Sir _Cred._ No Offence, dear Sir, I protest: ‘slife, I believe ‘tis the Master of the House, he look’d with such Authority;--why, who cares, let him look as big as the four Winds, East, West, North and South, I care not this,--therefore I beg your Pardon, noble Sir. Sir _Pat._ Pray spare your Hat and Legs, Sir, till you come to Court, they are thrown away i’th’ City. Sir _Cred._ O Lord! dear Sir, ‘tis all one for that, I value not a Leg nor an Arm amongst Friends, I am a _Devonshire_ Knight, Sir, all the World knows, a kind of Country Gentleman, as they say, and am come to Town, to marry my Lady _Knowell’s_ Daughter. Sir _Pat._ I’m glad on’t, Sir. [Walks away, he follows. Sir _Cred._ She’s a deserving Lady, Sir, if I have any Judgment; and I think I understand a Lady, Sir, in the Right Honourable way of Matrimony. Sir _Pat._ Well, Sir, that is to say, you have been married before, Sir; and what’s all this to me, good Sir? Sir _Cred._ Married before! incomparable, Sir! not so neither, for there’s difference in Men, Sir. Sir _Pat._ Right, Sir, for some are Wits, and some are Fools. Sir _Cred._ As I hope to breathe, ‘twas a saying of my Grandmother’s, who us’d to tell me, Sir, that bought Wit was best. I have brought Money to Town for a small purchase of that kind; for, Sir, I wou’d fain set up for a Country Wit.--Pray, Sir, where live the Poets, for I wou’d fain be acquainted with some of them. Sir _Pat._ Sir, I do not know, nor do I care for Wits and Poets. Oh, this will kill me quite; I’ll out of Town immediately. Sir _Cred._ But, Sir, I mean your fine railing Bully Wits, that have Vinegar, Gall and Arsenick in ‘em, as well as Salt and Flame, and Fire, and the Devil and all. Sir _Pat._ Oh, defend me! and what is all this to me, Sir? Sir _Cred._ Oh, Sir, they are the very Soul of Entertainment; and, Sir, it is the prettiest sport to hear ‘em rail and haul at one another--Zoz, wou’d I were a Poet. Sir _Pat._ I wish you were, since you are so fond of being rail’d at.--If I were able to beat him, I would be much angry,--but Patience is a Virtue, and I will into the Country. [Aside. Sir _Cred._ ‘Tis all one case to me, dear Sir,--but I should have the pleasure of railing again, _cum privilegio_; I love fighting with those pointless Weapons.--Zoz, Sir, you know if we Men of Quality fall out-- (for you are a Knight I take it) why, there comes a Challenge upon it, and ten to one some body or other is run through the Gills; why, a Pox on’t, I say, this is very damnable, give me Poet’s Licence.-- L. _Fan._ Take him off in pity. [To _Leander_. _Lod._ Indeed Railing is a Coin only current among the Poets, Sir _Credulous_.