The Magnetick Lady. Act 1. Scene 7.

To them.]                 Interest, Bias.

Pal. What is he, Mr. Compass?

Com. A Vi-politick!
Or a sub-aiding Instrument of State!
A kind of a laborious Secretary
To a great Man! (and likely to come on)
Full of attendance! and of such a stride
In business Politick, or Oeconomick,
As well his Lord may stoop t'advise with him,
And be prescribed by him in affairs
Of highest consequence, when he is ull'd,
Or wearied with the less.

Dia. 'Tis Mr. Bias,
Lord Whach'um's Politick.

Com. You know the Man?

Dia. I ha' seen him wait at Court, there, with his Maniples
Of Papers and Petitions.

Pra. He is one
That over-rules, tho' by his authority
Of living there; and cares for no Man else:
Neglects the Sacred Letter of the Law;
And holds it all to be but a dead heap
Of civil Institutions: the rest only
Of common Men, and their causes, a Farrago,
Or a made dish in Court; a thing of nothing.

Com. And that's your quarrel at him? a just plea.

Int. I tell you, Sister Loadstone --

Com. (Hang your Ears
This way, and hear his Praises: now Moath opens.)

Int. I ha' brought you here the very Man! the Jewel
Of all the Court! close Mr. Bias! Sister,
Apply him to your side! or you may wear him
Here o'your Breast! or hang him in your Ear!
He's a fit Pendant for a Ladies tip!
A chrysolite, a Gem: the very Agate
Of State, and Polity: cut from the Quar
Of Machivel, a true Cornelian,
As Tacitus himself! and to be made
The broach to any true State-cap in Europe!

Lad. You praise him, Brother, as you had hope to sell him.

Com. No, Madam, as he had hope to sell your Niece
Unto him.

Lad. 'Ware your true Jests, Mr. Compass;
They will not relish.

Int. I will tell you, Sister,
I cannot cry his Carract up enough:
He is unvaluable: All the Lords
Have him in that esteem, for his Relations,
Corrant's, Avises, Correspondences
With his Ambassador, and that Agent! He
Will screw you out a Secret from a Statist --

Com. So easie, as some Cobler worms a Dog.

Int. And lock it in the Cabinet of his memory --

Com. 'Till 't turn a politick Insect, or a Fly!
Thus long.

Int. You may be merry, Mr. Compass,
But though you have the reversion of an Office,
You are not in't, Sir.

Bia. Remember that.

Com. Why should that fright me, Mr. Bi --, from telling
Whose ass you are?

Int. Sir, he's one, can do
His turns there: and deliver too his Letters,
As punctually, and in as good a fashion,
As ere a Secretary can in Court.

Iro. Why, is it any matter in what fashion
A Man delivers his Letters, so he not open 'em?

Bia. Yes, we have certain precedents in Court,
From which we never swerve, once in an Age:
And (whatsoe'er he thinks) I know the Arts,
And Sciences do not directlier make.

A Graduate in our Universities,
Than an habitual gravity prefers
A Man in Court.

Com. Which by the truer stile,
Some call a formal, flat servility.

Bia. Sir, you may call it what you please: But we
(That tread the path of publick businesses)
Know what a tacit shrug is, or a shrink;
The wearing the Callot, the politick Hood,
And twenty ohter Parerga, o' the bie,
Your Seculars understand not: I shall trick him,
If his Reversion come i' my Lords way.

Dia. What is that, Mr. Practice? you sure know?
Mas'Compasses Reversion?

Pra. A fine place
(Surveyor of the Projects general)
I would I had it.

Pal. What is't worth?

Pra. O Sir,
A Nemo scit.

Lad. We'll think on't afore Dinner.