_Bib_. Why, it shall be my suit to him, that I may trust him.
_Burr_. I grant your suit, sir.
_Fail_. Burr, make haste and dress you; Sir Timorous dines here
to-day: you know him?
_Burr_. Aye, aye, a good honest young fellow; but no conjurer; he
and I are very kind.
_Fail_. Egad, we two have a constant revenue out of him: He would
now be admitted suitor to my Lady Constance Nonsuch, my Lord Nonsuch's
daughter; our neighbour here in Fleetstreet.
_Burr_. Is the match in any forwardness?
_Fail_. He never saw her before yesterday, and will not be
brought to speak to her this month yet.
_Burr_. That's strange.
_Fail_. Such a bashful knight did I never see; but we must move
for him.
_Bib_. They say, here's a great dinner to be made to-day here, at
your cousin Trice's, on purpose for the interview.
_Burr_. What, he keeps up his old humour still?
_Fail_. Yes, certain; he admires eating and drinking well, as
much as ever, and measures every man's wit by the goodness of his
palate.
_Burr_. Who dines here besides?
_Fail_. Jack Loveby.
_Bib_. O, my guest.
_Burr_. He has ever had the repute of a brave clear-spirited
fellow.
_Fail_. He's one of your Dear Hearts, a debauchee.
_Burr_. I love him the better for't: The best heraldry of a
gentleman is a clap, derived to him from three generations.
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