Sir _Cred._ Ay, ay, that, we'll have that,--_Ill-wedded Joys, how quickly do you fade_,-- [Sings.] That's excellent! Oh, now the Windows open, now, now shew your capering Tricks. [Vaulting.
[They all play again.
Enter _Roger_ and a Company of Fellows as out of Sir _Patient's_ House, led on by _Abel_ a precise Clerk, all armed with odd Weapons.
_Abel._ Verily, verily, here be these Babes of Perdition, these Children of Iniquity.
_Rog._ A pox of your Babes and Children, they are Men, and Sons of Whores, whom we must bang confoundedly, for not letting honest godly People rest quietly in their Beds at Midnight.
Sir _Cred._ Who's there?
_Rog._ There, with a Pox to you; cannot a Right-worshipful Knight, that has been sick these Twenty Years with taking Physick, sleep quietly in his own House for you; and must we be rais'd out of our Beds to quiet your Hell-pipes, in the Devil's name?
_Abel._ Down with _Gog_ and _Magog_, there; there's the rotten Bell weather that leads the rest astray, and defiles the whole Flock.
_Rog._ Hang your preaching, and let's come to him, we'll maul him.
[Beat Sir _Cred._
Sir _Cred._ Oh, Quarter, Quarter, Murder, Help, Murder, Murder!
Enter _Lodwick_.
_Lod._ Damn these Rascals, who e'er they were, that so unluckily redeem'd a Rival from my Fury,--Hah, they are here,--Egad, I'll have one touch more with 'em,--the Dogs are spoiling my design'd Serenade too--have amongst ye.-- [Fights and beats 'em off.] Sir _Credulous_, how is't?
Sir _Cred._ Who's there? _Lodwick?_ Oh dear Lad, is't thou that hast redeem'd me from the inchanted Cudgels that demolish'd my triumphant Pageant, and confounded my Serenade? Zoz, I'm half kill'd, Man,--I have never a whole Bone about me sure.
_Lod._ Come in with me--a plague upon the Rascal that escap'd me.
[Exeunt.
ACT IV.
SCENE I. Lady _Knowell's_ House.
Enter _Lucretia_, followed by Sir _Credulous_.
_Lucr._ Marry'd to morrow! and leave my Mother the possession of _Leander_! I'll die a thousand Deaths first.--How the Fool haunts me!
[Aside.
Sir _Cred._ Nay, delicious Lady, you may say your Pleasure; but I will justify the Serenade to be as high a piece of Gallantry as was ever practised in our Age, though not comparable to your Charms and celestial Graces, which shou'd I praise as I ought, 'twou'd require more time than the Sun employs in his natural Motion between the Tropicks; that is to say, a whole Year, (for by the way, I am no _Copernican_) for, Dear Madam, you must know, my Rhetorick Master,--I say, my Rhetorick Master, who was--
_Lucr._ As great a Coxcomb as your self;--pray leave me, I am serious--I must go seek out _Lodwick_.
Sir _Cred._ Leave ye! I thank you for that, i'faith, before I have spoke out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady--because my Rhetorick Master commanded the frequent use of _Hypallages_, _Allegories_, and the richest Figures of that beauteous Art,--because my Rhetorick--
_Lucr._ I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure to attend your Nonsense.
[Goes out.
Enter Lady _Knowell_.
L. _Kno._ What, alone, Sir _Credulous_? I left you with _Lucretia_.
Sir _Cred._ _Lucretia!_ I'm sure she makes a very _Tarquinius Sextus_ of me, and all about this Serenade,--I protest and vow, incomparable Lady, I had begun the sweetest Speech to her--though I say't, such Flowers of Rhetorick--'twou'd have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou'd; and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the very middle on't, so snuffy I'll warrant.
L. _Kno._ Be not discourag'd, Sir, I'll adapt her to a reconciliation: Lovers must sometimes expect these little _Belli fugaces_; the _Grecians_ therefore truly named Love _Glucupicros Eros_.
Sir _Cred._ Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag'd as another, but I'm sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.
L. _Kno._ Name it no more, 'twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I'll accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane Affairs.
[Goes out.
Enter _Lodwick_, stays Sir _Credulous_ as he is going out the other way.
_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, whither away so fast?
Sir _Cred._ Zoz, what a Question's there? dost not know I am to unty the Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister, that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to _Lincolns-Inn_ to my Counsel about it?
_Lod._ My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir.
Sir _Cred._ Why, what's the matter?
_Lod._ Have you made your Will?
Sir _Cred._ My Will! no, why my Will, Man?
_Lod._ Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from this place.
Sir _Cred._ Good Lord, _Lodwick_, thou art the strangest Man,--what do you mean to fright a body thus?
_Lod._ You remember the Serenade last night?
Sir _Cred._ Remember it? Zoz, I think I do, here be the marks on't sure.-- [Pulls off his Peruke, and shews his Head broke.
_Lod._ Ads me, your Head's broke.
Sir _Cred._ My Head broke! why, 'twas a hundred to one but my Neck had been broke.
_Lod._ Faith, not unlikely,--you know the next House is Sir _Patient Fancy's_; _Isabella_ too, you know, is his Daughter.
Sir _Cred._ Yes, yes, she was by when I made my dumb Oration.
_Lod._ The same,--this Lady has a Lover, a mad, furious, fighting, killing Hector, (as you know there are enough about this Town) this Monsieur supposing you to be a Rival, and that your Serenade was address'd to her--
Sir _Cred._ Enough, I understand you, set those Rogues on to murder me.
_Lod._ Wou'd 'twere no worse.