Sir _Anth_. Sir _Timothy Treat-all_! Sir _Tim_. Why, how long have you been in Town, Sir? Sir _Anth_. About three days, Sir. Sir _Tim_. Three days, and never came to dine with me! ‘tis unpardonable! What, you keep close to the Church, I see: You are for the Surplice still, old Orthodox you; the Times cannot mend you, I see. Sir _Anth_. No, nor shall they mar me, Sir. Sir _Char_. They are discoursing; I’ll pass by. [_Aside_. [_Ex. Sir_ Charles. Sir _Anth_. As I take it, you came from Church too. Sir _Tim_. Ay, needs must when the Devil drives. I go to save my Bacon, as they say, once a Month, and that too after the Porridge is serv’d up. Sir _Anth_. Those that made it, Sir, are wiser than we. For my part, I love good wholesom Doctrine, that teaches Obedience to the King and Superiors, without railing at the Government, and quoting Scripture for Sedition, Mutiny and Rebellion. Why here was a jolly Fellow this Morning made a notable Sermon. By George, our Country-Vicars are mere Scholars to your Gentlemen Town-Parsons! Hah, how he handled the Text, and run Divisions upon’t! ‘twould make a Man sin with moderation, to hear how he claw’d away the Vices of the Town, Whoring, Drinking, and Conventicling, with the rest of the deadly number. Sir _Tim_. Good lack! an he were so good at Whoring and Drinking, you’d best carry your Nephew, Sir _Charles Meriwill_, to Church; he wants a little documentizing that way. Sir _Anth_. Hum! you keep your old wont still; a Man can begin no Discourse to you, be it of Prester John, but you still conclude with my Nephew. Sir _Tim_. Good Lord! Sir Anthony, you need not be so purty; what I say, is the Discourse of the whole City, how lavishly you let him live, and give ill Examples to all young Heirs. Sir _Anth_. The City! The City’s a grumbling, lying, dissatisfy’d City, and no wise or honest Man regards what it says. Do you, or any of the City, stand bound to his Scrivener or Taylor? He spends what I allow him, Sir, his own; and you’re a Fool, or Knave, chuse ye whether, to concern your self. Sir _Tim_. Good lack! I speak but what wiser Men discourse. Sir _Anth_. Wiser Men! wiser Coxcombs. What, they wou’d have me train my Nephew up, a hopeful Youth, to keep a Merchant’s Book, or send him to chop Logick in an University, and have him returned an arrant learned Ass, to simper, and look demure, and start at Oaths and Wenches, whilst I fell his Woods, and grant Leases: And lastly, to make good what I have cozen’d him of, force him to marry Mrs. Crump, the ill-favour’d Daughter of some Right Worshipful.--A Pox of all of such Guardians! Sir _Tim_. Do, countenance Sin and Expenccs, do. Sir _Anth_. What Sin, what Expences? He wears good Clothes, why, Trades-men get the more by him; he keeps his Coach, ‘tis for his Ease; A Mistress, ‘tis for his Pleasure; he games, ‘tis for his Diversion: And where’s the harm of this? is there ought else you can accuse him with?