_Will._ I beg your Pardon now, dear _Beaumond_-- I having lately nothing else to do, took a Command of Horse from the General at the last Siege, from which I am just arriv'd, and my Baggage is behind, which I must take order for.
_Feth._ Pox on't now there's a Dinner lost,'twas ever an unlucky Rascal.
_Beau._ To tempt thee more, thou shalt see my Wife that is to be.
_Will._ Pox on't, I am the leudest Company in Christendom with your honest Women-- but-- What, art thou to be noos'd then?
_Beau._ 'Tis so design'd by my Uncle, if an old Grandee my Rival prevent it not; the Wench is very pretty, young, and rich, and lives in the same House with me, for 'tis my Aunt's Daughter.
_Will._ Much good may it d'ye, _Harry_, I pity you, but 'tis the common Grievance of you happy Men of Fortune.
[Goes towards the House-door with _Beau._
Enter _La Nuche_, _Aurelia_, _Petronella_, _Sancho_, Women veil'd a little.
_Aur._ Heavens, Madam, is not that the _English_ Captain?
[Looking on _Will._
_La Nu._ 'Tis, and with him Don _Henrick_ the Ambassador's Nephew-- how my Heart pants and heaves at sight of him! some Fire of the old Flames remaining, which I must strive to extinguish. For I'll not bate a Ducat of this Price I've set upon my self, for all the Pleasures Youth or Love can bring me-- for see _Aurelia_-- the sad Memento of a decay'd poor old forsaken Whore in _Petronella_; consider her, and then commend my Prudence.
_Will._ Hah, Women!--
_Feth._ Egad, and fine ones too, I'll tell you that.
_Will._ No matter, Kindness is better Sauce to Woman than Beauty!
By this Hand she looks at me-- Why dost hold me?
[_Feth._ holds him.
_Feth._ Why, what a Devil, art mad?
_Will._ Raging, as vigorous Youth kept long from Beauty; wild for the charming Sex, eager for Woman, I long to give a Loose to Love and Pleasure.
_Blunt._ These are not Women, Sir, for you to ruffle--
_Will._ Have a care of your Persons of Quality, _Ned_.
[Goes to _La Nuche_.
--Those lovely Eyes were never made to throw their Darts in vain.
_La Nu._ The Conquest would be hardly worth the Pain.
_Will._ Hah, _La Nuche_! with what a proud Disdain she flung away-- stay, I will not part so with you-- [Holds her.
Enter _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_ with Footmen.
_Aria._ Who are these before us, _Lucia_?
_Luc._ I know not, Madam; but if you make not haste home, you'll be troubled with _Carlo_ your importunate Lover, who is just behind us.
_Aria._ Hang me, a lovely Man! what Lady's that? stay.
_Pet._ What Insolence is this! This Villain will spoil all--
_Feth._ Why, Captain, are you quite distracted?-- dost know where thou art? Prithee be civil--
_Will._ Go, proud and cruel! [Turns her from him.
Enter _Carlo_, and two or three _Spanish_ Servants following: _Petronella_ goes to him.
_Car._ Hah, affronted by a drunken Islander, a saucy Tramontane!-- Draw-- [To his Servants whilst he takes _La Nuche_.
whilst I lead her off-- fear not, Lady, you have the Honour of my Sword to guard ye.
_Will._ Hah, _Carlo_-- ye lye-- it cannot guard the boasting Fool that wears it-- be gone-- and look not back upon this Woman. [Snatches her from him] One single Glance destroys thee--
[They draw and fight; _Carlo_ getting hindmost of his _Spaniards_, the _English_ beat 'em off: The Ladies run away, all but _Ariadne_ and _Lucia_.
_Luc._ Heav'ns, Madam, why do ye stay?
_Aria._ To pray for that dear Stranger-- And see, my Prayers are heard, and he's return'd in safety-- this Door shall shelter me to o'er-hear the Quarrel.
[Steps aside.
Enter _Will._ _Blunt_, _Feth._ looking big, and putting up his Sword.
_Feth._ The noble Captain be affronted by a starch'd Ruff and Beard, a Coward in querpo, a walking Bunch of Garlick, a pickl'd Pilchard!
abuse the noble Captain, and bear it off in State, like a Christmas Sweet-heart; these things must not be whilst _Nicholas Fetherfool_ wears a Sword.
_Blunt._ Pox o' these Women, I thought no good would come on't: besides, where's the Jest in affronting honest Women, if there be such a thing in the Nation?
_Feth._ Hang't,'twas the Devil and all--
_Will._ Ha, ha, ha! Why, good honest homespun Country Gentlemen, who do you think those were?
_Feth._ Were! why, Ladies of Quality going to their Devotion; who should they be?
_Blunt._ Why, faith, and so I thought too.
_Will._ Why, that very one Woman I spoke to is ten Whores in _Surrey_.
_Feth._ Prithee speak softly, Man: 'Slife, we shall be poniarded for keeping thee company.
_Will._ Wise Mr. Justice, give me your Warrant, and if I do not prove 'em Whores, whip me.
_Feth._ Prithee hold thy scandalous blasphemous Tongue, as if I did not know Whores from Persons of Quality.
_Will._ Will you believe me when you lie with her? for thou'rt a rich Ass, and may'st do it.
_Feth._ Whores-- ha, ha--
_Will._ 'Tis strange Logick now, because your Band is better that mine, I must not know a Whore better than you.
_Blunt._ If this be a Whore, as thou say'st, I understand nothing-- by this Light such a Wench would pass for a Person of Quality in _London_.