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 intreat a word with you?

E. Kno. With me, sir? you have not another Toledo to sell ha' you?

Brain. You are conceited, sir; your nsme is Mr.. Know'well, as I take it.

E. Kno. You are i' 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 a coat, though? well, say, sir,

Brain. Faith, sir, I am but servant to the drum ́extraordinary, and indeed, (this smoky varnish being wash'd 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: thesame that blew you to the wind mill, 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. Atjustice 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, eomest thou transmuted thus?

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.

Exeunt.

SCENE

Kite. What says he, Thomas? did you speak with him?
Cash. He will expect you, sir, within this half hour.
Kite. 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 cloke, my cloke,
Stay, let me see, an hour, to go and come;
Ay, that will be the least: and then it 'twill be
An hour before I can dispatch with him;
Or very near; well, I will stay two hours.
Two hours? ha? things, never dream'd of yet,
May be contriv'd, ay, and effected too,
In two hours absence: well, I will not go.
Two hours; no, fleering opportunity,
I will not give your subtilty that scope.
Who will not judge him worthy to be robb'd
That sets his doors wide open to a thief,
And shews the felon where his treasure lies?
Again, what earthly spirit but will attempt
To taste the fruit of beauty's golden tree,
When leaden sleep seals up the dragon's eyes?
I will not go. Business go by, for once.
No, beauty, no? you are too precious
To be left so, without a guard, or open!
You must be then kept up, close, and well-watch'd;
For, give you opportunity, no quick-sand
Devours, or swallows swifter! he that lends
His wife (if she be fair) or time, or place,
Compels her to be false. I will not go.

The dangers are too many. I am resolv❜d for that.
Carry in my cloke again. Yet, stay. Yet, do too.
I will defer going, on all occasions.

Cash. Sir, Snare, your scrivener, will be there with the bonds.

Kite. That's true! fall on me! I had clean forgot it; must go. What's o' clock?

Cash. Exchange time, sir.

Kite. 'Heart then well Well-bred presently be here too, With one or other of his loose consorts.

I am a knave, if I know what to say,

What course to take, or which way to resolve.
My brain, methinks, is like an hour-glass,
Wherein my imaginations run, like sands,
Filling up time; but then are turn'd, and turn'd:
So, that I know not what to stay upon,
And less, to put in act. It shall be so.
Nay I dare build upon his secrecy,
He knows not to deceive me.

Cash. Sir..

Thomas?

Kite. Yet now, I have bethought too, I will not. Thomas, is Cob within?

Cash. I think he be, sir.

Kite. But he'el prate too, there's no speech of him. No, there were no man o' the earth to Thomas, If I durst trust him; there is all the doubt. But should he have a chink in them, I were gone. Lost i' my fame for ever: talk for th' Exchange. The manner he hath stood with 'till this present, Doth promise no such change! what should I fear then ? Well, come what will, I'll tempt my fortune once. Thomas- you may deceive me, but I hope

Your love to me is more

Cash. Sir, if a servant's

Duty, with faith, may be call'd love, you are
More than in hope, you are possess'd of it.

Kite. I thank you heartily, Thomas; gi' me your
With all my heart, good Thomas. I have, Thomas,
A secret to impart unto you-but

When once you have it, I must seal your lips up:
So far I tell you, Thomas.

Cash. Sir, for that

Kite. Nay, hear me out. Think, I esteem you, When I will let you in, thus to my private.

It is a thing sits nearer to my crest.

Than thou art aware of, Thomas.

Reveal it, but

Cash. How? I reveal it?

Kile. Nay,

hand:

Thomas,

If thou shouldst

I do not think thou would'st; but if thou should'st,.

'Twere a great weakness.

Cash. A great treachery.

Give it no other name.

Kite. Thou wilt not do't then?

Cash. Sir, if I do, mankind disclaim me ever.
Kite. He will not swear, he has some reservation.
Some conceal'd purpose, and close meaning, sure :
Else (being urged so much) how should he choose,.
But lend an oath to all this protestation?

He's no fantic, I have heard him swear.

What should I think of it? urge him again,
And by some other way? I will do so.

Well, Thomas, thou hast sworn not to disclose;
Yes, you did swear?

Cash. Not yet, sir, but I will,

Please you

Kite. No, Thomas, I dare take thy word.
But if thou wilt swear, do, as thou think'st good;
I am resolv'd without it; at thy pleasure.

Cash. By my soul's safety then, sir, I protest,
My tongue shall ne'er take knowledge of a word,
Deliver'd me in nature of your trust.

Kite. It's too much, these ceremonies need not;.
I know thy faith to be as firm as a rock.
Thomas, come hither, near: we cannot be
Too private in this business. So it is.
(Now he has sworn, I dare the safelier venture)
I have of late, by divers observations-

But whether his oath can bind him, there it is.
I will bethink me e're I do proceed :-

Thomas, it will be now too long to stay,

I'll spy some fitter time soon, or to-morrow..

Cash. Sir, at your pleasure.

Kite. I will think. Give me my cloke. And, Thomas, I pray you search the books 'gainst my return,

For the receipts 'twixt me and Traps,

Cash. I will, sir.

Kite. And, hear you, if your mistress's brother, Wellbred, Chance to bring hither any gentleman,

Ere I come back; let one straight bring me word.
Cash. Very well, sir.

Kite. To the exchange; do you hear?

Or here in Coleman-street, to justice Clement's,

Forget it not, nor be out of the

Cash. I will not, sir.

way.

Kite. I pray you have a care on't.

Or

Or whether, he come or no, if any other,
Stranger, or else, fail not to send me word.

Cash. I shall not, sir.

Kite. Be't your special business

Now to remember it.

Cash. Sir, I warrant you.

Kite. But, Thomas, this is not the secret, Thomas,

I told you of.

Cash. No, sir, I do suppose it.

Kite. Believe me, it is not.

Cash. Sir, I do believe you.

Kite. By heaven! it is not; that's enough. But Tha más, I would not you should utter it, do you see,'

To any creature living; yet I care not.

Well I must hence. Thomas, conceive thus much;
It was a trial of you, when I meant

So deep a secret to you; I mean not this,
But that I have to tell you; this is nothing, this.
But Thomas, keep this from my wife, I charge you.
Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here,
No greater hell than to be slave to fear.

[Exit

Cash. Lock'd up in silence, midnight, buried here. Whence should this flood of passion, trow, take head? ha ? Best dream no longer of this running humour,

For fear I sink the violence of the stream

Already hath transported me so far,

That I can feel no ground at all! but soft,
Here is company; now must I

Enter WELL-BRED, Edw. KNO'WELL, BRAIN-WQRM,
BOBADIL, STEPHEN.

Well. Beshrew me, but it was an obsolute good jest, and exceedingly well carried!

E. Kno. Ay and our ignorance maintained it as well, did it not?

Well. Yes, faith, but was't possible thou should'st not know him? I forgive Mr. Stepben, for he is stupidity itself.

E. Kno. 'Fore heav'n not I. He had so written him-self into the habit of one of your poor infantry your decay'd ruinous, worm-eaten gentlemen of the round.

Well. Why, Brain-worm, who would have thought thou hadst been such an artificer?

E Know. An artificer? an architect! except a man had studied begging all his life-time, and been a weaver of lan

guage