You did so.
And will I tell then! By this hand of flesh,
Would it might never write good court-hand more,
If I discover. What do you think of me,
That I am a chiaus?
What’s that?
The Turk was here.
As one would say, do you think I am a Turk?
I’ll tell the Doctor so.
Do, good sweet Captain.
Come, noble Doctor, pray thee let’s prevail;
This is the gentleman, and he is no chiaus.
Captain, I have returned you all my answer.
I would do much, sir, for your love—But this
I neither may, nor can.
Tut, do not say so.
You deal now with a noble fellow, Doctor,
One that will thank you richly; and he is no chiaus:
Let that, sir, move you.
Pray you, forbear—
He has
Four angels here.
You do me wrong, good sir.
Doctor, wherein? To tempt you with these spirits?
To tempt my art and love, sir, to my peril.
Fore heaven, I scarce can think you are my friend,
That so would draw me to apparent danger.
I draw you! A horse draw you, and a halter,
You, and your flies together—
Nay, good Captain.
That know no difference of men.
Good words, sir.
Good deeds, sir, Doctor Dogs-meat. ’Slight, I bring you
No cheating Clim o’ the Cloughs or Claribels,
That look as big as five-and-fifty, and flush;
And spit out secrets like hot custard—
Captain!
Nor any melancholic under-scribe,
Shall tell the vicar; but a special gentle,
That is the heir to forty marks a year,
Consorts with the small poets of the time,
Is the sole hope of his old grandmother;
That knows the law, and writes you six fair hands,
Is a fine clerk, and has his ciphering perfect.
Will take his oath o’ the Greek Testament,
If need be, in his pocket; and can court
His mistress out of Ovid.
Nay, dear Captain—
Did you not tell me so?
Yes; but I’d have you
Use master Doctor with some more respect.
Hang him, proud stag, with his broad velvet head!—
But for your sake, I’d choke, ere I would change
An article of breath with such a puckfist:
Come, let’s be gone.
Pray you let me speak with you.
His worship calls you, Captain.
I am sorry
I e’er embarked myself in such a business.
Nay, good sir; he did call you.
Will he take then?
First, hear me—
Not a syllable, ’less you take.
Pray you, sir—
Upon no terms but an assumpsit.
Your humour must be law.
He takes the four angels.
Why now, sir, talk.
Now I dare hear you with mine honour. Speak.
So may this gentleman too.
Why, sir—
Offering to whisper Face.
No whispering.
Fore heaven, you do not apprehend the loss
You do yourself in this.
Wherein? For what?
Marry, to be so importunate for one,
That, when he has it, will undo you all:
He’ll win up all the money in the town.
How!
Yes, and blow up gamester after gamester,
As they do crackers in a puppet-play.
If I do give him a familiar,
Give you him all you play for; never set him:
For he will have it.
You are mistaken, Doctor.
Why he does ask one but for cups and horses,
A rifling fly; none of your great familiars.
Yes, Captain, I would have it for all games.
I told you so.
Taking Dapper aside.
’Slight, that is a new business!
I understood you, a tame bird, to fly
Twice in a term, or so, on Friday nights,
When you had left the office, for a nag
Of forty or fifty shillings.
Ay, ’tis true, sir;
But I do think now I shall leave the law,
And therefore—
Why, this changes quite the case.
Do you think that I dare move him?
If you please, sir;
All’s one to him, I see.
What! For that money?
I cannot with my conscience; nor should you
Make the request, methinks.
No, sir, I mean
To add consideration.
Why then, sir,
I’ll try.—
Goes to Subtle.
Say that it were for all games, Doctor.
I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him
At any ordinary, but on the score,
That is a gaming mouth, conceive me.
Indeed!
He’ll draw you all the treasure of the realm,
If it be set him.
Speak you this from art?
Ay, sir, and reason too, the ground of art.
He is of the only best complexion,
The Queen of Fairy loves.
What! Is he?
Peace.
He’ll overhear you. Sir, should she but see him—
What?
Do not you tell him.
Will he win at cards too?
The spirits of dead Holland, living Isaac,
You’d swear, were in him; such a vigorous luck
As cannot be resisted. ’Slight, he’ll put
Six of your gallants to a cloak, indeed.
A strange success, that some man shall be born to.
He hears you, man—
Sir, I’ll not be ingrateful.
Faith, I have confidence in his good nature:
You hear, he says he will not be ingrateful.
Why, as you please; my venture follows yours.
Troth, do it, Doctor; think him trusty, and make him.
He may make us both happy in an hour;
Win some five thousand pound, and send us two on’t.
Believe it, and I will, sir.
And you shall, sir.
Takes him aside.
You have heard all?
No, what was’t? Nothing, I, sir.
Nothing!
A little, sir.
Well, a rare star
Reigned at your birth.
At mine, sir! No.
The Doctor
Swears that you are—
Nay, Captain, you’ll tell all now.
Allied to the Queen of Fairy.
Who! That I am?
Believe it, no such matter—
Yes, and that
You were born with a cawl on your head.
Who says so?
Come,
You know it well enough, though you dissemble it.
I’fac, I do not; you are mistaken.
How!
Swear by your fac, and in a thing so known
Unto the Doctor? How shall we, sir, trust you
In the other matter? Can we ever think,
When you have won five or six
