Guilt-head, Plutarchus.
All this is to make you a Gentleman:
I'll have you learn, Son. Wherefore have I plac'd
you
VVith Sir Poul Either-side, but have so much Law
To keep your own? Besides, he is a Justice,
Here i' the Town; and dwelling, Son, with him,
You shall learn that in a Year, shall be worth twenty
Of having staid you at Oxford, or at Cambridge,
Or sending you to the Inns of Court, or France.
I am call'd for now in haste, by Master Mere-craft
To trust Master Fitz-dottrel, a good Man:
I' have inquire'd him eighteen hundred a Year,
(His name is currant) for a Diamond Ring
Of forty, shall not be worth thirty (that's gain'd)
And this is to make you a Gentleman!
Plu.
O, but good Father, you trust too much!
Gui.
Boy, by,
VVe live by finding Fools out to be trusted.
Our Shop-books are our Pastures, our Corn-grounds,
VVe lay 'em op'n, for them to come into:
And when we have 'em there, we drive 'em up
In t' one of our Pounds, the Compters, straight,
And this is to make you a Gentleman!
VVe Citizens never trust, but we do cozen:
For, if our Debtors pay, we cozen them;
And if they do not, then we cozen our selves.
But that's a hazard every one must run,
That hopes to make his Son a Gentleman!
Plu.
I do not wish to be one, truly Father.
In a descent, or two, we come to be
Just 'i their State, fit to be cozen'd, like 'em.
And I had rather ha' tarried i' your Trade:
For, since the Gentry scorn the City so much,
Methinks we should in time, holding together,
And matching in our own Tribes, as they say,
Have got an Act of Common Councel for it,
That we might cozen them out of rerum natura.
Gui.
I, if we had an Act first to forbid
The marrying of our wealthy Heirs unto 'em:
And Daughters, with such lavish Portions.
That confounds all.
Plu.
And makes a Mungril breed, Father.
And when they have your Money, then they laugh
at you:
Or kick you down the Stairs. I cannot abide 'em.
I would fain have 'em cozen'd, but not trusted.