_Alg._ I will my dear Flesh: first come, first serv'd. Well said. Oh equal Heaven, how wisely thou disposest Thy several gifts! one's born a great rich fool, For the subordinate knave to work upon: Anothers poor, with wits addition, Which well or ill-us'd, builds a living up; And that too from the Sire oft descends: Only fair virtue, by traduction Never succeeds, and seldom meets success, What have I then to do with't? My free will Left me by heaven, makes me or good, or ill: Now since vice gets more in this vicious world Than Piety, and my Stars confluence Enforce my disposition to affect Gain, and the name of rich, let who will practise War, and grow that way great: religious, And that way good: my chief felicity Is wealth the nurse of sensuality: And he that mainly labours to be rich, Must scratch great scabs, and claw a Strumpets itch. [_Exit._ _Scæna Secunda._ _Enter_ Piorato, _and_ B[o]badilla, _with Letters_. _Pio._ To s[a]y, Sir, I will wait upon your Lord, Were not to understand my self. _Bob._ To say Sir, You will do any thing but wait upon him, Were not to understand my Lord. _Pio._ I'll meet him Some half hour hence, and doubt not but to render His Son a man again: the cure is easie, I have done divers. _Bob._ Women do ye mean, Sir? _Pio._ Cures I do mean, Sir: be there but one spark Of fire remaining in him unextinct, With my discourse I'll blow it to a flame; And with my practice into action: I have had one so full of childish fear, And womanish-hearted sent to my advice, He durst not draw a knife to cut his meat. _Bob._ And how Sir, did you help him? _Pio._ Sir, I kept him Seven daies in a dark room by a Candle-light, A plenteous Table spread with all good meats, Before his eyes, a Case of keen broad Knives, Upon the board, and he so watch'd he might not Touch the least modicum, unless he cut it: And thus I brought him first to draw a knife. _Bob._ Good. _Pio._ Then for ten daies did I diet him Only with burnt Pork, Sir, and gammons of Bacon; A pill of Caveary now and then, Which breeds choler adust you know. _Bob._ 'Tis true. _Pio._ And to purge phlegmatick humor, and cold crudities; In all that time he drank me _Aqua-fortis_, And nothing else but-- _Bo[b]. Aqua-vitæ_ Signior, For _Aqua-fortis_ poisons. _Pio. Aqua-fortis_ I say again: what's one man's poison, Signior, Is anothers meat or drink. _Bob._ Your patience, Sir; By your good patience, h' had a huge cold stomach. _Pio._ I fir'd it: and gave him then three sweats In the Artillery-yard three drilling daies: And now he'll shoot a Gun, and draw a Sword, And fight with any man in _Christendom_. _Bob._ A receipt for a coward: I'll be bold, Sir, To write your good prescription.