WIT WITHOUT MONEY, A COMEDY. * * * * * Persons Represented in the Play. Valentine, _a Gallant that will not be perswaded to keep his Estate_. Francisco, _his younger Brother_. _Master_ Lovegood _their Uncle_. _A_ Merchant, _Friend to Master_ Lovegood. Fountain, } Bellamore,} _companions of_ Valentine, _and Sutors to the_ Widow. Hairbrain,} Lance, _a Falkner, and an ancient servant to_ Valentines _Father_. Shorthose, _the Clown, and servant to the_ Widow. Roger, Ralph, _and_ Humphrey, _three servants to the_ Widow. _Three Servants_. _Musicians_. Lady Hartwel, a _Widow_. Isabel, _her Sister_. Luce, _a waiting Gentlewoman to the Widow_. * * * * * _Actus primus. Scena prima._ * * * * * _Enter_ Uncle _and_ Merchant. _Merc._ When saw you _Valentine_? _Uncle._ Not since the Horse-race, he's taken up with those that woo the Widow. _Mer._ How can he live by snatches from such people? he bore a worthy mind. _Uncle._ Alas, he's sunk, his means are gone, he wants, and which is worse, Takes a delight in doing so. _Mer._ That's strange. _Unc._ Runs Lunatick, if you but talk of states, he cannot be brought (now he has spent his own) to think there's inheritance, or means, but all a common riches, all men bound to be his Bailiffs. _Mer._ This is something dangerous. _Uncle._ No Gentleman that has estate to use it in keeping house, or followers, for those wayes he cries against, for Eating sins, dull Surfeits, cramming of Serving-men, mustering of Beggars, maintaining Hospitals for Kites, and Curs, grounding their fat faiths upon old Country proverbs, God bless the Founders; these he would have ventured into more manly uses, Wit, and carriage, and never thinks of state, or means, the ground-works: holding it monstrous, men should feed their bodies, and starve their understandings. _Mer._ That's most certain. _Uncle._ Yes, if he could stay there. _Mer._ Why let him marry, and that way rise again. _Uncle._ It's most impossible, he will not look with any handsomeness upon a Woman. _Mer._ Is he so strange to Women? _Uncle._ I know not what it is, a foolish glory he has got, I know not where, to balk those benefits, and yet he will converse and flatter 'em, make 'em, or fair, or foul, rugged, or smooth, as his impression serves, for he affirms, they are only lumps, and undigested pieces, lickt over to a form by our affections, and then they show. The Lovers let 'em pass. _Enter_ Fountain, Bellamore, Hairbrain. _Mer._ He might be one, he carries as much promise; they are wondrous merry. _Uncle._ O their hopes are high, Sir. _Fount._ Is _Valentine_ come to Town? _Bella._ Last night, I heard. _Fount._ We miss him monstrously in our directions, for this Widow is as stately, and as crafty, and stands I warrant you-- _Hair._ Let her stand sure, she falls before us else, come let's go seek _Valentine_.