devil and all.

Sir _Pat._ Oh, defend me! and what is all this to me, Sir?

Sir _Cred._ Oh, Sir, they are the very Soul of Entertainment; and, Sir, it is the prettiest sport to hear 'em rail and haul at one another--Zoz, wou'd I were a Poet.

Sir _Pat._ I wish you were, since you are so fond of being rail'd at.--If I were able to beat him, I would be much angry,--but Patience is a Virtue, and I will into the Country.

[Aside.

Sir _Cred._ 'Tis all one case to me, dear Sir,--but I should have the pleasure of railing again, _c.u.m privilegio_; I love fighting with those pointless Weapons.--Zoz, Sir, you know if we Men of Quality fall out-- (for you are a Knight I take it) why, there comes a Challenge upon it, and ten to one some body or other is run through the Gills; why, a Pox on't, I say, this is very d.a.m.nable, give me Poet's Licence.--

L. _Fan._ Take him off in pity. [To _Leander_.

_Lod._ Indeed Railing is a Coin only current among the Poets, Sir _Credulous_.

Sir _Pat._ Oh blest Deliverance!--what a profane Wretch is here, and what a leud World we live in--Oh _London_, _London_, how thou aboundest in Iniquity! thy young Men are debauch'd, thy Virgins defloured, and thy Matrons all turn'd Bauds! My Lady _Fancy_, this is not Company for you, I take it, let us fly from this vexation of Spirit, on the never-failing Wings of Discretion.-- [Going to lead Lady _Fancy_ off,--the Lady _Knowell_ speaking to _Isabella_ all this while.

L. _Kno._ How! marry thee to such a Fop, say'st thou? Oh egregious!--as thou lovest _Lodwick_, let him not know his Name, it will be dangerous, let me alone to evade it.

_Isab._ I know his fiery Temper too well to trust him with the secret.

L. _Kno._ Hark ye, Sir, and do you intend to do this horrible thing?--

Sir _Pat._ What thing, my Lady _Knowell_?

L. _Kno._ Why, to marry your Daughter, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Yes, Madam.

L. _Kno._ To a beastly Town Fool? _Monstrum horrendum!_

<script>