tenderness into her Lady, there is hope she will be plyant. But
who's here?

_Enter_ Sir Roger _the Curate._

_Roger._ Gad save you Sir. My Lady lets you know she desires to be
acquainted with your name, before she confer with you?

_Wel._ Sir, my name calls me _Welford_.

_Roger._ Sir, you are a Gentleman of a good name. I'le try his wit.

_Wel._ I will uphold it as good as any of my Ancestors had this two
hundred years Sir.

_Roger._ I knew a worshipfull and a Religious Gentleman of your name in
the Bishoprick of _Durham_. Call you him Cousen?

_Wel._ I am only allyed to his vertues Sir.

_Roger._ It is modestly said: I should carry the badge of your
Christianity with me too.

_Wel._ What's that, a Cross? there's a tester.

_Roger._ I mean the name which your God-fathers and God-mothers gave you
at the Font.

_Wel._ 'Tis _Harry_: but you cannot proceed orderly now in your Catechism:
for you have told me who gave me that name. Shall I beg your name?

_Roger._ _Roger._

_Wel._ What room fill you in this house?

_Roger._ More rooms than one.

_Wel._ The more the merrier: but may my boldness know, why your Lady hath
sent you to decypher my name?

_Roger._ Her own words were these: To know whether you were a formerly
denyed Suitor, disguised in this message: for I can assure you she
delights not in _Thalame_: _Hymen_ and she are at variance, I shall return
with much hast. [_Exit_ Roger.

_Wel._ And much speed Sir, I hope: certainly I am arrived amongst a Nation
of new found fools, on a Land where no Navigator has yet planted wit; if I
had foreseen it, I would have laded my breeches with bells, knives,
copper, and glasses, to trade with women for their virginities: yet I
fear, I should have betrayed my self to a needless charge then: here's the
walking night-cap again.

_Enter_ Roger.

_Roger._ Sir, my Ladies pleasure is to see you: who hath commanded me to
acknowledge her sorrow, that you must take the pains to come up for so bad
entertainment.

_Wel._ I shall obey your Lady that sent it, and acknowledge you that
brought it to be your Arts Master.

_Rog._ I am but a Batchelor of Art, Sir; and I have the mending of all
under this roof, from my Lady on her down-bed, to the maid in the
Pease-straw.

_Wel._ A Cobler, Sir?

_Roger._ No Sir, I inculcate Divine Service within these Walls.

_Wel._ But the Inhabitants of this house do often imploy you on errands
without any scruple of Conscience