.
_Philosophemur!_ is my Motto,--I'm strangely fond of you, Mr. _Fancy_,
for being a Scholar.

_Lean._ Who, Madam, I a Scholar? the greatest Dunce in Nature--Malicious
Creatures, will you leave me to her mercy?
[To them aside.

_Lucr._ Prithee assist him in his misery, for I am Mudd, and can do
nothing towards it.
[Aside.

_Isab._ Who, my Cousin _Leander_ a Scholar, Madam?

_Lucr._ Sure he's too much a Gentleman to be a Scholar.

_Isab._ I vow, Madam, he spells worse than a Country Farrier when he
prescribes a Drench.

_Lean._ Then, Madam, I write the leudest hand.

_Isab._ Worse than a Politician or a States-man.

_Lucr._ He cannot read it himself when he has done.

_Lean._ Not a word on't, Madam.

_L. Kno._ This agreement to abuse him, I understand-- [Aside.
--Well, then, Mr. _Fancy_, let's to my Cabinet--your hand.

_Lean._ Now shall I be teas'd unmercifully,--I'll wait on you, Madam.
[Exit Lady.
--Find some means to redeem me, or I shall be mad.
[Exit _Lean._

Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Hah, my dear Isabella here, and without a Spy! what a blessed
opportunity must I be forc'd to lose, for there is just now arriv'd my
Sister's Lover, whom I am oblig'd to receive: but if you have a mind to
laugh a little--

_Isab._ Laugh! why, are you turn'd Buffoon, Tumbler, or Presbyterian
Preacher?

_Lod._ No, but there's a Creature below more ridiculous than either of
these.

_Lucr._ For love's sake, what sort of Beast is that?

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous Easy_, your new Lover just come to town Bag and
Baggage, and I was going to acquaint my Mother with it.

_Isab._ You'll find her well employ'd with my Cousin _Leander_.

_Lucr._ A happy opportunity to free him: but what shall I do now,
Brother?

_Lod._ Oh, let me alone to ruin him with my Mother: get you gone,
I think I hear him coming, and this Apartment is appointed for him.

_Lucr._ Prithee haste then, and free _Leander_, we'll into the Garden.

[Exeunt _Luc._ and _Isab._

A Chair and a Table. Enter Sir_ Credulous _in a riding habit.
_Curry_ his Groom carrying a Portmantle._

_Lod._ Yes--'tis the Right Worshipful, I'll to my Mother with the News.
[Ex. _Lod._

Sir _Cred._ Come undo my Portmantle, and equip me, that I may look like
some body before I see the Ladies--_Curry_, thou shalt e'en remove now,
_Curry_, from Groom to Footman; for I'll ne'er keep Horse more, no, nor
Mare neither, since my poor _Gilli