Well. Why?

E. Kno. Why, sayest thou? Why, dost thou think that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the day too, could have mistaken my father for me?

Well. 'Slid, you jest, I hope.

E. Kno. Indeed, the best use we can turn it tó, is to make a jest on't now; but I'll assure you, my father had the full view of your flourishing style, before I saw it.

Well. What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith?

Step. Cousin, it is well; I am melancholy enough?

E. Kno. O, ay, excellent!

Well. Captain Bobadil, why muse you so?
E. Kno. He is melancholy too.

Bob. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of service was performed, to-morrow, being St Mark's day, shall be some ten years now.

E. Kno. In what place, captain?

Bob. Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred re

Well. What, what?

E. Kno. Marry, that thou art some strange, dissolute young fellow, and I not a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.

Well. Tut! that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly. But, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-bys here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in them, if thou hearest them once go: my wind-instruments. I'll wind them up--But what strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the dumb man?

E. Kno. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, an' he please; he has his humour, sir.

Well. Oh, what is't, what is't?

E. Kno. Nay, I'll neither do your judgment, nor his folly, that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension. I'll leave him to the mercy of your search, if you can take him so.

Well. Well. Captain Bobadil, Master Matthew, I pray you know this gentleman here; he is a friend of mine, and one, that will deserve your affection. I know not your name, sir, but shall be glad of any occasion to render me more familiar

to you.

Step. My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir: his father is mine uncle, sir; I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.

Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man; but for Mr Well-bred's sake (you may embrace it at what height of favour you please) I do communicate with you; and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts. I love few words, E. Kno. And I fewer, sir. I have scarce enow to thank you.

Mat. But are you indeed, sir, so given to it? [To Master STEPHEN. Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.

Mat. Oh, it is your only fine humour, sir; your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir: I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no more but take a pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentlemen; it was the first, but the best leagure, that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking of what do you call it, last year, by the Genoese; but that (of all others) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.

Step. 'So, I had as lief as an angel, I could swear as well as that gentleman!

E. Kno. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems; at Strigonium, and what do you call it?

Bob. Oh, lord, sir! by St George, I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain, if I had had a million of lives.

E. Kno. It was a pity you had not ten; a cat's, and your own, i'faith. But was it possible? Mat. Pray you, mark this discourse, sir. Step. So I do.

Bob. I assure you, upon my reputation, it is true, and yourself shall confess.

E. Kno. You must bring me to the rack first.

Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet sir: they had planted me three demi-culverins, just in the mouth of the breach: now, sir, as we were to give on, their master-gunner (a man of no mean skill and mark, you must think) confronts me with his linstock, ready to give fire: I, spying his intendment, discharged my petrionel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put them all, pell-mell, to the sword.

Well. To the sword! to the rapier, captain! E. Kno. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir! but did you all this, captain, without hurting your blade?

Bob. Without any impeach o' the earth: you shall perceive, sir. It is the most fortunate weapon that ever rid on poor gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay, Excalibar, Durindana, or so? Tut, I lend no credit to what is fabled of them; I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the bolder maintain it.

Step. I marvel whether it be a Toledo, or no.
Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.
Step. I have a countryman of his here.
Mat. Pray you, let's sce, sir. Yes, faith, it is!

Bob. This a Toledo! pish.

Step. Why do you pish, captain?

Bob. A Fleming, by Heaven! I'll buy them for a guilder a piece, an' I would have a thousand of them.

E. Kno. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.

Well. Where bought you it, Master Stephen? Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier (a hundred of lice go with him); he swore it was a Toledo.

Bob. A poor provant rapier, no better. Mat. Mass, I think it be, indeed! now I look en't better.

E. Kno. Nay, the longer you look on't the worse. Put it up, put it up!

Step. Well, I will put it up, but by―(I have forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it) an' e'er I meet him

Well. O, 'tis past help, now, sir; you must have patience.

Step. Whoreson rascal! I could eat the very hilts for anger.

E. Kno. A sign of good digestion; you have an ostrich stomach, cousin.

Step. A stomach! I would I had him here! you should see an' I had a stomach.

Well. It is better as it is. Come, gentlemen, shall we go?

Enter BRAIN-WORM,

E. Kno. A miracle, cousin! look here! look here!

Brain. You are conceited, sir; your name is Mr Kno'well, as I take it?

E. Kno. You are in the right. You mean not to proceed in the catechism, do you? Brain. No, sir, I am none of that coat. E. Kno. Of as bare coat, though! Well say, sir?

Brain. Faith, sir, I am but a servant to the drum extraordinary, and indeed, this smoky varnish being washed off, and three or four patches removed, I appear your worship's in reversion, after the decease of your good father-Brain

worm.

E. Kno. Brain-worm! 'Slight, what breath of a conjurer hath blown thee hither in this shape?

Brain. The breath o' your letter, sir, this morning: the same, that blew you to the windmill, and your father after you.

E. Kno. My father!

Brain. Nay, never start; 'tis true; he has followed you over the fields by the foot, as you would do a hare i' the snow.

E. Kno. Sirrah, Well-bred, what shall we do, sirrah? My father is come over after me. Well. Thy father! Where is he?

Brain. At justice Clement's house, here, in Coleman-street, where he but stays my return; and then

Well. Who's this? Brain-worm?
Brain. The same, sir.

Well. Why, how, i' the name of wit, comest

Brain. True, I did so.

Step. But it is none!

Brain. No, sir, I confess it is none.

Step. Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confessed it. By God's will, an' you had not confessed it

E. Kno. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.
Step. Nay, I have done, cousin.

Well. Why, you have done like a gentleman; he has confessed it, what would you more? Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his favour, do you see.

E. Kno. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under fayour. Pretty piece of civility! Sirrah, how dost like him?

Well. Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much of him. I can compare him to nothing more happily, than a drum; for every one may play upon him.

E. Kno. No, no, a child's whistle were far the fitter.

Brain. Sir, shall I entreat a word with you? E. Kno. With me, sir! You have not another Toledo to sell, have you?

Brain. Faith, a device! a device! Nay, for the love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding the danger, stand not here; withdraw, and I'll tell you all.

E. Kno. Come, cousin.

SCENE II.-The Warehouse.

Enter KITELY and CASH,

[Exeunt.

Cash. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.

Keit. Has he the money ready? Can you tell? Cash. Yes, sir, the money was brought in last night.

Kite. O, that's well: fetch me my cloak, my cloak.

Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least; and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch him,
Or very near well, I will say two hours.
Two hours! ha! things, never dreamt of yet,
May be contrived, ay, and effected too,
In two hours absence. Well, I will not go.
Two hours! No, fleering opportunity!
I will not give your subtlety that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed,
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,

Well. Why?

E. Kno. Why, sayest thou? Why, dost thou think that any reasonable creature, especially in the morning, the sober time of the day too, could have mistaken my father for me?

Well. 'Slid, you jest, I hope.

E. Kno. Indeed, the best use we can turn it tó, is to make a jest on't now; but I'll assure you, my father had the full view of your flourishing style, before I saw it.

Well. What a dull slave was this! But, sirrah, what said he to it, i'faith?

Step. Cousin, it is well; I am melancholy enough?

E. Kno. O, ay, excellent!

Well. Captain Bobadil, why muse you so?
E. Kno. He is melancholy too.

Bob. Faith, sir, I was thinking of a most honourable piece of service was performed, to-morrow, being St Mark's day, shall be some ten years now.

E. Kno. In what place, captain?

Bob. Why, at the beleaguering of Strigonium, where, in less than two hours, seven hundred re

Well. What, what?

E. Kno. Marry, that thou art some strange, dissolute young fellow, and I not a grain or two better, for keeping thee company.

Well. Tut! that thought is like the moon in her last quarter, 'twill change shortly. But, sirrah, I pray thee be acquainted with my two hang-bys here; thou wilt take exceeding pleasure in them, if thou hearest them once go: my wind-instruments. I'll wind them up-But what strange piece of silence is this? The sign of the dumb man?

E. Kno. Oh, sir, a kinsman of mine, one that may make your music the fuller, an' he please; he has his humour, sir.

Well. Oh, what is't, what is't?

E. Kno. Nay, I'll neither do your judgment, nor his folly, that wrong, as to prepare your apprehension. I'll leave him to the mercy of your search, if you can take him so.

Well. Well. Captain Bobadil, Master Matthew, I pray you know this gentleman here; he is a friend of mine, and one, that will deserve your affection. I know not your name, sir, but shall be glad of any occasion to render me more familiar

to you.

Step. My name is Master Stephen, sir; I am this gentleman's own cousin, sir: his father is mine uncle, sir; I am somewhat melancholy, but you shall command me, sir, in whatsoever is incident to a gentleman.

Bob. Sir, I must tell you this, I am no general man; but for Mr Well-bred's sake (you may embrace it at what height of favour you please) I do communicate with you; and conceive you to be a gentleman of some parts. I love few words, E. Kno. And I fewer, sir. I have scarce enow to thank you.

Mat. But are you indeed, sir, so given to it? [To Master STEPHEN. Step. Ay, truly, sir, I am mightily given to melancholy.

Mat. Oh, it is your only fine humour, sir; your true melancholy breeds your perfect fine wit, sir: I am melancholy myself, divers times, sir; and then do I no more but take a pen and paper presently, and overflow you half a score or a dozen of sonnets at a sitting.

their lives upon the breach. I'll tell you, gentlemen; it was the first, but the best leagure, that ever I beheld with these eyes, except the taking of what do you call it, last year, by the Genoese; but that (of all others) was the most fatal and dangerous exploit that ever I was ranged in, since I first bore arms before the face of the enemy, as I am a gentleman and a soldier.

Step. 'So, I had as lief as an angel, I could swear as well as that gentleman!

E. Kno. Then you were a servitor at both, it seems; at Strigonium, and what do you call it?

Bob. Oh, lord, sir! by St George, I was the first man that entered the breach; and had I not effected it with resolution, I had been slain, if I had had a million of lives.

E. Kno. It was a pity you had not ten; a cat's, and your own, i'faith. But was it possible? Mat. Pray you, mark this discourse, sir. Step. So I do.

Bob. I assure you, upon my reputation, it is true, and yourself shall confess.

E. Kno. You must bring me to the rack first.

Bob. Observe me judicially, sweet sir: they had planted me three demi-culverins, just in the mouth of the breach: now, sir, as we were to give on, their master-gunner (a man of no mean skill and mark, you must think) confronts me with his linstock, ready to give fire: 1, spying his intendment, discharged my petrionel in his bosom, and with these single arms, my poor rapier, ran violently upon the Moors that guarded the ordnance, and put them all, pell-mell, to the sword.

Well. To the sword! to the rapier, captain! E. Kno. Oh, it was a good figure observed, sir! but did you all this, captain, without hurting your blade?

Bob. Without any impeach o' the earth: you shall perceive, sir. It is the most fortunate wea pon that ever rid on poor gentleman's thigh. Shall I tell you, sir? You talk of Morglay, Excalibar, Durindana, or so? Tut, I lend no credit to what is fabled of them; I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the bolder maintain it.

Step. I marvel whether it be a Toledo, or no.
Bob. A most perfect Toledo, I assure you, sir.
Step. I have a countryman of his here.
Mat. Pray you, let's see, sir. Yes, faith, it is!

Bob. This a Toledo! pish.

Step. Why do you pish, captain? Bob. A Fleming, by Heaven! I'll buy them for guilder a piece, an' I would have a thousand of them.

E. Kno. How say you, cousin? I told you thus much.

Well. Where bought you it, Master Stephen? Step. Of a scurvy rogue soldier (a hundred of lice go with him); he swore it was a l'oledo. Bob. A poor provant rapier, no better. Mat. Mass, I think it be, indeed! now I look en't better.

E. Kno. Nay, the longer you look on't the worse. Put it up, put it up!

Step. Well, I will put it up, but by-(I have forgot the captain's oath, I thought to have sworn by it) an' e'er I meet him

Well. O, 'tis past help, now, sir; you must have patience.

Step. Whoreson rascal! I could eat the very hilts for anger.

E. Kno. A sign of good digestion; you have an ostrich stomach, cousin.

Step. A stomach! I would I had him here! you should see an' I had a stomach.

Well. It is better as it is. Come, gentlemen, shall we go?

Enter BRAIN-WORM.

E. Kno. A miracle, cousin! look here! look here!

Brain. You are conceited, sir; your name is Mr Kno'well, as I take it?

E. Kno. You are in the right. You mean not to proceed in the catechism, do you? Brain. No, sir, I am none of that coat. E. Kno. Of as bare coat, though! Well say, sir?

Brain. Faith, sir, I am but a servant to the drum extraordinary, and indeed, this smoky varnish being washed off, and three or four patches removed, I appear your worship's in reversion, after the decease of your good father-Brain

Brain. Nay, never start; 'tis true; he has followed you over the fields by the foot, as you would do a hare i' the snow.

E. Kno. Sirrah, Well-bred, what shall we do, sirrah? My father is come over after me. Well. Thy father! Where is he?

Brain. At justice Clement's house, here, in Coleman-street, where he but stays my return; and then

Well. Who's this? Brain-worm?
Brain. The same, sir.

Well. Why, how, i' the name of wit, comest

Brain. True, I did so.

Step. But it is none!

Brain. No, sir, I confess it is none.

Step. Do you confess it? Gentlemen, bear witness, he has confessed it. By God's will, an' you had not confessed it

E. Kno. Oh, cousin, forbear, forbear.
Step. Nay, I have done, cousin.

Well. Why, you have done like a gentleman; he has confessed it, what would you more? Step. Yet, by his leave, he is a rascal, under his favour, do you see.

E. Kno. Ay, by his leave, he is, and under favour. Pretty piece of civility! Sirrah, how dost like him?

Well. Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much of him. I can compare him to nothing more happily, than a drum; for every one may play upon him.

E. Kno. No, no, a child's whistle were far the fitter.

Brain. Sir, shall I entreat a word with you? E. Kno. With me, sir! You have not another Toledo to sell, have you?

Brain. Faith, a device! a device! Nay, for the love of reason, gentlemen, and avoiding the danger, stand not here; withdraw, and I'll tell you all.

E. Kno. Come, cousin.

SCENE II.-The Warehouse.

Enter KITELY and CASH.

[Exeunt,

Stay, let me see; an hour to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least; and then 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch him,
Or very near well, I will say two hours.
Two hours! ha! things, never dreamt of yet,
May be contrived, ay, and effected too,
In two hours absence. Well, I will not go.
Two hours! No, fleering opportunity!
I will not give your subtlety that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robbed
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,