SCENE I.-The Old Jewry. A Room in the Windmill Tavern.
Enter Master MATHEW, WELLBRED, and BOBADILL.
Mat. Yes, faith, sir, we were at your lodging to seek you too.
Wel; Oh, I came not there to-night.
Bob. Your brother delivered us as much.
Wel. Who, my brother Downright?
Bob. He. Mr. Wellbred, I know not in what kind you hold me; but let me say to
you this: as sure as honour, I esteem it So much out of the sunshine of
reputation, to throw the least beam of regard upon such a--
Wel. Sir, I must hear no ill words of my brother.
Bob. I protest to you, as I have a thing to be saved about me, I never saw any
gentlemanlike part--
Wel. Good captain, faces about to some other discourse.
Bob. With your leave, sir, an there were no more men living upon th' face of the
earth, I should not fancy him, by St. George!
Mat. Troth, nor I; he is of a rustical cut, I know not how: he doth not carry himself
like a gentleman of fashion.
Wel. Oh, master Mathew, that's a grace peculiar but to a few, quos aequus
amavit Jupiter.
Mat. I understand you, sir.
Wel. No question, you do,--or do you not, sir.
[Enter E. KNOWELL and Master STEPHEN.
Ned Knowell! by my soul, welcome: how dost thou, sweet spirit, my genius? 'Slid,
I shall love Apollo and the mad Thespian girls the better, while I live, for this, my
dear Fury; now, I see there's some love in thee. Sirrah, these be the two I writ to
thee of: nay, what a drowsy humour is this now! why dost thou not speak?
E. Know. Oh, you are a fine gallant; you sent me a rare letter.
Wel. Why, was't not rare?
