Ay, more indeed; for who cares for any Body that has more Wit than himself?

SCANDAL. Jeremy speaks like an Oracle. Don't you see how worthless great Men, and dull rich Rogues, avoid a witty Man of small Fortune? Why, he looks like a Writ of Enquiry into their Titles and Estates; and seems Commission'd by Heav'n to seize the better half.

VALENTINE. Therefore I would rail in my Writings, and be reveng'd.

SCANDAL. Rail? At whom? the whole World? Impotent and vain! Who would die a Martyr to Sense in a Country where the Religion is Folly? You may stand at Bay for a while; but when the full Cry is against you, you won't have fair Play for your Life. If you can't be fairly run down by the Hounds, you will be treacherously shot by the Huntsmen. – No, turn Pimp, Flatterer, Quack, Lawyer, Parson, be Chaplain to an Atheist, or Stallion to an Old Woman, any thing but Poet; a Modern Poet is worse, more servile, timorous, and fawning, than any I have nam'd: Without you could retrieve the Ancient Honours of the Name, recall the Stage of Athens, and be allow'd the force of open honest Satire.

VALENTINE. You are as inveterate against our Poets, as if your Character had been lately expos'd upon the Stage. – Nay, I am not violently bent upon the Trade. –

 

One Knocks.

 

Jeremy, see who's there.

 

Exit Jeremy.

 

But tell me what you would have me do? – What do the World say of me, and of my forc'd Confinement?

SCANDAL. The World behaves it self, as it used to do on such Occasions; some pity you, and condemn your Father: Others excuse him, and blame you: only the Ladies are merciful, and wish you well, since Love and Pleasurable Expence, have been your greatest faults.

 

Enter Jeremy.

 

VALENTINE. How now?

JEREMY. Nothing new, Sir; I have dispatch'd some half a Dozen Duns with as much Dexterity, as a hungry Judge do's Causes at Dinner time.

VALENTINE. What answer have you given 'em?

SCANDAL. Patience, I suppose, the old Receipt.

JEREMY. No, faith Sir; I have put 'em off so long with patience and forbearance, and other fair words; that I was forc'd now to tell 'em in plain downright English –

VALENTINE. What?

JEREMY. That they should be paid.

VALENTINE. When?

JEREMY. To morrow.

VALENTINE. And how the Devil do you mean to keep your word?

JEREMY. Keep it? Not at all; it has been so very much stretch'd, that I reckon it will break of course by to morrow, and no body be surpriz'd at the Matter – Knocking – Again! Sir, if you don't like my Negotiation, will you be pleas'd to answer these your self.

VALENTINE. See who they are.

 

Exit Jeremy.

 

By this, Scandal, you may see what it is to be great; Secretaries of State, Presidents of the Council, and Generals of an Army lead just such a life as I do; have just such Crowds of Visitants in a morning, all soliciting of past promises; which are but a civiller sort of Duns, that lay claim to voluntary Debts.

SCANDAL. And you, like a true great Man, having engaged their Attendance, and promis'd more than ever you intend to perform; are more perplex'd to find Evasions, than you would be to invent the honest means of keeping your word, and gratifying your Creditors.

VALENTINE. Scandal, learn to spare your Friends, and do not provoke your Enemies; this liberty of your Tongue, will one day bring a Confinement on your Body, my Friend.

 

Re-enter Jeremy.

 

JEREMY. O Sir, there's Trapland the Scrivener, with two suspicious Fellows like lawful Pads, that wou'd knock a Man down with Pocket-Tipstaves, – And there's your Father's Steward, and the Nurse with one of your Children from Twitnam.

VALENTINE. Pox on her, cou'd she find no other time to fling my Sins in my Face: Here, give her this,

 

Gives Money.

 

and bid her trouble me no more; a thoughtless two handed Whore, she knows my Condition well enough, and might have overlaid the Child a Fortnight ago, if she had had any forecast in her.

SCANDAL. What is it Bouncing Margery, and my Godson?

JEREMY. Yes, Sir.

SCANDAL. My Blessing to the Boy, with this Token

 

Gives Money.

 

of my Love.