RICHES

Your Lady? who's your Lady? A fallen? Teach her to climb; she's so ambitious. I cannot come I would the gou e Riches I know May command any thing but I do not use To come to every one desires my company Beside, my servants are abroad, and it Becomes me not to go so unattended. Is that state enough for me? Although it be in fashion with your Lord, To amble with his foot man and Page, I use to have more followers. You assume, me thinks, Much liberty in talking, wha'ts your name Ingenuity? Out upon! thee I suspect, Your are a Scholar. 'Tis not your flattery can win upon me. Go, and declaim against me, good Diogenes, Admire a virtuous poverty, and nakedness, Call Fortune whore, and write whole volumes in The praise of hunger and your lousy wardrobe, Yes, teach the world, Riches is grown a monster, And that she dotes on ignorance: these are Your vulgar doctrines, and I pray pursue'em, My most immortal beggar, and get am With some twice sodden pamphle , till you make Submission to my fool, in hope of the Reversion of his Grooms bore livery: Your Theses, and your Syllogisms, will No doubt convert the Beadle, and the dog-whip. I wonder what she meant to entertain thee! Away, dispute no further, if you move me To more impatience, Riches will find ways To curb your infolence S not your pretence To Honours service, can protect you from My anger, I have kindred, and acquaintance Shall with their breath blow thee beyond the Sea; Or if I should be merciful, and let thee Enjoy thy Country, never hope to arrive at Above a pension, that will find you woollen A Pedant, or a Vicarage pre ement, Gelded sufficiently by the improper Parson, Is all your wit must hope for; and take heed That you be modest then, no coat, nor Cass cke Can charm you if I offer to complain, I shall put your Divinity to silence. Foul mouth Satire, But 'tis some punishment to let him waste His spirits with his railing, let him fret, It may consume him without more diseases, Let him die any way, men of his quality Are living but unprofitable burdens To the earth, as they were born to consume fruits, And talk of needless Sciences. Who are these? My ancient suitors, Clod the Countryman, And Gettings the rich Citizen? How? turned Poet? Take heed in time, lest you become infected With wit, I do not love poetic fancies, Nor any thing that trenches on the Muses, They were baggages, and Phœbus their protector, Deserved the whipping post. I Like it, When you do rail at Learning, I allow you To read a Ballad, and ridiculous Pamphlets, Writ on the strength of Beer, or some dull liquour: But if you smell profane Sack in a Poem, Come not within a league of understanding, As you respect my favour. But why does Clod stand all this while so mute? He's dreaming of his horses. And you quarrel, I am gone. I hope it wonot stretch to a duel. Where be these friends of mine? Alas, what Mean you? I am faint with seeking you to stay your fury: For I was told your bloody resolutions. You should be a man of government, are these The ensigns of the City? will you give Without the Herald in your Arms, a Sword To the old City Dagger? you wear a Gown Emblem of peace, will you defile your gravity With Basket-hilt and Bilboe? And you bold Yeoman, That Like a Rieke of hay, hath stood the shock Of Winter, and grew white with snow of age, Is this and instrument for you? But I am confident that you will say, 'tis love Of me hath brought you to the field, and therefore To prevent future mischief, I determine Here to declare my self: but first conjoin Your loving hands, and vow a constant friendship, Then one of you I'll choose my husband. What say you? Then Master Clod.— The man. I must entreat to have some patience. I do imagine you affect me dearly, And would make much of Riches. This won't, sir, agree with your condition, To keep me brave: the Country Cut must be Observed. But this is not my exception; there is more That interdicts our marriage: for though you Are willing to conceal it, Master Clod, Yet you and I are kindred, at least cousin's. Though my name Be Riches, yet my mother was a Clod, She married rich earth of America, Where I was born, a dirty family, But many matches have refined us now, And we are called Riches. Let us not confound our Genealogies. No, I am reserved for thee, And here I plant my best affection. And thus much for your comfort. Nay, droop not, Clod, though I be wife to him, Yet if I bury Gettings, I'll be thine, And carry London with us into the Country. I was at Court the last week, sir. I would been a Traveller. I was in the Plate-fleet. I have almost forgotten my Spanish, but after a little practice I may recover it. I apprehend your desires, sir, & will direct you. Let Honour come to Riches, it will not Disparage her, my friend. Since you have so advanced him, He shall not want my favour. Honour is seldom found, what ails her Ladyship? Defend me from his witchcraft had thy Mistress: None but a Scholar to employ upon Her compliments to me, one whose profession I hate, whose memory is my disease, And conversation death? how rank he smells Of Aristotle, and the musty Tribe Of wormeaten Philosophers? get from me, I will endure the Bears, and their provision, Lie in and Hospital, or French-footmen, feed With prisoners, or be racked at Westminster, Nay, die, & make poor orphans my Executors, Ere be confined to hear thy learned nonsense. But first, Mr. Gettings, know these Gentlemen. What impudence Does this appear, you should desire that favour? Have I not given testimony to the world Sufficiently, I do not love a Scholar?