Wit Without Money - The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher by Francis Beaumont
page 61 of 125 (48%)
page 61 of 125 (48%)
![]() | ![]() |
|
_Unc._ I thought till now, there had been no such living, no such purchase, for all the rest is labour, as a list of honourable friends; do such men as you, Sir, in lieu of all your understandings, travels, and those great gifts of nature, aim at no more than casting off your Coats? I am strangely cozen'd. _Lance._ Should not the Town shake at the cold you feel now, and all the Gentry suffer interdiction, no more sense spoken, all things _Goth_ and _Vandal_, till you be summed again, Velvets and Scarlets, anointed with gold Lace, and Cloth of silver turned into _Spanish_ Cottens for a penance, wits blasted with your Bulls and Taverns withered, as though the Term lay at _St. Albans_? _Val._ Gentlemen, you have spoken long and level, I beseech you take breath a while and hear me; you imagine now, by the twirling of your strings, that I am at the last, as also that my friends are flown like Swallows after Summer. _Unc._ Yes, Sir. _Val._ And that I have no more in this poor Pannier, to raise me up again above your rents, Uncle. _Unc._ All this I do believe. _Val._ You have no mind to better me. _Unc._ Yes, Cousin, and to that end I come, and once more offer you all that my power is master of. |
|