PALATE

The witty Mr. Compass! how is't, with you? I, she chimes, she chimes, Saw you the Doctor Rut, the house Physician? He's sent for too. Who, old Sir Moath? Hinc illae lachrymae; Thence flows the cause o'the main grievance. But sixteen thousand pound. Marry her, marry her, Madam. Not a minute. Pursue your project real. Mr. Compass, Advised you, too. He is the perfect Instrument, Your Ladyship should sail by. Yes, and a Feather with him, He seems a Soldier. He likes nothing That runs your way. It'll make him to lay down the portion sooner, If he but dream you'll march her with a Lawyer. And a near Courtier, Of a most elegant thread Dame Polish, her shee-Parasite, Her talking, soothing, sometime governing Gossip. Your Ladyship is still the Lady Loadstone That draws, and draws unto you, Guests of all sorts: The Courtiers, and the Soldiers, and the Scholars, The Travellers, Physicians, and Divines, As Doctor Ridley writ, and Doctor Barlow? They both have wrote of you, and Mr. Compass. Good sister Polish hear your betters speak. It may be she has. So't should seem. She hath cured all well. Concise, and quick: the true style of and Orator. What is he, Mr. Compass? What is't worth? I thank your worship: I will so work for you, As you shall study all the ways to thank me: I'll work my Lady, and my Ladies friends; Her Gossip, and this Doctor; and Squire Needle, And Mr. Compass, who is all in all: The very Fly she moves by: He is one That went to Sea with her husband, Sir John Loadstone, And brought home the rich prizes: all that wealth Is left her; for which service she respects him: A dainty Scholar in the Mathematics; And one she wholly employs. Now Dominus Practice Is yet the man (appointed by her Ladyship) But there's a trick to set his cap awry: If I know any thing; he hath confessed To me in private, that he loves another, My Ladies woman, Mrs. Pleasance: therefore Secure you of Rivalship. Accoast the Niece: Yonder she walks alone: I'll move the Aunt: But here's the Gossip: she expects a morsel. have you never a Ring, or toy to throw away? If she will take it. Here Mr. Compass comes: Do you see my Lady? And all the rest? how they do flutter about him! He is the Oracle of the house, and family! Now, is your time: go neck it with the Niece: I will walk by; and Harken how the Chimes go. The same he said to me. He did, and he did not. You'll hear more. I'll tell you! But under seal, her Mother must not know: It's with your Ladyships woman, Mrs. Pleasance. Oh hide the hideous secret From her, shee'l trouble all else. You do hold A Cricket by the wing. I love no blades in belts. He graones, and stirs. He's gone Sir. How quickly a man is lost! Very methodical, Secundùm Artem. What, Mr. Compass? It is afternoon Sir, Directly against the Canon of the Church; You know it Mr. Compass: and beside, I am engaged unto our worshipful friend, The learned Mr. Practice in that business. Do you hear, Sir? Can you think Sir I would deny you my thing? not to lose Of both my Livings: I will do it for you, have you a wedding Ring? Good! This Ring will give you what you both desire. I'll make the whole house chant it, and the Parish. And Mrs. Compass too, is found within. In and old Botle-house, Where they scraped trenchers; there her mother had thrust her. And a shrewd business, marry: they all start at't. And I another. More work then for the Parson; I shall cap The Loadstone with and Ironside, I see.