Has brought you another piece of gold to look on:
—We must appease him. Give it me—and prays you,
You would devise—what is it, Nab?
A sign, sir.
Ay, a good lucky one, a thriving sign, Doctor.
I was devising now.
’Slight, do not say so,
He will repent he gave you any more—
What say you to his constellation, Doctor,
The Balance?
No, that way is stale, and common.
A townsman born in Taurus, gives the bull,
Or the bull’s-head: in Aries, the ram,
A poor device! No, I will have his name
Formed in some mystic character; whose radii,
Striking the senses of the passers by,
Shall, by a virtual influence, breed affections,
That may result upon the party owns it:
As thus—
Nab!
He shall have “a bell,” that’s “Abel;”
And by it standing one whose name is “Dee,”
In a “rug” gown, there’s “D,” and “Rug,” that’s “drug:”
And right anenst him a dog snarling “er;”
There’s “Drugger,” Abel Drugger. That’s his sign.
And here’s now mystery and hieroglyphic!
Abel, thou art made.
Sir, I do thank his worship.
Six o’ thy legs more will not do it, Nab.
He has brought you a pipe of tobacco, Doctor.
Yes, sir;
I have another thing I would impart—
Out with it, Nab.
Sir, there is lodged, hard by me,
A rich young widow—
Good! A bona roba?
But nineteen, at the most.
Very good, Abel.
Marry, she’s not in fashion yet; she wears
A hood, but it stands a cop.
No matter, Abel.
And I do now and then give her a fucus—
What! Dost thou deal, Nab?
I did tell you, Captain.
And physic too, sometime, sir; for which she trusts me
With all her mind. She’s come up here of purpose
To learn the fashion.
Good (his match too!)—On, Nab.
And she does strangely long to know her fortune.
Ods lid, Nab, send her to the Doctor, hither.
Yes, I have spoke to her of his worship already;
But she’s afraid it will be blown abroad,
And hurt her marriage.
Hurt it! ’Tis the way
To heal it, if ’twere hurt; to make it more
Followed and sought: Nab, thou shalt tell her this.
She’ll be more known, more talked of; and your widows
Are ne’er of any price till they be famous;
Their honour is their multitude of suitors.
Send her, it may be thy good fortune. What!
Thou dost not know.
No, sir, she’ll never marry
Under a knight: her brother has made a vow.
What! And dost thou despair, my little Nab,
Knowing what the Doctor has set down for thee,
And seeing so many of the city dubbed?
One glass o’ thy water, with a Madam I know,
Will have it done, Nab: what’s her brother, a knight?
No, sir, a gentleman newly warm in his land, sir,
Scarce cold in his one and twenty, that does govern
His sister here; and is a man himself
Of some three thousand a year, and is come up
To learn to quarrel, and to live by his wits,
And will go down again, and die in the country.
How! To quarrel?
Yes, sir, to carry quarrels,
As gallants do; to manage them by line.
’Slid, Nab, the Doctor is the only man
In Christendom for him. He has made a table,
With mathematical demonstrations,
Touching the art of quarrels: he will give him
An instrument to quarrel by. Go, bring them both,
Him and his sister. And, for thee, with her
The Doctor haply may persuade. Go to:
’Shalt give his worship a new damask suit
Upon the premises.
O, good Captain!
He shall;
He is the honestest fellow, Doctor.—Stay not,
No offers; bring the damask, and the parties.
I’ll try my power, sir.
And thy will too, Nab.
’Tis good tobacco, this! What is’t an ounce?
He’ll send you a pound, Doctor.
O no.
He will do’t.
It is the goodest soul!—Abel, about it.
Thou shalt know more anon. Away, be gone.
A miserable rogue, and lives with cheese,
And has the worms. That was the cause, indeed,
Why he came now: he dealt with me in private,
To get a medicine for them.
And shall, sir. This works.
A wife, a wife for one on us, my dear Subtle!
We’ll e’en draw lots, and he that fails, shall have
The more in goods, the other has in tail.
Rather the less: for she may be so light
She may want grains.
Ay, or be such a burden,
A man would scarce endure her for the whole.
Faith, best let’s see her first, and then determine.
Content: but Dol must have no breath on’t.
Mum.
Away you, to your Surly yonder, catch him.
’Pray God I have not stayed too long.
I fear it.
Act III
Scene I
The lane before Lovewit’s house.
| Enter Tribulation Wholesome and Ananias. | |
| Tribulation Wholesome |
These chastisements are common to the saints, |
| Ananias |
In pure zeal, |
| Tribulation Wholesome |
I think him a profane person indeed. |
| Ananias |
He bears |
| Tribulation Wholesome |
Good brother, we must bend unto all means, |
| Ananias |
Which his cannot: the sanctified cause |
| Tribulation Wholesome |
Not always necessary: |
