INTEREST

I tell you sister Loadstone — I have brought you here the very man! the Jewel Of all the Court! close Mr. Bias! Sister, Apply him to your side! or you may wear him Here of your breast! or hang him in your ear! He's a fit Pendant for a Ladies tip! A Chrisolite, a Gem: the very Agat Of State, and Polity: cut from the Quar Of Macchiavel, a true Cornelian, As Tacitus himself! and to be made The brooch to any true State-cap in Europe! I will tell you, sister, I cannot cry his Carract up enough: He is unvaluable: All the Lords Have him in that esteem, for his relations, Corrant's, Avises, Correspondences With this Ambassador, and that Agent! He Will screw you out a Secret from a Statist—. And lock it in the Cabinet of his memory—. You may be merry Mr. Compass, But though you have the reversion of and office, You are not in't Sir. Sir he's one, can do His turns there: and deliver too his letters, As punctually, and in as good a fashion, As ere a Secretary can in Court. The truth is, Mr. Practice, now we are sure That you are off, we dare come on the bolder: The portion left, was sixteen thousand pound, I do confess it, as a just man should. And call here Mr. Compass, with these Gentlemen, To the relation: I will still be just. Now for the profits every way arising, It was the Donors wisdom, those should pay Me for my watch, and breaking of my sleeps; It is no petty charge, you know, that sum; To keep a man awake, for fourteen year. That's my industry; As it might be your reading, study, and counsel; And now your pleading, who denies it you? I have my calling too. Well, Sir, the Contract Is with this Gentleman, ten thousand pound. (And ample portion, for a younger brother, With a soft, tender, delicate rib of men flesh, That he may work Like wax, and print upon.) He expects no more then that sum to be tendered, And he receive it: Those are the conditions. And what I have furnished him with all of the by, To appear, or so: A matter of four hundred, To be deduced upon the payment—. Draw up this Good Mr. Practice, for us, and be speedy. I think it be! Let them exclaim, and envy: what care I? Their murmurs raise no blisters i'my flesh. My moneys are my blood, my parents, kindred: And he that loves not those, he is unnatural: I am persuaded that the love of money Is not a virtue, only in a Subject, But might befit a Prince. And (were there needs) I find me able to make good the Assertion. To any reasonable men understanding. And make him to confess it. First, we all know the soul of man is infinite I what it covets. Who desires knowledge, Desires it infinitely. Who covets honour, Covets it infinitely, It will be then No hard thing, for a coveting man, to prove Or to confess, he aims at infinite wealth. Next, every man Is i'the hope, or possibility Of a whole world: this present world being nothing, But the dispersed issue of first one: And therefore I not see, but a just man May with just reason, and in office ought Propound unto himself. Thirdly, if we consider man a member, But of the body politic, we know, By just experience, that the Prince hath needs More of one wealthy, then ten fighting men. And therefore, if the Princes aims be infinite, It must be in that, which makes all. Fourthly, it's natural to all good Subject's, To set a price on money; more then fools Ought on their Mrs. Picture; every piece From the penny to the twelve pence, being the Hieroglyphic, And sacred Sculpture of the Sovereign. Fifthly, wealth gives a man the leading voice, At all conventions; and displaceth worth, With general allowance to all parties: It makes a trade to take the wall of virtue; And the mere issue of a shop, right Honourable. Sixthly, it does inable him that hath it To the performance of all real actions, Referring him to himself still: and not binding His will to any circumstance; without him; It gives him precise knowledge of himself; For, be he rich, he straight with evidence knows Whither he have any compassion, Or inclination unto virtue, or no; Where the poor knave erroneously believes, If he were rich, he would built Churches, or Do such mad things. Seventhly, your wise poor men Have ever been contented to observe Rich Fools, and so to serve their turns upon them: Subjecting all their wit to the others wealth. And become Gentlemen Parasites, Squire Bawds, To feed their Patrons honourable humours. Eightly, it's certain that a man may leave His wealth, or to his Children, or his friends; His wit he cannot so dispose, by Legacy? As they shall be a Harrington the better for't. 'Best raise the house upon him, to secure us; Hee'll kill us all! Would! Oh! Soar, soar. I'my neck. And in my head. Is the wild Captain gone? That man of murder? Say you so, Cousin Bias? Then all's well. This fit with the Doctor, Hath mended me passed expectation. News, news, good news, better then buttered news! My Niece is found with Child, the Doctor tells me, Exit. And fallen in labour. The portion's paid! The portion—o'the Captain! Is he here? No fault of mine, If she be cracked in pieces, or broke round; It was my sisters fault, that owns the house, Where she hath God her clap, makes all this noise. I keep her portion safe, that is not scattered: The money's rattle not; nor are they thrown, To make a Musse, yet among the game some Suitors. Wherein I entreat you, Sweet Master Bias? My known, and prostitute: how you mistake, And run upon a false ground, Mr. Bias! (Your Lords will do me right.) Now, she is prostitute, And that I know it (please you understand me.) I mean to keep the portion in my hands: And pay no moneys. Good Mr. Compass, for the sums he has had Of me, I do acquit him: They are his own. Here, before you, I do release him. He shall get so much Sir, by my acquaintance, To be my friend: And now report to his Lords As I deserve no otherwise. Run to the Church, Sirrah. Get all the Drunkards To ring the Bells, and jangle them for joy My Niece hath brought and Heir unto the house, A lusty boy. Where's my sister Loadstone? A sleep at afternoons! It is not wholesome; Against all rules of Physic, Lady sister. The little Doctor will not Like it. Our Niece Is new delivered of a chopping Child, Can call the Father by the name already, If it but open the mouth round. Mr. Compass, He is the man, they say, fame gives it out, Hath done that Act of honour to our house, And friendship to pomp out a Son, and Heir, That shall inherit nothing, surely nothing From me at least. I come to invite your Ladyship To be a witness; I will be your Partner, And give it a horne-spoone, and a treene dish; Bastard, and Beggars badges, with a blanket For Dame the Doxy to march round the Circuit, With bag, and baggage. Why, gentle Mr. Compass? Because I wish you joy of your young Son, And Heir to the house, you have sent us? What impudence is this? can you endure To hear it sister? He speaks impossibilities. Sir you must prove it, and the possibility, Ere I believe it. I'am sure, the Rogue of the house went all that way; She was with Child, and Mr. Compass God it. Oh noble Doctor, did not you, and your Item, Tell me our Niece was in labour? And that Mother Midnight Was sent for? But here has a noise been since, she was delivered Of a brave boy, and Mr. Compass is getting. Would? what treasure? A busy woman, is a fearful grievance! Will he not sleep again? OF the former matter, Item? Oh me, happy man! he cannot off it. I shall know all then. Good, say to them, Mr. Item, My Niece is on my Ladies side: they'll find her there. I pray to be but spared, for half and hour: I'll see them presently. And me, most happy creature. Would! where? I cannot, I am a man of flesh, and blood: Who can contain himself, to hear the Ghost Of a dead Lady, do such works as these? And a City Lady too, o'the straight waste? I'll say he's a rare fellow: And has a rare disease. How, good Doctor? He's come. I know enough. Doctor, proceed with your Cure, I'll make thee famous, Famous among the sons of the Physicians, Machaon, Podalirius, Esculapius. Thou shalt have a golden beard, as well as he had; And thy Time Item here, have one of silver: A livery beard. And all thy Pothecaries Belong to thee. Where's Squire Needle? gone? I'll send for a dozen o'labourers to morrow, To turn the surface o'the Garden up. And have all sifted; For I'll not lose a piece o'the Birds bounty, And take and Inventory of all. My self; No trusting other hands: Six hundred thousand, To the first three; nine hundred thousand pound— There never did accrue, So great a gift to man, and from a Lady, I never saw but once; now I remember, We met at Merchant's Tailors-hall, at dinner, In Thread-needle street, It's true; I shall love Parrots better, while I know him. And have it painted in most orient colours. My truest friend in Court, deer Mr. Bias; You hear o'the recovery of our Niece In fame, and credit? You do mistake him: He is clear God off on't. A Gossips Jealousy first gave the hint. He drives another way, now, as I would have him. He's a rare man, the Doctor, in his way. He has done the noblest cure here, in the house, On a poor Squire, my sisters Taylor, Needle That talked in's sleep; would walk to Saint John is wood, And Uvaltham Forest, escape by all the ponds, And pits i'the way; run over two-inch bridges; With his eyes fast, and i'the dead of night! I'll have you better acquainted with him. Doctor, Here is my deer, deer, dearest friend in Court, Wise, powerful Mr. Bias; pray you salute Each other, not as strangers, but true friends. Yes. And sealed. This rumour of her? Was it not Mr. Bias? And claims it. You do hear he's married? Be she never herd of, The safety of Great Britain lies not on't. You are concent with the ten thousand pound, Defalking the four hundred garnish money? That's the condition here, afore the Doctor, And your demand, friend Bias. Go you with my friend Bias, Parson Palate, Unto my Niece; assure them we are agreed. Where was she hid? A little wet. That is a Quere of another time, sister, The Doctor will resolve you—who hath done The admirable'st cure upon your Needle! give me thy hand good Needle: thou camest timely. Take off my hood and coat. And let me shake My self a little. I have a world of business. Bias. Placentia. Where is my Nephew Bias? and his wife? Who bids God gi'hem joy? Here they both stand Palate. As sure affianced, as the Parson, or words Can tie them. He shall receive ten thousand pounds to morrow. You looked for't, Compass, or a greater sum, But it's disposed of, this, another way. I have but one Niece, verily Compass. Hear you this, sister? And hath your house the ears, to hear it too? And to resound the affront? I would feign find it, if you'd show me where. Peace, lest he hear you Doctor; wee'll make use of him. What does your brother Compass, Captain Ironside, Demand of us, by way of challenge, thus? I have assured one portion, to one Niece, And have no more account for, that I know of: What I may do in charity—if my sister, Will bid and Offering for her maid, and him, As a Benevolence to them, after Supper, I'll spit into the Basin, and entreat My friends to do the Like. Into what nets of cous'nage am I cast On every side? each thread is grown a noofe: A very mesh: I have run my self into A double break, of paying twice the money. What will you abate? Yes, Bias is money. Well, you must have it, As good at first as last. It's well said brother. And I, if this good Captain will accept me, Give him my self, endow him with my estate, And make him Lord of me, and all my Fortune's: He that hath saved my hour, though by chance, I'll really study his, and how to thank him.