Volume I Part 12 (1/2)

[_Willmore_ having gaz'd all this while on the Picture, pulls down a little one.

_Will._ This posture's loose and negligent, The sight on't wou'd beget a warm desire In Souls, whom Impotence and Age had chill'd.

--This must along with me.

_Brav._ What means this rudeness, Sir?-- restore the Picture.

_Ant._ Ha! Rudeness committed to the fair _Angelica_!-- Restore the Picture, Sir.

_Will._ Indeed I will not, Sir.

_Ant._ By Heav'n but you shall.

_Will._ Nay, do not shew your Sword; if you do, by this dear Beauty-- I will shew mine too.

_Ant._ What right can you pretend to't?

_Will._ That of Possession which I will maintain-- you perhaps have 1000 Crowns to give for the Original.

_Ant._ No matter, Sir, you shall restore the Picture.

_Ang._ Oh, _Moretta_! what's the matter? [_Ang._ and _Moret._ above.

_Ant._ Or leave your Life behind.

_Will._ Death! you lye-- I will do neither.

_Ang._ Hold, I command you, if for me you fight.

[They fight, the Spaniards join with _Antonio_, _Blunt_ laying on like mad. They leave off and bow.

_Will._ How heavenly fair she is!-- ah Plague of her Price.

_Ang._ You Sir in Buff, you that appear a Soldier, that first began this Insolence.

_Will._ 'Tis true, I did so, if you call it Insolence for a Man to preserve himself; I saw your charming Picture, and was wounded: quite thro my Soul each pointed Beauty ran; and wanting a Thousand Crowns to procure my Remedy, I laid this little Picture to my Bosom-- which if you cannot allow me, I'll resign.

_Ang._ No, you may keep the Trifle.

_Ant._ You shall first ask my leave, and this.

[Fight again as before.

Enter _Belv._ and _Fred._ who join with the English.

_Ang._ Hold; will you ruin me?-- _Biskey_, _Sebastian_, part them.

[The _Spaniards_ are beaten off.

_Moret._ Oh Madam, we're undone, a pox upon that rude Fellow, he's set on to ruin us: we shall never see good days, till all these fighting poor Rogues are sent to the Gallies.