that it seems to hang together by the teeth. No man could
ever guess to what part of the body these fragments did belong, unless
he had been acquainted with 'em as long as thou hast been. If they
once lose their hold, they can never get together again, except by
chance the rags hit the tallies of one another. He, that gets into thy
doublet, must not think to do it by storm; no, he must win it inch by
inch, as the Turk did Rhodes.

_Burr_. You are very merry with my wardrobe; but, till I am
provided of a better, I am resolved to receive all visits in this
truckle-bed.

_Fail_. Then will I first scotch the wheels of it, that it may
not run: Thou hast cattle enough in it to carry it down stairs, and
break thy neck; 'tis got a yard nearer the door already.

_Enter Boy_.

_Boy_. Sir, Mr Bibber your tailor's below, and desires to speak
with you.

_Fail_. He's an honest fellow, and a fashionable; he shall set
thee forth, I warrant thee.

_Burr_. Ay; but where's the money for this, dear heart?

_Fail_. Well, but what think you of being put into a suit of
clothes without money? [_Aside_.

_Burr_. You speak of miracles.

_Fail_. Do you not know Will Bibber's humour?

_Burr_. Pr'ythee, what have I to do with his humour?

_Fail_. Break but a jest, and he'll beg to trust thee for a
suit; nay, he will contribute to his own destruction, and give thee
occasions to make one. He has been my artificer these three years;
and, all the while, I have lived upon his favourable apprehension.
Boy, conduct him up. [_Exit Boy._

_Burr_. But what am I the better for this? I ne'er made jest in
all my life.

_Fail._ A bare clinch will serve the turn; a car-wichet, a
quarter-quibble, or a pun.

_Burr_. Wit from a Low Country soldier! One, that has conversed
with none but dull Dutchmen these ten years! What an unreasonable
rogue art thou? why, I tell thee, 'tis as difficult to me, as to pay
him ready money.

_Fail_. Come, you shall be ruled for your own good; I'll
throw the clothes over you to help meditation. And, upon the first
opportunity, start you up, and surprise him with a jest.

_Burr_. Well, I think this impossible to be done: but, however,
I'll attempt. [_Lies down_, FAILER _covers him_.

_Fail_. Husht! he's coming up.

_Enter BIBBER_.

_Bib_. 'Morrow, Mr Failer: What, I warrant you think I come a
dunning now?

_Fail_. No, I vow to gad, Will; I have a better opinion of thy
wit, than to think thou would'st come t