Guilty, your rhetoric could not fetch it forth. But tho' I am innocent, I confess, that if I Were a stander-by, these circumstances urg'd, Which are true, would make me doubtless believe

The accused parties to be guilty.

Just. Write down,

[he is) That he being a stander-by (for so you see Doth doubtlessly believe the accused parties, Which is himself, to be guilty.

Merc. I say no such thing.
Just. Write it down, I say; we'll try that.
Merc. I care not what you write.—
Pray God you did not kill him for my love!
Apart.
Tho' I am free from this, we both deserve--
Maria. Govern your tongue, I pray you!
all is well;

My husband lives, I know it, and I see him.
Just. They whisper! sever them quickly,
I say.
Lanother?
Officers, why do you let them prompt one
Gentlewoman, what say you to this?
Are not you guilty?

Maria. No, as I hope for inercy. [that this
Just. But are not those circumstances true,
Gentleman hath so shortly and methodically
deliver❜d?
[me I care not,
Muria. They are; and what you do with
Since he is dead in whom was all my care.
You knew him not?

Just. No, and 't been better

For you too, an you had never known him. Maria. Why then, you did not know the world's chief joy:

His face so manly as it had been made To fright the world; yet he so sweetly-temper'd,

That he would make himself a natural fool,
To do a noble kindness for a friend.

He was a man whose name I'll not out-live,
Longer than Heav'n, whose will must be
Will have me do.
[obey'd,

Ant. And I will quit thy kindness. [Aside. Just. Before me, she has made the tears Stand in nine eyes! but I must be austere. Gentlewoman, you must confess this murder. Maria. I cannot, sir; I did it not. But I desire to see

Those examinations which this gentleman
Acknowledges to have about him, for
But late last night I receiv'd letters from
The city; yet I heard of no confession then.
Just. You shall see them time enough, I
warrant you.

[letters?

But letters you say you had; where are those Maria. Sir, they are gone.

From me than you have. You examine an Gentleman and gentlewoman here. 'Tis pity Such fools as you should be i'th' commission. Just. Say you so, post? take away that post! whip him,

[post. And bring him again quickly. I'll hamper you, Merc. Tis Antonio; I know him now as What an irregular fool is this! [wellAnt. Whip me? hold off! [murmuring Maria. Oh, good sir, whip hin! By his He should know something of my husband's death, [out! That may quit me: for God's sake, fetch it Just. Whip him, I say!

Antonio throws off his disguise. Ant. Who is't dares whip me now? Maria. Oh, my lov'd husband! Merc. My most worthy friend! Where have you been so long?

Ant. I cannot speak for joy! [shall not Just. Why, what's the matter now? and Law then have her course?

Andr. It shall have no other course Than it has, I think.

Just. It shall have other course

Before I go, or I'll beat my brains: and I say It was not honestly done of him to discover Himself before the parties accus'd were exe

Ant. Cousin Curio, You and I must be better acquainted. Curio. It is my wish, sir. ['tis so long Ant. I should not have known you neither, Since we saw each other; we were but children then: [to me. But you have shew'd yourself an honest man Curio. I would be ever so.

Enter Ricardo and Viola. Mother. Look you! who's there? Andr. Say nothing to me; for Thy peace is made.

Ric. Sir, I can nothing say,

But that you are her father; you can both Not only pardon, when you have a wrong, But love where you've receiv'd most injury. Just. I think I shall hear of no hanging this year!

said,

There's a tinker and a whore yet, the cryer That robb'd her, and are in prison; I hope They shall be hang'd.

Andr, No, truly, sir, they have broke prison.

'Tis ended; but my hopes and fears begin : Nor can it be imputed as a sin

In me to wish it favour. If this night
To the judicious it hath giv'n delight,

I have my ends: and may such, for their grace Vouchsaf'd to this, find theirs in every, place!

002

WIT

When wit plays with the billows that choak'd

him.

[sir, Witty. Why, is it not a fashion for a father, Out of his yearly thousands to allow His only son a competent brace of hundreds, Or such a toy?

Olde. Yes; if he mean to spoil him, Or mar his wits, he may, but never I. [stant; This is my humour, sir, which you'll find conI love wit so well, because I liv'd by't, that I'll Give no man power out of my means to hurt it, And that's a kind of gratitude to my raiser, Which great ones often forget. I admire

much

This age's dullness! When I scarce writ man, The first degree that e'er I took in thriving, I lay intelligencer close for wenching: Could give this lord or knight a true certificate Of all the maidenheads extant; how many lay 'Mongst chambermaids, how many 'mongst exchange wenches

(Tho' never many there, I must confess, They have a trick to utter ware so fast); I knew which lady had a mind to fall, Which gentlewoman new divorc'd, which tradesman breaking,

The price of every sinner to a hair, And where to raise each price; which were the termers [gowns,

That would give velvet petticoats, tissue Which pieces, angels, suppers, and half

crowns:

I knew how to match, and make my market;
Could give intelligence where the pox lay lege,
And then to see the lechers shift a point
Twas sport and profit too; how they would
shun
[fully,
Their ador'd mistress' chambers, and run fear-
Like rats from burning houses; so brought I
My clients o' the game still safe together,
And noble gamesters lov'd me, and I felt it.
Give me a man that lives by his wits, say I,
And's never left a groat! there's the true gal-
lant.

When I grew somewhat pursy, I grew then
In men's opinions too, and confidences;
They put things call'd executorships upon me,
The charge of orphans, little senseless crea-
tures,
[feltmakers,

Whom in their childhoods I bound forth to To make 'em lose, and work away their gentry, [tom, Disguise their tender natures with hard cusSo wrought 'em out in time; there I rose ungently.

Nor do I fear to discourse this unto thee; I'm arm'd at all points against treachery, I hold my humour firm; if I can see thee thrive by [courage Thy wits while I live, I shall have the more To trust thee with my lands when I die; if not,

And even arriv'd at my last cheat, I fear me; But 'twill make shift to bury me, by daylight too.

And discharge all my legacies, 'tis so wealthy,
And never trouble any interest money.
I've a niece to wed, over whose steps

I have plac'd a trusty watchful guardianess,
For fear some poor earl steal her ('t has been
threaten'd)
[on't;
To redeem mortgag'd land, but he shall miss
To prevent which, I have sought out a match
for her,

Fop of Fop-Hall he writes himself, (I take it, The ancient'st fop in Englaud) with whom I've privately

Compounded for the third part of her portion,

me.

Enter Sir Gregory Fop and Cunningham. And she seems pleas'd; so two parts rest with [he, sir? He's come. Sir Gregory, welcome! What's Greg. Young Cunningham, a Norfolk gentleman,

One that has liv'd upon the fops, my kindred, Ever since my remembrance. He's a wit indeed,

And we all strive to have him; nay 'tis certain
Some of our name have gone to law for him.
Now 'tis my turn to keep him; and indeed
He's plaguy chargeable, as all your wits are:
But I will give him over when I list;
I ha' us'd wits so before.

Olde. I hope when you're married, sir,
You'll shake him off.

Greg. Why, what do you take me to be,

Old