hang 'em scroyls, there's nothing in 'em, i' the world. What do you talk on it? because I dwell at Hogsden, I shall keep company with none but the archers of Finsbury? or the citizens that come a ducking to Issington ponds? A fine jest i' faith; slid, a gentieman mun shew himself like a gentleman. Uncle, I pray you be not angry, I know what I have to do, I trow, I am no novice.


Kno. You are a prodigal absurd coxcomb: go to.
Nay, never look at me, it's 1 that speak.

Take't as you will, Sir, I'll not flatter you.
Ha' you not yet found means enow, to waste

That, which your friends have left vou, but you must
Go cast away your money one a kite,

And know not how to keep it, when you've done?
O it's comely! this will make you a gentleman!
Well, cousin, well! I see you are e'en past hope
Of all reclaim. Ay, so, now you're told on it,
You look another way. Step. What would you ha' me do?
Kno. What would I have you do? I'll tell you, kinsman,;
Learn to be wise, and practise how to thrive,
That would I have thee do: and not to spend
Your coin on every bawble, that you fancy,
Or every foolish brain, that humours you.
I would not have you to invade each place,
Nor thrust yourself on a'l societies,
Till mens affections, or your own desert,
Should worthily invite you to your rank.
He that is so respectless in his courses,
Oft sells his reputation at cheap market.
Nor would I, you should melt away yourself
I flashing bravery, lest while you affect
To make a blaze of gentry to the worla,
A little puff of scorn extiguish it,
And you be left, like an unsavoury snuff,
Whose property is only to offend.
I'd ha' you sober and contain yourself;
Not, that your sail be bigger than your boat:
But mod rate your expences now (at first)
As you may keep the same proportion still,
Nor, stand so much on your gentility.
Which is an aery, and mere borrow'd thing,

From dead men's dust, and bones: and none of yours
Except you make, or hold it. Who comes here?


Enter a SERVANT.

Serv. Save you, gentleman.

Step. Nay, we do not stand much on our gentility. friend; yet, you are welcome; and I assu e you, mine uncle here is a man of a thonsand a year, Middlesex tand: he has but one son in all the world, I am his next heir (at the common law) master Stephen, as simple as I stand here; if my cousin die (as there's hope he will) I have a pretty living oʻ my own too, beside, hard by here.

Serv. In good time, Sir.

Step. In good time, Sir? Why? and in very good time, Sir. You do not flout, friend, do you?

Serv. Not I, Sir.

Step. Not you, Sir; you were not best, Sir; an' you should, here be them can perceive it, and that quickly too: go to. And they can give it again soundly too, an' need be.

Serv. Why, Sir let this satisfy you: good faith, I had no such intent.

Step. Sir, an' I thought you had, I would talk with you, and that presently.

Serv. Good master Stepben, so you may, Sir, at your pleasure.

Step. And so I would, Sir, good my saucy companion! an' you were out o' my uncle's ground, I can tell you; tho' I do not stand upon my gentility neither in't.

Kno. Cousin! cousin! will this ne'er be left?

Step. Whorson base fellow? a mechanical serving man! By this cudgel, and 'twere not for shame, I would. Kno. What wou'd you do, you peremptory gull? you cannot be quiet, get you hence.


You see, the honest man demeans himself

Modestly t'wards you, giving no reply
To your unseason'd, quarrelling, rude fashion
And still you huff it, with a kind of carriage,
As void of wit, as of humanity.

Go, get you in; 'fore heaven, I am asham'd
Thou hast a kinsman's interest in me.

[Exit Stephen

Serv. I pray you, Sir, is this master Kno'well's house? Kno. Yes, marry, is it, Sir.

Serv. I shou'd enquire for a gentleman here, one master Edward Kno well; do you know any such, Sir, I pray you ?.



Kno. I should forget myself else, sir.

Serv. Are you the gentleman? cry you mercy, sir: I was requir'd by a gentleman i' th' city, as I rode, out at this end of the town, to deliver you this letter, sir.

Kno. To me, sir! [To bis most selected friend, master Edward Kno'well.] What might the gentleman's name be, sir, that sent it?

Serv. One master Well-bred, sir.

Kno. Master Well-bred! A young gentleman? is he


Serv. The same, sir; master Kitely married his sister; the rich merchant i' the Old Jewry.


Kno. You say very true. Brain-worm!

Brain Sir.


Kno. Make this honest friend drink here: pray you go [Exeunt Brain-worm and servant.

This letter is directed to my son:

Yet I am Edward Kno'well too, and may,

With the safe conscience of good-manners, use
The fellow's error to my satisfaction.

Well, I will break it ope (old men are curious)
Be it for the stile's sake, and the phrase,

To see, if both do answer my son's praises,

Who is, almost, grown the idolater

Of this young Well-bred: what have we here? what's this?

[The Letter.]

Why, Ned, I beseech thee, hast thou forsworn all thy friends i' th' Old Jewry? or dost thou think us all Jews that inhabit there? Leave thy vigilant father alone, to number over bis green apricots, evening and morning, o' the norib-west wall: an' I had been his son, I had sav'd bim the labour long since; if, taking in all the young wenches that pass by, at the buck-door, and coddling every kernel of the fruit for 'em would ba' served. But prithee, come over to me, quickly, this morning: I bave such a present for thee (our Turkey company never sent the like to the Grand Signior.) One is a rbimer, Sir, o' your own batch, your own leren; but doth think himself poet-major o' the town; willing to be shewn, and worthy to be seen. The other-I

will not venture bis description with you till you come, be cause I would ba' you make bitber with an appetite. If the worst of 'em be not worth your journey, draw your bill of charges, as unconscionable as any Guild-Hall verdict will give it you, and you shall be allowed your viáticum. From the wind-mill. From the Burdello, it might come as well;

The spittle is this the man,

My son hath sung so, for the happiest wit,
The choicest brain, the times. hath sent us forth?
I know not what he may be, in the arts;
Nor what in schools: but surely, for his manners,
1 judge him a profane, and dissolute wretch:
Worse, by profession of such great good gifts,
Being the master of so loose a spirit.

Why, what unhallow'd ruffian would have writ,
In such a scurrilous manner, to a friend?
Why should he think, I tell my apricots ?
Or play the Hisperian dragon with my fruit,
To watch it? Well, my son, I 'ad thought
You'd had more judgment, t' have made election
Of your companions, than t' have ta'en no trust
Such petulant; jeering gamesters, that can spare
No arguments, or subject from their jest.
But I perceive, affection makes a fool


any man, too much the father. Brain-worm.

Brain. Sir

Kno. Is the fellow gone that brought this letter?
Brain. Yes, Sir, a pretty while since.

Kno. And where's your young master ?

Brain. In his chamber, sir.

Kno. He spake not with the fellow, did he?

Brain No, sir, he saw him not.

Kno. Take you this letter, seal it and deliver it my son;

But with no notice that I have open'd it on your life.
Brain. O Lord, sir, that were a jest, indeed!

Kno. I am resolv'd, I will not stop his journey;
Nor practise any violent means to stay
The unbridled course of youth in him: for that,
Restrain'd, grows more impatient; and, in kind,
Like to the eager, but the ger erous gray-hound,
Who ne'er so little from the game withheld,

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Turns head, and leaps up at his holder's throat:
There is a way of winning, more by love,
And urging of the modesty, than fear:

Force works on servile natures, not the free,
He that's compell'd to goodness, may be good;
But, 'tis but for that fit: where others, drawn
By softness, and example, get a habit,,

Then, if they stray, but warn 'em : and, the same
They shou'd for virtue do, they'll do for shame.


Y. KNO'WELL's Study.


E Kno. Did he open it, say'st thou ?

Brain. Yes, o' my word, sir, and read the contents. E Kno. That's bad. What countenance (pray thee) made he i' the reading of it? was he angry, or pleas'd? Brain. Nay, sir, I saw him not read it, nor open it, assure your worship.

E Kno. No? how know'st thou then, that he did either? Brain. Marry, sir, because he charg'd me on my life, to tell no body that he open'd it: which, unless he had done, he would never fear to have it reveal'd.

E Kno. That's true; well, I thank thee, Brain-worm.
Enter Master STEPHEN.

Step. O! Brain-worm, did'st thou not see a fellow here, in a what-sha'-call-him doublet? he brought mine uncle a letter e'en now.

Brain. Yes, master Stephen; what of him?

Step. O! I ha' such a mind to beat him-where is he? can'st thou tell?

Brain. Faith, he is not of that mind: he is gone, master Stephen.

Step. Gone! which way? when went he? how long since!

Brain. He is rid hence. He took horse at the street door.

Step. And I stay'd i' the fields! Whorson, Scanderbeg rogue; that I had but a horse to fetch him back again!

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