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Mam. Not mine own stuff? Lov. Sir, I can take no
Mam. I'll rather lose 'em. Lov. That you shall not, Sir, By me, in troth.
Upon these terms they are yours.
Lov. What a great loss in Hope have you sustained?
Mam. I will go mount a Turnip-cart, and preach
Fac. If I can hear of him, Sir, I'll bring you word
Tri. 'Tis well, the Saints shall not lose all yet. Go,
Ana. To bear away the portion of the righteous
Ana. The Goods, sometimes the Orphans, that the Brethren Bought with their Silver Pence. Lov. What, those i' the
Thou canst advance that Idol against us,
Lov. Mine earnest vehement Botcher,
Tri. Be patient, Ananias. Ana. I am strong,
[Drugger enters, and he beats him away. Lov. Away you Harry Nicholas, do
talk? Fac. No, this was Abel Drugger. Good Sir, Go.
[To the Parson. And satisfie him; tell him, all is done: He staid too long a washing of his Face. The Doctor, he shall hear of him at Westchester; And of the Captain, tell him, at Yarmouth, or Some good Port-town else, lying for a wind. If you get off the angry Child, now, Sir Kas. Come on, you yew, you have match'd most sweetly, ha' you not?
[To his Sister. Did not I say, I would never ha' you tupt But by a dubb’d Boy, to make you a Lady Tom? 'Slight, you are a Mammet! 0 I could touse you, now. Death, mun'you marry with a Pox? Lov. You lye, Boy! As sound as you and I am afore-hand with you. Kas. Anon?
Lov. Come, will you quarrel? I will seize you, Sirrah.
Why do you not buckle to your Tools? Kas. Gods light!
Lov. What, do you change your Copy, now? Proceed, Here stands my Dove: stoop at her if you dare.
Kas. 'Slight, I must love him! I cannot chuse, i' faith! And I should be hang'd for't. Suster, I protest, I honour thee for this match. Lov. 0, do you so, Sir.
Kas. Yes, an' thou canst take Tobacco, and drink, old Boy, I'll give her five hundred Pound more to her marriage, Than her cwn State. Lov. Fill a Pipe-full, Jeremy.
Fac. Yes, but go in, and take it, Sir. Lov. We will. I will be ruld by thee in any thing, Jeremy.
Kas. 'Slight, thou art not hide-bound! thou art a Jovy' Boy! Come let's in. pry’thee, and take our whiffs.
Lov. Whiff in with your Sister, brother Boy. That Master That had receiv'd such happiness by a Servant, In such a Widow, and with so much Wealth, Were very ungrateful, if he would not be A little indulgent to that Servants wit, And help his Fortune, though with some small strain Of his own Candor. Therefore, Gentlemen, And kind Spectators, if I have out-stript An old Mans gravity, or strict Canon, think What a young Wife, and a good Brain may
do: Stretch ages truth sometimes, and crack it too. Speak for thy self, Knave. Fac. So I will, Sir. Gentlemen, My part a little fell in this last Scene, Yet 'twas decorum. And though I am clean Got off from Subtle, Surly, Mammon, Dol, Hot Ananias, Dapper, Drugger, all With whom I traded; yet I put my self On you, that are my Country: and this Pelf, Which I have got, if you do quit me, rests To feast you often, and invite new Guests.
“LOCKE is one of the greatest philosophers and most powerful writers that ever adorned this country, celebrated not only by his wisdom, but by his piety and virtue, by his love of truth and diligence in the pursuit of it, and by a noble ardour in defence of the civil and religious rights or mankind. He possessed a noble and lofty mind, superior to prejudice and capable, by its native energy, of exploring the truth, even in the regions of the intellectual world before unknown; his judgement was accurate and profound, his imagination vigorous, as he was well furnished with the ornaments of elegant learning."
The (London) Cyclopædia.