The Works of John Dryden, Vol. II | Page 7

fashionable; he shall set thee forth, I
warrant thee.
Burr. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart?
Fail. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of clothes
without money? [Aside.
Burr. You speak of miracles.
Fail. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour?
Burr. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour?
Fail. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a suit; nay, he will
contribute to his own destruction, and give thee occasions to make one.
He has been my artificer these three years; and, all the while, I have

lived upon his favourable apprehension. Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit
Boy._
Burr. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in all my life.
_Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a quarter-quibble,
or a pun.
Burr. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed with
none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable rogue
art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay him ready
money.
Fail. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll throw the clothes
over you to help meditation. And, upon the first opportunity, start you
up, and surprise him with a jest.
Burr. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however, I'll attempt.
[_Lies down_, FAILER covers him.
Fail. Husht! he's coming up.
Enter BIBBER.
Bib. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a dunning
now?
Fail. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy wit, than to
think thou would'st come to so little purpose.
Bib. Pretty well that: No, no, my business is to drink my
morning's-draught in sack with you.
Fail. Will not ale serve thy turn, Will?
Bib. I had too much of that last night; I was a little disguised, as they
say.
Fail. Why disguised? Hadst thou put on a clean band, or washed thy

face lately? Those are thy disguises, Bibber.
Bib. Well, in short, I was drunk; damnably drunk with ale; great
hogan-mogan bloody ale: I was porterly drunk, and that I hate of all
things in nature.
_Burr, rising_.] And of all things in nature I love it best.
Bib. Art thou there, i'faith? and why, old boy?
Burr. Because, when I am porterly drunk, I can carry myself.
Bib. Ha, ha, boy.
Fail. This porter brings sad news to you, Will; you must trust him for a
suit of clothes, as bad as 'tis: Come, he's an honest fellow, and loves the
king.
Bib. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him.
Burr. I grant your suit, sir.
Fail. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here to-day:
you know him?
Burr. Aye, aye, a good honest young fellow; but no conjurer; he and I
are very kind.
Fail. Egad, we two have a constant revenue out of him: He would now
be admitted suitor to my Lady Constance Nonsuch, my Lord Nonsuch's
daughter; our neighbour here in Fleetstreet.
Burr. Is the match in any forwardness?
Fail. He never saw her before yesterday, and will not be brought to
speak to her this month yet.
Burr. That's strange.

Fail. Such a bashful knight did I never see; but we must move for him.
Bib. They say, here's a great dinner to be made to-day here, at your
cousin Trice's, on purpose for the interview.
Burr. What, he keeps up his old humour still?
Fail. Yes, certain; he admires eating and drinking well, as much as ever,
and measures every man's wit by the goodness of his palate.
Burr. Who dines here besides?
Fail. Jack Loveby.
Bib. O, my guest.
Burr. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-spirited fellow.
Fail. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a debauchee.
Burr. I love him the better for't: The best heraldry of a gentleman is a
clap, derived to him from three generations. What fortune has he?
Fail. Good fortune at all games; but no estate: He had one; but he has
made a devil on't long ago. He's a bold fellow, I vow to gad: A person,
that keeps company with his betters; and commonly has gold in's
pockets. Come, Bibber, I see thou longest to be at thy morning's
watering: I'll try what credit I have with the butler.
Bib. Come away, my noble Festus and new customer.
Fail. Now will he drink, till his face be no bigger than a three-pence.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
_Enter LOVEBY and BOY; followed by FRANCES, BIBBER'S wife_.
Lov. Nay, the devil take thee, sweet landlady, hold thy tongue: Was't

not enough thou hast scolded me from my lodging, which, as long as I