The Scornful Lady | Page 5

my Brothers Steward, his cast off
mill-money, his Kitchen Arithmetick.
Sa. Sir, I hope you will not make so little of me?
Yo. Lo. I make thee not so little as thou art: for indeed there goes no
more to the making of a Steward, but a fair Imprimis, and then a
reasonable Item infus'd into him, and the thing is done.
Sa. Nay then you stir my duty, and I must tell you?
Young Lo. What wouldst thou tell me, how Hopps grow, or hold some
rotten discourse of Sheep, or when our Lady-day falls? Prethee farewel,
and entertain my friends, be drunk and burn thy Table-books: and my
dear spark of velvet, thou and I.

Sa. Good Sir remember?
Young Lo. I do remember thee a foolish fellow, one that did put his
trust in Almanacks, and Horse-fairs, and rose by Hony and Pot-butter.
Shall they come in yet?
Sa. Nay then I must unfold your Brothers pleasure, these be the lessons
Sir, he left behind him.
Young Lo. Prethee expound the first.
Sa. I leave to maintain my house three hundred pounds a year; and my
Brother to dispose of it.
Young Lo. Mark that my wicked Steward, and I dispose of it?
Sav. Whilest he bears himself like a Gentleman, and my credit falls not
in him. Mark that my good young Sir, mark that.
Young Lo. Nay, if it be no more I shall fulfil it, whilst my Legs will
carry me I'le bear my self Gentleman-like, but when I am drunk, let
them bear me that can. Forward dear Steward.
Sav. Next it is my will, that he be furnished (as my Brother) with
Attendance, Apparel, and the obedience of my people.
Young Lo. Steward this is as plain as your old Minikin-breeches. Your
wisdom will relent now, will it not? Be mollified or--you understand
me Sir, proceed?
Sav. Next, that my Steward keep his place, and power, and bound my
Brother's wildness with his care.
Young Lo. I'le hear no more of this Apocrypha, bind it by it self
Steward.
Sav. This is your Brothers will, and as I take it, he makes no mention of
such company as you would draw unto you. Captains of Gallyfoists,
such as in a clear day have seen Callis, fellows that have no more of

God, than their Oaths come to: they wear swords to reach fire at a Play,
and get there the oyl'd end of a Pipe, for their Guerdon: then the
remnant of your Regiment, are wealthy Tobacco-Marchants, that set up
with one Ounce, and break for three: together with a Forlorn hope of
Poets, and all these look like Carthusians, things without linnen: Are
these fit company for my Masters Brother?
Young Lo. I will either convert thee (O thou Pagan Steward) or
presently confound thee and thy reckonings, who's there? Call in the
Gentlemen.
Sav. Good Sir.
Young Lo. Nay, you shall know both who I am, and where I am.
Sav. Are you my Masters Brother?
Young Lo. Are you the sage Master Steward, with a face like an old
Ephemerides?
Enter his Comrades, Captain, Traveller, &c.
Sav. Then God help us all I say.
Young Lo. I, and 'tis well said my old peer of France: welcome
Gentlemen, welcome Gentlemen; mine own dear Lads y'are richly
welcome. Know this old Harry Groat.
Cap. Sir I will take your love.
Sav. Sir, you will take my Purse.
Cap. And study to continue it.
Sav. I do believe you.
Trav. Your honorable friend and Masters Brother, hath given you to us
for a worthy fellow, and so we hugg you Sir.

Sav. Has given himself into the hands of Varlets, not to be carv'd out.
Sir, are these the pieces?
Young Lo. They are the Morals of the Age, the vertues, men made of
gold.
Sav. Of your gold you mean Sir.
Young Lo. This is a man of War, and cryes go on, and wears his
colours.
Sav. In's nose.
Young Lo. In the fragrant field. This is a Traveller Sir, knows men and
manners, and has plow'd up the Sea so far till both the Poles have
knockt, has seen the Sun take Coach, and can distinguish the colour of
his Horses, and their kinds, and had a Flanders-Mare leapt there.
Sav. 'Tis much.
Tra. I have seen more Sir.
Sav. 'Tis even enough o' Conscience; sit down, and rest you, you are at
the end of the world already. Would you had as good a Living Sir, as
this fellow could lie you out of, he has a notable gift in't.
Young Lo. This ministers the smoak, and this the Muses.
Sav. And you the Cloaths, and Meat, and Money, you have a goodly
generation of 'em, pray let them multiply,