+Lio.+ A faithful, not a ceremonious friend; But one that will stick by you on occasions, And vindicate your credit, were it sunk Below all scorn, and interpose his life Betwixt you and all dangers: such a friend That, when he sees you carried by your passions Headlong into destruction, will so follow you That he will guide you from't, and with good counsel Redeem you from ill courses; and, not flattering Your idle humour to a vain expense, Cares not to see you perish, so he may Sustain himself awhile, and raise a fortune, Though mean, out of your ruins, and then laugh at you. +Pet.+ Why, be there any such friends as these? +Lio.+ A world: They walk like spirits, not to be discern'd; Subtle and soft like air; have oily balm Swimming o'er their words and actions; But below it a flood of gall. +Pet.+ Well, to the purpose: speak to the purpose. +Lio.+ If I stand link'd unto you, The Gordian knot was less dissoluble, A rock less firm, or centre movable. +Pet.+ Speak your demand. +Lio.+ Do it, and do it freely, then; lend me a hundred ducats. +Pet.+ How is that? lend you a hundred ducats! Not a ---- I'll never have a friend while I breathe first: no, I'll stand upon my guard; I give all the world leave to whet their wits against me, work like moles to undermine me, yet I'll spurn all their deceits like a hillock. I tell thee I'll not buy the small repentance of a friend or whore at the rate of a livre. +Lio.+ What's this? I dare not Trust my own ears, silence choke up my anger. A friend and whore! are they two parallels, Or to be nam'd together? May he never Have better friend that knows no better how To value them. Well, I was ever jealous[302] Of his baseness, and now my fears are ended. Pox o' these travels! they do but corrupt A good nature, and his was bad enough before. _Enter +Angelia+._ +Pet.+ What pretty sparkle of humanity have we here? Whose attendant are you, my little knave? +Ang.+ I wait, sir, on Master Lionel. +Lio.+ 'Tis well you are come. What says the gentleman? +Ang.+ I delivered your letter to him. He is very sorry he can furnish you no better; he has sent you twenty crowns, he says, towards the large debt he owes you. +Pet.+ A fine child! and delivers his tale with good method. Where, in the name of Ganymede, had'st thou this epitome of a servitor? +Lio.+ You'd little think of what consequence and pregnancy this imp is: you may hereafter have both cause to know and love him. What gentlemen are these? _Enter +Gasparo+ and +Lorenzo+._ +Pet.+ One is my father. +Lor.+ I hear your son, sir, is return'd from travel, Grown up a fine and stately gentleman, Outstrips his compeers in each liberal science.