_Old K._ Yes, if he mean to spoil him, Or mar his wits he may, but never I, This is my humor, Sir, which you'll find constant; I love Wit so well, because I liv'd by't, That I'll give no man power out of my means to hurt it, And that's a kind of gratitude to my raiser, Which great ones oft forget; I admire much This Ages dulness, when I scarce writ man, The first degree that e'er I took in thriving, I lay intelligencer close for wenching, Could give this Lord or Knight a true Certificate Of all the Maiden-heads extant, how many lay 'Mongst Chambermaids, how many 'mongst Exchange [Wenches,] Though never many there I must confess They have a trick to utter Ware so fast; I knew which Lady had a mind to fall, Which Gentlewoman new divorc'd, which Tradesman breaking, The price of every sinner to a hair, And where to raise each price; which were the Tearmers, That would give Velvet Petticoats, Tissue Gowns, Which Pieces, Angels, Suppers, and Half Crowns; I knew how to match, and make my market. Could give intelligence where the Pox lay leidger, And then to see the Letchers shift a point, 'Twas sport and profit too; how they would shun Their ador'd Mistriss chambers, and run fearfully, Like Rats from burning houses, so brought I My Clyents[a] the game still safe together, And noble gamesters lov'd me, and I felt it. Give me a man that lives by his wits, say I, And's never left a Groat, there's the true Gallant. When I grew somewhat pursie, I grew then In mens opinions too, and confidences, They put things call'd Executorships upon me, The charge of Orphans, little sensless creatures, Whom in their Childhoods I bound forth to Felt-makers, To make 'em lose, and work away their Gentry, Disguise their tender natures with hard custom, So wrought 'em out in time, there I rise ungently, Nor do I fear to discourse this unto thee, I'm arm'd at all points against treachery, I hold my humor firm, if I can see thee thrive by Thy wits while I live, I shall have the more courage To trust thee with my Lands when I dye; if not, The next best wit I can hear of, carries 'em: For since in my time and knowledge, so many rich children Of the City, conclude in beggery, I'de rather Make a wise stranger my Executor, then a foolish Son my Heir, and to have my Lands call'd after my Wit, than after my name; and that's my nature. _Witty._ 'Tis a strange harsh one, must I still shift then? I come brave Cheats, once to my trade agen. And I'll ply't harder now than e'er I did for't, You'll part with nothing then, Sir? _Old K._ Not a jot, Sir. _Witty._ If I should ask you blessing e'r I goe, Sir, I think you would not give't me.