_Man._ That's a pleasure, I think, would cost you too dear, as well as marrying your widow to disappoint her. But, for my part, I have no pleasure by 'em but in despising 'em, wheresoe'er I meet 'em; and then the pleasure of hoping so to be rid of 'em. But now my comfort is, I am not worth a shilling in the world, which all the world shall know; and then I'm sure I shall have none of 'em come near me. _Free._ A very pretty comfort, which I think you pay too dear for.--But is the twenty pound gone since the morning? _Man._ To my boat's crew.--Would you have the poor, honest, brave fellows want? _Free._ Rather than you or I. _Man._ Why, art thou without money? thou who art a friend to everybody? _Free._ I ventured my last stake upon the squire to nick him of his mother; and cannot help you to a dinner, unless you will go dine with my lord-- _Man._ No, no; the ordinary is too dear for me, where flattery must pay for my dinner: I am no herald or poet. _Free._ We'll go then to the bishop's-- _Man._ There you must flatter the old philosophy: I cannot renounce my reason for a dinner. _Free._ Why, then let's go to your alderman's. _Man._ Hang him, rogue! that were not to dine; for he makes you drunk with lees of sack before dinner, to take away your stomach: and there you must call usury and extortion God's blessings, or the honest turning of the penny; hear him brag of the leather breeches in which he trotted first to town, and make a greater noise with his money in his parlour, than his cashiers do in his counting-house, without hopes of borrowing a shilling. _Free._ Ay, a pox on't! 'tis like dining with the great gamesters; and when they fall to their common dessert, to see the heaps of gold drawn on all hands, without going to twelve. Let us go to my Lady Goodly's. _Man._ There to flatter her looks. You must mistake her grandchildren for her own; praise her cook, that she may rail at him; and feed her dogs, not yourself. _Free._ What d'ye think of eating with your lawyer, then? _Man._ Eat with him! damn him! To hear him employ his barbarous eloquence in a reading upon the two-and-thirty good bits in a shoulder of veal, and be forced yourself to praise the cold bribe-pie that stinks, and drink law-French wine as rough and harsh as his law-French. A pox on him! I'd rather dine in the Temple-rounds or walks, with the knights without noses, or the knights of the post, who are honester fellows and better company. But let us home and try our fortune; for I'll stay no longer here for your damned widow. _Free._ Well, let us go home then; for I must go for my damned widow, and look after my new damned charge. Three or four hundred years ago a man might have dined in this Hall.[120] _Man._ But now the lawyer only here is fed; And, bully-like, by quarrels gets his bread. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.--MANLY'S _Lodging._ _Enter_ MANLY _and_ FIDELIA.