Bred.  Madam, this Wasteall was Mr. Gayman.

L. Ful. Gayman!  Saw’st thou Gayman?

Bred.  Madam, Mr. Gayman, yesterday.

L. Ful.  When came he to Town?

Bred.  Madam, he has not been out of it.

L. Ful.  Not at his Uncle’s in Northamptonshire?

Bred.  Your Ladyship was wont to credit me.

L. Ful.  Forgive me—­you went to a Black-Smith’s—­

Bred.  Yes, Madam; and at the door encountred the beastly thing he calls a Landlady; who lookt as if she had been of her own Husband’s making, compos’d of moulded Smith’s Dust.  I ask’d for Mr. Wasteall, and she began to open—­and did so rail at him, that what with her Billinsgate, and her Husband’s hammers, I was both deaf and dumb—­at last the hammers ceas’d, and she grew weary, and call’d down Mr. Wasteall; but he not answering—­I was sent up a Ladder rather than a pair of Stairs; at last I scal’d the top, and enter’d the inchanted Castle; there did I find him, spite of the noise below, drowning his Cares in Sleep.

L. Ful.  Whom foundst thou? Gayman?

Bred.  He, Madam, whom I waked—­and seeing me, Heavens, what Confusion seiz’d him! which nothing but my own Surprize could equal.  Asham’d—­he wou’d have turn’d away; But when he saw, by my dejected Eyes, I knew him, He sigh’d, and blusht, and heard me tell my Business:  Then beg’d I wou’d be secret; for he vow’d his whole Repose and Life depended on my silence.  Nor had I told it now, But that your Ladyship may find some speedy means to draw him from this desperate Condition.

L. Ful.  Heavens, is’t possible?

Bred.  He’s driven to the last degree of Poverty—­ Had you but seen his Lodgings, Madam!

L. Ful.  What were they?

Bred.  ’Tis a pretty convenient Tub, Madam.  He may lie a long in’t, there’s just room for an old join’d Stool besides the Bed, which one cannot call a Cabin, about the largeness of a Pantry Bin, or a Usurer’s Trunk; there had been Dornex Curtains to’t in the days of Yore; but they were now annihilated, and nothing left to save his Eyes from the Light, but my Landlady’s Blue Apron, ty’d by the strings before the Window, in which stood a broken six-penny Looking-Glass, that shew’d as many Faces as the Scene in Henry the Eighth, which could but just stand upright, and then the Comb-Case fill’d it.

L. Ful.  What a leud Description hast thou made of his Chamber?

Bred.  Then for his Equipage, ’tis banisht to one small Monsieur, who (saucy with his Master’s Poverty) is rather a Companion than a Footman.

L. Ful.  But what said he to the Forfeiture of his Land?

Bred.  He sigh’d and cry’d, Why, farewel dirty Acres; It shall not trouble me, since ’twas all but for Love!