uaintance;
a little of thy chymistry, Tom, may extract gold from that dirt.

SHARP. Say you so? 'Faith I am as poor as a chymist, and would be as
industrious. But what was he that followed him? Is not he a dragon that
watches those golden pippins?

BELL. Hang him, no, he a dragon! If he be, 'tis a very peaceful one. I
can ensure his anger dormant; or should he seem to rouse, 'tis but well
lashing him, and he will sleep like a top.

SHARP. Ay, is he of that kidney?

BELL. Yet is adored by that bigot, Sir Joseph Wittoll, as the image of
valour. He calls him his back, and indeed they are never asunder--yet,
last night, I know not by what mischance, the knight was alone, and had
fallen into the hands of some night-walkers, who, I suppose, would have
pillaged him. But I chanced to come by and rescued him, though I believe
he was heartily frightened; for as soon as ever he was loose, he ran away
without staying to see who had helped him.

SHARP. Is that bully of his in the army?

BELL. No; but is a pretender, and wears the habit of a soldier, which
nowadays as often cloaks cowardice, as a black gown does atheism. You
must know he has been abroad--went purely to run away from a campaign;
enriched himself with the plunder of a few oaths, and here vents them
against the general, who, slighting men of merit, and preferring only
those of interest, has made him quit the service.

SHARP. Wherein no doubt he magnifies his own performance.

BELL. Speaks miracles, is the drum to his own praise--the only implement
of a soldier he resembles, like that, being full of blustering noise and
emptiness--

SHARP. And like that, of no use but to be beaten.

BELL. Right; but then the comparison breaks, for he will take a drubbing
with as little noise as a pulpit cushion.

SHARP. His name, and I have done?

BELL. Why, that, to pass it current too, he has gilded with a title: he
is called Capt. Bluffe.

SHARP. Well, I'll endeavour his acquaintance--you steer another course,
are bound--

For love's island: I, for the golden coast.
May each succeed in what he wishes most.

ACT II.

SCENE I.

SIR JOSEPH WITTOLL, SHARPER _following_.

SHARP. Sure that's he, and alone.

SIR JO. Um--Ay, this, this is the very damned place; the inhuman
cannibals, the bloody-minded villains, would have butchered me last
night. No doubt they would have flayed me alive, have sold my skin, and
devoured, etc.