_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.
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