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Dryden, John, 1631-1700

"The works of John Dryden, $c now first collected in eighteen volumes. $p Volume 02"


_Enter_ NONSUCH _and two Servants_.
_Non_. What's the matter?
_Fail_. Your niece Isabella has stolen away Sir Timorous.
_Non_. Which way took they?
_Fail_. Follow me, I'll show you.
_Non_. Break your necks after him, you idle varlets.
[_Exeunt_.

SCENE II.
_Enter_ LOVEBY. LOVEBY'S _collar unbuttoned, band carelessly
on, hat on the table, as new risen from sleep_.
_Lov_. Boy! how long have I slept, boy?
_Enter Boy_.
_Boy_. Two hours and a half, sir.
_Lov_. What's a-clock, sirrah?
_Boy_. Near four, sir.
_Lov_. Why, there's it: I have promised my lady Constance an
hundred pounds ere night; I had four hours to perform it in, when I
engaged to do it; and I have slept out more than two of them. All
my hope to get this money lies within the compass of that hat there.
Before I lay down, I made bold a little to prick my finger, and write
a note, in the blood of it, to this same friend of mine in t'other
world, that uses to supply me: the devil has now had above two hours
to perform it in; all which time I have slept, to give him the better
opportunity: time enough for a gentleman of his agility to fetch it
from the East Indies, out of one of his temples where they worship
him; or, if he were lazy, and not minded to go so far, 'twere but
stepping over sea, and borrowing so much money out of his own bank at
Amsterdam: hang it, what's an hundred pounds between him and me?
Now does my heart go pit-a-pat, for fear I should not find the money
there: I would fain lift it up to see, and yet I am so afraid of
missing: Yet a plague, why should I fear he'll fail me; the name of a
friend's a sacred thing; sure he'll consider that.


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