PYE. Oh, fit, fit! excellent. SKIRMISH. What, in the name of Conjuring? PYE. My memory greets me happily with an admirable subject to gaze upon: The Lady-Widdow, who of late I saw weeping in her Garden for the death of her Husband; sure she ’as but a watrish soul, and half on’t by this time is dropt out of her Eyes: device well managed may do good upon her: it stands firm, my first practise shall be there. SKIRMISH. You have my voice, George. PYE. Sh’as a gray Gull to her Brother, a fool to her only son, and an Ape to her youngest Daughter.—I overheard ’em severally, and from their words I’ll derive my device; and thou, old Peter Skirmish, shall be my second in all slights. SKIRMISH. Ne’er doubt me, George Pye-board,—only you must teach me to conjure. [Enter Captain Idle, pinioned, and with a guard of Officers passeth over the Stage.] PYE. Puh, I’ll perfect thee, Peter.—How now? what’s he? SKIRMISH. Oh George! this sight kills me. Tis my sworn Brother, Captain Idle. PYE. Captain Idle! SKIRMISH. Apprehended for some felonious act or other. He has started out, h’as made a Night on’t, lackt silver. I cannot but commend his resolution; he would not pawn his Buff-Jerkin. I would either some of us were employed, or might pitch our Tents at Usurers’ doors, to kill the slaves as they peep out at the Wicket. PYE. Indeed, those are our ancient Enemies; they keep our money in their hands, and make us to be hangd for robbing of ’em. But, come, let’s follow after to the Prison, and know the Nature of his offence; and what we can steed him in, he shall be sure of; and I’ll uphold it still, that a charitable Knave is better then a soothing Puritain. [Exeunt.] SCENE III. A Street. [Enter at one door Corporal Oath, a Vain-glorious fellow; and at the other, three of the Widdow Puritain’s Servingmen, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint-Mary-Overaries, and Frailty, in black scurvy mourning coats, and Books at their Girdles, as coming from Church. They meet.] NICHOLAS. What, Corporal Oath? I am sorry we have met with you, next our hearts; you are the man that we are forbidden to keep company withall. We must not swear I can tell you, and you have the name for swearing. SIMON. Aye, Corporal Oath, I would you would do so much as forsake us, sir; we cannot abide you, we must not be seen in your company. FRAILTY. There is none of us, I can tell you, but shall be soundly whipt for swearing. CORPORAL. Why, how now, we three? Puritanical Scrape-shoes, Flesh a good Fridays! a hand. ALL. Oh! CORPORAL. Why, Nicholas Saint-Tantlings, Simon Saint Mary Ovaries, ha’s the De’el possest you, that you swear no better? you half-Christned Catomites, you ungod-mothered Varlets, do’s the first lesson teach you to be proud, and the second to be Cocks-combs? proud Cocks-combs! not once to do duty to a man of Mark! FRAILTY. A man of Mark, quatha! I do not think he can shew a Begger’s Noble.