Sir _Cred._ Worse! Zoz, Man, what the Devil can be worse?
_Lod._ Why, he has vow'd to kill you himself wherever he meets you, and now waits below to that purpose.
Sir _Cred._ Sha, sha, if that be all, I'll to him immediately, and make Affidavit I never had any such design. Madam _Isabella_! ha, ha, alas, poor man, I have some body else to think on.
_Lod._ Affidavit! why, he'll not believe you, should you swear your Heart out: some body has possess'd him that you are a damn'd Fool, and a most egregious Coward, a Fellow that to save your Life will swear any thing.
Sir _Cred._ What cursed Luck's this!--why, how came he to know I liv'd here?
_Lod._ I believe he might have it from _Leander_, who is his Friend.
Sir _Cred._ _Leander!_ I must confess I never lik'd that _Leander_ since yesterday.
_Lod._ He has deceiv'd us all, that's the truth on't; for I have lately found out too, that he's your Rival, and has a kind of a--
Sir _Cred._ Smattering to my Mistress, hah, and therefore wou'd not be wanting to give me a lift out of this World; but I shall give her such a go-by--my Lady _Knowell_ understands the difference between three Thousand a Year, and--prithee what's his Estate?
_Lod._ Shaw--not sufficient to pay Surgeons Bills.
Sir _Cred._ Alas, poor Rat, how does he live then?
_Lod._ Hang him, the Ladies keep him; 'tis a good handsome Fellow, and has a pretty Town-Wit.
Sir _Cred._ He a Wit! what, I'll warrant he writes Lampoons, rails at Plays, curses all Poetry but his own, and mimicks the Players--ha.
_Lod._ Some such common Notions he has that deceives the ignorant Rabble, amongst whom he passes for a very smart Fellow,--'life, he's here.
Enter _Leander_.
Sir _Cred._ Why, what shall I do, he will not affront me before Company?
hah!
_Lod._ Not in our House, Sir,--bear up and take no notice on't.
[_Lod._ whispers _Lean._
Sir _Cred._ No notice, quoth he? why, my very Fears will betray me.
_Lean._ Let me alone--_Lodwick_, I met just now with an _Italian_ Merchant, who has made me such a Present!
_Lod._ What is't prithee?
_Lean._ A Sort of specifick Poison for all the Senses, especially for that of smelling; so that had I a Rival, and I should see him at any reasonable distance, I could direct a little of this Scent up to his Brain so subtlely, that it shall not fail of Execution in a day or two.
Sir _Cred._ How--Poison!
[Shewing great Signs of Fear, and holding his Nose.
_Lean._ Nay, shou'd I see him in the midst of a thousand People, I can so direct it, that it shall assault my Enemy's Nostrils only, without any effects on the rest of the Company.
Sir _Cred._ Oh,--I'm a dead Man!
_Lod._ Is't possible?
_Lean._ Perhaps some little sneezing or so, no harm; but my Enemy's a dead Man, Sir, kill'd.
Sir _Cred._ Why, this is the most damn'd _Italian_ Trick I ever heard of; why, this outdoes the famous Poisoner Madam _Brenvilliers_; well, here's no jesting, I perceive that, _Lodwick_.
_Lod._ Fear nothing, I'll secure you. [Aside to him.
Enter _Wittmore_.
--_Wittmore!_ how is't, Friend! thou lookest cloudy.
_Wit._ You'll hardly blame me, Gentlemen, when you shall know what a damn'd unfortunate Rascal I am.
_Lod._ Prithee what's the matter?
_Wit._ Why, I am to be marry'd, Gentlemen, marry'd to day.
_Lod._ How, marry'd! nay, Gad, then thou'st reason; but to whom prithee?
_Wit._ There's the Devil on't again, to a fine young fair, brisk Woman, that has all the Temptations Heaven can give her.
_Lod._ What pity 'tis they shou'd be bestow'd to so wicked an end! Is this your Intrigue, that has been so long conceal'd from your Friends?
_Lean._ We thought it had been some kind Amour, something of Love and Honour.
_Lod._ Is she rich? if she be wondrous rich, we'll excuse thee.
_Wit._ Her Fortune will be suitable to the Jointure I shall make her.
_Lod._ Nay then 'tis like to prove a hopeful Match; what a Pox can provoke thee to this, dost love her?
_Wit._ No, there's another Plague, I am cursedly in love elsewhere; and this was but a false Address, to hide that real one.
_Lod._ How, love another? in what quality and manner?
_Wit._ As a Man ought to love, with a good substantial Passion, without any design but that of right-down honest Injoyment.
_Lod._ Ay, now we understand thee, this is something. Ah Friend, I had such an Adventure last Night.--You may talk of your Intrigues and substantial Pleasures, but if any of you can match mine,--Egad, I'll forswear Womankind.
_Lean._ An Adventure! prithee where?
Sir _Cred._ What, last Night, when you rescued me from the Bilbo-Blades!
indeed ye look'd a little furiously.
_Lod._ I had reason, I was just then come out of a Garden from fighting with a Man whom I found with my Mistress; and I had at least known who't had been, but for the coming of those Rascals that set on you, who parted us, whilst he made his escape in the Croud.
_Wit._ Death! that was I, who for fear of being known got away: was't he then that I fought with, and whom I learnt lov'd _Isabella_?