SIR SOLITARY

Dormant, why Dormant, thou eternal sleeper! Who would be troubled with these lethargies about him? Dormant, are you come Dreamer. Oldrat? that fellow is a drone. Would? Whats the matter? 'Tis done considerately, this heavy dulness, Is the disease of souls, sleep in the night,? Do, but return you with him, I have business with both. When other men measure the hours with sleep, Careless of what they are, and whom they trust, Exposing their condition to danger Of plots, I wake, and wisely think prevention, Night was not made to snore in, but so calm For our imaginations, to be stirring About the world, this subtle world, this world Of plots, and close conspiracy, there is No faith in man, nor woman, where's this Dormant? O come hither; surra, where's your Lady? All night, ther's some plot, but I am safe At home, your gaming Ladies are strange Whirligigs, But while she plays, and revels with the gallants, Here I am cabled up, above their shot, And see in my imagination all there plots, Nay, we are the quietest couple, never meet, No not a bed, there may be plots in that, This partly o'th house is mine, and here I walk And see the soul, the very soul o'th world. Then 'tis time for me to go to bed. Keep out day light, and set up a fresh taper, Yo're sure it's morning? And that your Ladies not come in? Is my Niece ready? So earlié? there may be a plot in that, say Her uncle would speak with her, I use every morning, Before I go to bed, to give her counsel, In her husbands absence, she is young, and handsome, And there be plottsith world. Dormant, come hither. What Gentlemen do frequently come hither? Who does visit her most? My Niece In intha sirrah, for my wife I will let her alone of purpose yet, To mind her game, shuffle, and cut, and dice, And dance the brawls, they cannot cousin me. Say my intelligence, who does visit most My Kinswoman? Who? Would! Fitzaverice. More plots, he has a vast estate, and though Fame speak him noble, I suspect he loves her. He has my Nephews Land is mortgage too. A mere device, I adome it, come hither, Let not the arras hear us, say what prank Of mischief, has he done, he should be bountiful To thee? on what suspicion canst deserve it? Come be ingenious, and confess. Be free, this grome conspires. What noise is than ? more plots, let me enter, They are saucy with my doors, 'tis well they are All heart of Oak, and found to endure the Knocking. I'll keep no Gate that will be knocked o'this fashion I think it were a special policy To have a kind of a wheel; or turning Engine Advanced before my door, and admit none Without a Ticket. Is she alone? Master Confident? Was ever such and impudence? she wonot carry Him to her Chamber? new Plots, obscure me hangings. Bounty, and Lordship's, and discourse in Chambers? This fellow is a rascal, new new Plots, By no means. How happy am I, that we keep several quarters, Some husband would torment himself with watching, Skrue his Nose in at a Keyhole, or in some cranny Wedge his long ear, let'em alone, it makes, It makes, and my lascivious Gamester find his plots discovered, All his wit, gleaned from Italian Sonnets? and lose times; His bouncing, and his braves shall not disguise His heart from me, I see't, I see't already, And laugh that I am alone, and have my humour. O, 'tis my Niece, away and dress my Pillow. Morrow? it's now my bed time. I did deer Niece. Before I go to sleep, I must commend Advices to thee, it's partly of my devotion, In brief, because the Day comes fast upon me, Have a great care you be not seen too public, Your Chamber's spacious enough to walk in, Ther's danger in society, and the World Is full of plots, I know not, but Be solitary as I am, and be safe. Your husbands debt's have made him quit his Country, He was and unthrift, nay I spare him not Although he were my kinsman, 'twas ill done, Whose plot so ere it were, to lose your Jointure, Times are necessitous, but while he drills His men abroad, take heed you meet not hotter Service at home, there be fine Lords ith World, And Gentlemen that run, and carry messages, And Pages, that bring Jewels, and can whisper The baudy poesies, and soe-forth. Nor of my wife, I lie Alone discreetly, let my Madam play, Fit up a nights and gambol, At distance, as becomes a politic man, That would not fell his state to buy and heir, Our looks so seldom do converse, that if We should engender at the eyes, she wood Not teem so often as and Elephant, fools diet with There wives and be in danger of provocatives To frisk, and mount the table, precious pastime! Come thou art happy; that thy husbands absence Hath given thee occasion to be solitary, Trust not the ai e abroad by my example. Take heed of plots, and so goodnight. Nay, then there is a plot, whom would he kill? I knew it was some great man mus be visited Beneath the ribs, men of such vast estates Are not long lived. He's i'th conspiracy, reveal the plot to me. Would, more traitors. I did suspect that fools simplicity, What man is to be trusted? if these men Thrive in their first attempt, the stat's in danger. This Oldrat is a politician. I'll stand upon my guard, entrench, and dare The Ghost of Tilly. Your cold considerations are best. But I'll to bed again. Away. Shall we be never free from plots? So, so, let's think and talk of something else: Tim's precious, let's talk wisely, it'll concern us, My brain is not in tune about my nephew, Who knows upon what plot he is sent hither, The Duch are grand projectors, lets examine Where he is gone now. That would be known, and yet I herd a buzz, Some noble Man was aimed at, we were best Say nothing, and discover him to the state, We may be else in danger, and made accessaries To the parricide, which is not as the vulgar Interpret, killing of a father, but Parem cedendo, killing of a Peer, A Peer o'th land, mark that. What's the matter. Who's that? Who is it laughs? Stand both before me, is there not some spirit I'th room? has not some conjurer a plot upon me? Cato was wise, and never laughed, but when Out of his casement, he beheld and Ass Eat Thistles, where's the may-game? will none answer? Sure they did laugh at me, but I'll prevent they, And vex their spleens, away. I wonot trust A laughing wizard, ther's a killing face Behind it, o the juggling of the World! Am I ridiculous at home? there is Some plot in agitation. I smell a Rat. A dumb Ambassador? When does he look for audience? of what nation? Where in the Map is dumbe-land? I should much Affect that Country, let him have access. I understand you are a dumb Ambassador; Your business pray with me: you are no Lawyer, Nor no divine I take it, are there no women Non Magpies in your Country? This fellow must have a rare understanding, For nature recompenseth the defects Of one partly, with redoundance in another: Blind men have excellent memories, and the tongue Thus indisposed, ther's treasure in the intellect: Yet there may be a plot, he's sent to observe me, A state spy, but I'll cozen his intelligence, And be as dumb as he. What are you, sir? O then first answer me, how came he dumb? As how, sir? pray be plain. Study? what did he study pray o'th nights? Would Cozen, forbear, we are engaged upon Affairs of weight, that's and Ambassador. None, none; but this is his interpreter. He'll overhear you, it's a dumb Ambassador. I pray be gone, you are a woman, go. Who is mad? It's very strange; He now appears a statue: Are they not both mad? do you think Jacintha They have no plot in this, how came they thus distracted? Cold causes are very dangerous. Traitors? I'll have no plots, nor melancholy fitts But merrily pass the time away: They are mad, that are sad. The kitchen shall catch cold no more. No more, least with the joy I run into A madness worse, then melancholy, you tell Me wonders: bless my senses. And shall we dance? Out all this night at play sir, The Fiddlers shall sing, The House shall ring, And the World shall see. We are new married Gentlemen, I must Invite your Lordship for my guest. Your Tunes Are melancholy. Welcome home my wandering nephew; You shall be welcome too, sir. When shall we dance Jacintha? A plot, a plot to murder me, hold, what art? My Nephew; would! Who goes about to fly? he did not wound me, A naked man is soon undone, it's wisdom To sleep hereafter in a shirt of Mail, When came he hither, from the Netherlands? He is sent upon some murdering design; But why with his sword drawn, why not a knife? Some great man is in danger; would! my Niece weeping, I'll sift her, Bellamia?