BIAS

Remember that. Yes, we have certain precedents in Court, From which we never swerve, once in and age: And (whatsoever he thinks) I know the Arts, And Sciences do not directlier make A Graduate in our Universities; Then and habitual gravity prefers A man in Court. Sir you may call it what you please. But we (That tread the path of public businesses) Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrink; The wearing the Callott; the politic hood: And twenty other parerga, of the by, You Seculars understand not: I shall trick him, If his reversion came, in my Lords way. Right. You deal Like a just man still. Would I were at my shop again, In Court, safe stowed up, with my politic bundles. I swear you did. All is calm and quiet. And soon recovered! And very safe pro captum recipientis. What is't? Oh Sir! But if my Lord should hear I stood at end Of any quarrel, 'twere and end of me In a state course! I ha'read the Politics; And herd opinions of our best Divines. Why, hear you Mr. Compass, I but crave Your ear in private? I would carry his Challenge, If I but hoped your Captain angry enough To kill him: For (to tell you truth) this Knight, Is and impertinent in Court, (we think him:) And troubles my Lords Lodgings, and his Table With frequent, and unnecessary visits, Which we (the better sort of Servants) Like not: Being his Fellows in all other places, But at our Master's board; and we disdain To do those servile offices, oft times, His foolish pride, and Empire will exact, Against the heart, or humour of a Gentleman. Sir the corruption of one thing in nature, Is held the Generation of another; And therefore, I had as leave be accessory Unto his death, as to his life. If I were sure, it would not incense his choler To Beatrice the Messenger. I'll venture it, upon so good Induction, To rid the Court of and Impediment, This baggage Knight. There are three valours yet, which Sir Diaphanous, Hath (with his leave) not touched. A Philosophical contempt of death, Is one: Then and infused kind of valour, Wrought in us by our Genii, or good spirits; Of which the gallant Ethnics had deep sense: Who generally held, that no great Statesman, Scholar, or Soldier, ere did any thing Sine divino aliquo afflatu. Which is a quiet patient toleration, Of whatsoever the malicious world With Injury does unto you; and consists In passion, more then Actium, Sir Diaphanous. Oh Sir! Let them alone: Is not Diaphanous As much a divine Image, as is Ironside? Let Images fight, if they will fight, a God's name. 'Tis and affront, from you Sir; you here brought me, Unto my Ladies, and to woo a wife, Which since is proved a cracked commodity; She hath broke bulk too soon. That makes me to expostulate the wrong So with him, and resent it as I do. Sir, my Lord shall know it. What a Moath You are Sir Interest! Yes, Infamous, quasi in communem famam: And Matrimony, quasi, matter of Money. With his lewd, known, and prostituted Niece. Oh Sir. I am his worships servant. Yes, I have been with her, And gratulated to her; but I am sorry To find the Author of the fowl aspersion Here in your company, this insolent Doctor. Which I find Now false, and therefore come to make amends In the first place. I stand to the old conditions. We hear his wife is run away from him, Within: She is not to be found i'the house, With all the Hue, and Cry is made for her, Through every room; the Larders have been searched, The Bak-houses, and Boulting-tub, the Ovens, Washhouse, and Brewhouse, nay the very Furnace, And yet she is not herd of. It is Sir Moath. Enter Palate. You shall be released of paying me a penny, With these conditions. Yes, and the sum, twice told, ere take a wife, To pick out Mounsieur Needles basting threads. Faith but I will Sir, you shall pardon me For a twi-reason of State: I'll he ren Challenges; I will not hazard my Lords favour so; Or forfeit mine own Judgement with his honour, To turn a Russian: I have to commend me Nought but his Lordship's good opinion; And to't my Kallygraphy, a fair hand, Fit for a Secretary: Now you know, a men hand Being his executing partly in fight, Is more obnoxious to the common peril— Sir, we are all abused: As many as were brought on to be Suitors; And we will join in thanks, all to the Captain, And to his fortune that so brought us off. Who, Sir Diaphanous Silkworm?