ILF. Excellent.
BUT. Of which your following happiness if they should know, either in envy of your good or hope of their own advancement, they’d make our labours known to the gentlewoman’s uncles, and so our benefit be frustrate.
ILF. Admirable, butler.
BUT. Which done, all’s but this: being, as you shall be, brought into her company, and by my praising your virtues, you get possession of her love, one morning step to the Tower, or to make all sure, hire some stipendiary priest for money—for money in these days what will not be done, and what will not a man do for a rich wife?—and with him make no more ado but marry her in her lodging, and being married, lie with her, and spare not.
ILF. Do they not see us, do they not see us? let me kiss thee, let me kiss thee, butler! let but this be done, and all the benefit, requital and happiness I can promise thee for’t, shall be this—I’ll be thy rich master, and thou shalt carry my purse.
BUT. Enough, meet me at her lodging some half an hour hence: hark, she lies—[407]
ILF. I ha’t.
BUT. Fail not.
ILF. Will I live?
BUT. I will, but shift off these two rhinoceros.
ILF. Widgeons, widgeons: a couple of gulls!
BUT. With some discourse of hope to wive them too, and be with you straight.
ILF. Blessed day! my love shall be thy cushion,
honest butler.
[Exit.
BUT. So now to my t’other gallants.
WEN. O butler, we have been in passion at thy tediousness.
BUT. Why, look you, I had all this talk for your good!
BAR. Hadst?
BUT. For you know the knight is but a scurvy-proud-prating prodigal, licentious, unnecessary—
WEN. An ass, an ass, an ass.
BUT. Now you heard me tell him I had three wenches in store.
BAR. And he would have had them all, would he?
BUT. Hear me. Though he may live to be an ox, he had not now so much of the goat in him, but only hopes for one of the three, when indeed I have but two; and knowing you to be men of more virtue, and dearer in my respect, intend them to be yours.
WEN. We shall honour thee.
BAR. But how, butler?
BUT. I am now going to their place of residence, situate in the choicest place of the city, and at the sign of the Wolf, just against Goldsmith’s Row, where you shall meet me; but ask not for me, only walk to and fro, and to avoid suspicion you may spend some conference with the shopkeeper’s wives[408]; they have seats built a purpose for such familiar entertainment—where, from a bay-window[409] which is opposite, I will make you known to your desired beauties, commend the good parts you have—
WEN. By the mass, mine are very few. [Aside.]
BUT. And win a kind of desire, as women are soon won, to make you be beloved; where you shall first kiss, then woo, at length wed, and at last bed, my noble hearts.