_Fid._ Why, will you leave me behind then?--[_Aside._] If you would preserve my life, I'm sure you should not. _Man._ Leave thee behind! ay, ay, thou art a hopeful youth for the shore only. Here thou wilt live to be cherished by fortune and the great ones; for thou mayst easily come to outflatter a dull poet, outlie a coffee-house or gazette-writer, outswear a knight of the post,[96] outwatch a pimp, outfawn a rook, outpromise a lover, outrail a wit, and outbrag a sea-captain:--all this thou canst do, because thou'rt a coward, a thing I hate; therefore thou'lt do better with the world than with me, and these are the good courses you must take in the world. There's good advice, at least, at parting; go, and be happy with't. _Fid._ Parting, sir! O let me not hear that dismal word. _Man._ If my words frighten thee, begone the sooner; for to be plain with thee, cowardice and I cannot dwell together. _Fid._ And cruelty and courage never dwelt together sure, sir. Do not turn me off to shame and misery, for I am helpless and friendless. _Man._ Friendless! there are half a score friends for thee then.--[_Offers her gold._] I leave myself no more: they'll help thee a little. Begone, go, I must be cruel to thee (if thou callest it so) out of pity. _Fid._ If you would be cruelly pitiful, sir, let it be with your sword, not gold. [_Exit._ _Re-enter_ 1st Sailor. _1st Sail._ We have, with much ado, turned away two gentlemen, who told us, forty times over, their names were Mr. Novel and Major Oldfox. _Man._ Well, to your post again.--[_Exit_ Sailor.] But how come those puppies coupled always together? _Free._ O, the coxcombs keep each other company, to show each other, as Novel calls it; or, as Oldfox says, like two knives, to whet one another. _Man._ And set other people's teeth on edge. _Re-enter_ 2nd Sailor. _2nd Sail._ Here is a woman, an't like your honour, scolds and bustles with us, to come in, as much as a seaman's widow at the Navy office: her name is Mrs. Blackacre. _Man._ That fiend too! _Free._ The Widow Blackacre, is it not? that litigious she petty-fogger, who is at law and difference with all the world; but I wish I could make her agree with me in the church. They say she has fifteen hundred pounds a year jointure, and the care of her son, that is, the destruction of his estate.