_Val._ 'Slife how do I live? why, what dull fool would ask that question? three hundred three pilds more, I and live bravely: the better half o'th' Town live most gloriously, and ask them what states they have, or what Annuities, or when they pray for seasonable Harvests: thou hast a handsome Wit, stir into the world, _Frank_, stir, stir for shame, thou art a pretty Scholar: ask how to live? write, write, write any thing, the World's a fine believing World, write News. _Lan._ Dragons in _Sussex_, Sir, or fiery Battels seen in the Air at _Aspurge_. _Val._ There's the way _Frank_, and in the tail of these, fright me the Kingdom with a sharp Prognostication, that shall scowr them, Dearth upon Dearth, like leven Taffaties, predictions of Sea-breaches, Wars, and want of Herrings on our Coast, with bloudy Noses. _Lan._ Whirl-winds, that shall take off the top of _Grantham_ Steeple, and clap it on _Pauls_, and after these, a Lenvoy to the City for their sins. _Val._ _Probatum est_, thou canst not want a pension, go switch me up a Covey of young Scholars, there's twenty nobles, and two loads of Coals, are not these ready wayes? Cosmography thou art deeply read in, draw me a Map from the Mermaid, I mean a midnight Map to scape the Watches, and such long sensless examinations, and Gentlemen shall feed thee, right good Gentlemen, I cannot stay long. _Lan._ You have read learnedly, and would you have him follow these Megera's, did you begin with Ballads? _Fran._ Well, I will leave you, I see my wants are grown ridiculous, yours may be so, I will not curse you neither; you may think, when these wanton fits are over, who bred me, and who ruined me, look to your self, Sir, a providence I wait on. _Val._ Thou art passionate, hast thou been brought up with Girls? _Enter_ Shorthose _with a bag_. _Short._ Rest you merry, Gentlemen. _Val._ Not so merry as you suppose, Sir. _Short._ Pray stay a while, and let me take a view of you, I may put my Spoon into the wrong Pottage-pot else. _Val._ Why, wilt thou muster us? _Short._ No, you are not he, you are a thought too handsome. _Lan._ Who wouldst thou speak withal, why dost thou peep so? _Short._ I am looking birds nests, I can find none in your bush beard, I would speak with you, black Gentleman. _Fran._ With me, my friend? _Short._ Yes sure, and the best friend, Sir, it seems you spake withal this twelve-month, Gentleman, there's money for you. _Val._ How? _Short._ There's none for you, Sir, be not so brief, not a penny; law how he itches at it, stand off, you stir my colour. _Lan._ Take it, 'tis money. _Short._ You are too quick too, first be sure you have it, you seem to be a Faulkoner, but a foolish one. _Lan._ Take it, and say nothing. _Short._ You are cozen'd too, 'tis take it, and spend it. _Fran._ From whom came it, Sir? _Short._ Such another word, and you shall have none on't. _Fran._ I thank you, Sir, I doubly thank you.