Which our court wits will wet their lips withal,

  When they would sauce their honied conversation

  With somewhat sharper flavour—Marry sir,

  That virtue¹'s wellnigh left him—all the juice

  That was so sharp and poignant², is squeezed out,

  While the poor rind, although as sour as ever,

  Must season soon the draff we give our grunters,

  For two legg'd things are weary on't.

                     The Chamberlain—A Comedy

The good company invited by the hospitable³ citizen assembled at his house in Lombard Street at the “hollow and hungry hour” of noon, to partake of that meal which divides the day, being about the time when modern persons of fashion, turning themselves upon their pillow, begin to think, not without a great many doubts and much hesitation⁴, that they will by and by commence it. Thither⁵ came the young Nigel, arrayed plainly, but in a dress, nevertheless, more suitable to his age and quality than he had formerly⁶ worn, accompanied by his servant Moniplies, whose outside also was considerably⁷ improved. His solemn and stern features glared forth⁸ from under a blue velvet⁹ bonnet¹⁰, fantastically placed sideways on his head—he had a sound and tough coat of English blue broad-cloth, which, unlike his former vestment, would have stood the

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