Set _Galatea's_ Charms before your Eyes, Think of the Glory to divide a Kingdom; And do not waste your noble Youth and Time Upon a peevish Heart you cannot gain.
This day you must to th'Camp, and in your absence I'll take upon me what I scorn'd last night, The Office of a Spy-- Believe me, Sir, for by the Gods I swear, I never wish'd the glory of a Conquest With half that zeal as to compose these differences.
_Alcip_. I do believe thee, and will tell thee something That past between the Prince and I last night; And then thou wilt conclude me truly miserable.
[_Exeunt_.
SCENE II. _The Palace_.
_Enter_ Falatius, Labree, _as passing by they meet_ Cleontius.
_Cle_. Your Servant, my Lord.
--So coldly, stay--your reason, Sir.
[Fal. _puts off his Hat a little, and passes on_.
_Fal_. How mean you, Sir?
_Cle_. Do you not know me?
_Fal_. Yes, I have seen you, and think you are _Cleontius_, A Servant of the Prince's; wert i'th' Campania too, If I mistake not.
_Cle_. Can you recal me by no better instances?
_Fal_. What need of any, pray?
_Cle_. I am a Gentleman.
_Fal_. Ha, _Labree_, what means he now?
By _Jove_, I do not question it, _Cleontius_: What need this odd Punctilio?
I call thee to no account.
_Cle_. That's more than I can say to you, Sir.
_Fal_. I'll excuse you for that.
_Cle_. But shall not need, Sir; stay, I have a Sister.
_Fal_. Oh, the Devil, now he begins.
_Cle_. A handsome Sister too, or you deceiv'd her.
_Lab_. Bear up, Sir, be not huft. [_Aside_.
_Fal_. It may be so, but is she kind, _Cleontius_?
[Fal. _bears up_.
_Cle_. What mean you by that word?
_Lab_. Again, Sir, here's two to one. [_Aside_.
_Fal_. Will she do reason, or so? you understand me.
_Cle_. I understand that thou'rt an impudent fellow, Whom I must cudgel into better manners.
_Fal_. Pox on't, who bears up now, _Labree_?
_Cle_. Beat thee till thou confess thou art an Ass, And on thy knees confess it to _Isillia_, Who after that shall scorn thee.
_Lab_. Railly with him, Sir, 'tis your only way, and put it Off with a jest; for he's in fury, but dares not Strike i'th' Court.
_Fal_. But must you needs do this, needs fight, _Cleontius_?
_Cle_. Yes, by all means, I find my self inclin'd to't.
_Fal_. You shall have your desire, Sir, farewel.
_Cle_. When, and where?
_Fal_. Faith, very suddenly, for I think it will not be Hard to find men of your trade, Men that will fight as long as you can do, And Men that love it much better than I, Men that are poor and damn'd, fine desperate Rogues, Rascals that for a Pattacoon a Man Will fight their Fathers, And kiss their Mothers into peace again: Such, Sir, I think will fit you.
_Cle_. Abusive Coward, hast thou no sense of honour?
_Fal_. Sense of honour! ha, ha, ha, poor _Cleontius_.
_Enter_ Aminta _and_ Olinda.
_Am_. How now, Servant, why so jovial?
_Fal_. I was laughing, Madam--at--
_Cle_. At what, thou thing of nothing--
_Am_. Cousin _Cleontius_, you are angry.
_Cle_. Madam, it is unjustly then, for Fools Should rather move the Spleen to Mirth than Anger.
_Am_. You've too much wit to take ought ill from him: Let's know your quarrel.
_Fal_. By _Jove, Labree_, I am undone again.
_Cle_. Madam, it was about--
_Fal_. Hold, dear _Cleontius_, hold, and I'll do any thing. [_Aside_.
_Cle_. Just nothing--