Volume I Part 37 (1/2)

_s.h.i.+ft._ He is, I came with him; he's impatient of your Return: I'll let him know you're here.

[Exit. _s.h.i.+ft_.

_Feth._ Why, what a Pox ails the Captain o'th' sudden? He looks as sullenly as a routed General, or a Lover after hard Service.

_Blunt._ Oh-- something the Lieutenant has told him about a Wench; and when _Cupid's_ in his Breeches, the Devil's ever in's Head-- how now-- What a pox is the matter with you, you look so scurvily now?-- What, is the Gentlewoman otherwise provided? has she cas.h.i.+er'd ye for want of Pay? or what other dire Mischance?-- hah--

_Will._ Do not trouble me-- -

_Blunt._ Adsheartlikins, but I will, and beat thee too, but I'll know the Cause. I heard _s.h.i.+ft_ tell thee something about _La Nuche_, a Damsel I have often heard thee Fool enough to sigh for.

_Will._ Confound the mercenary Jilt!

_Blunt._ Nay, adsheartlikins they are all so; tho I thought you had been Wh.o.r.e-proof; 'tis enough for us Fools, Country Gentlemen, Esquires, and Cullies, to miscarry in their amorous Adventures, you Men of Wit weather all Storms you.

_Will._ Oh, Sir, you're become a new Man, wise and wary, and can no more be cozen'd.

_Blunt._ Not by Woman-kind; and for Man I think my Sword will secure me.

Pox, I thought a two Months absence and a Siege would have put such Trifles out of thy Head: You do not use to be such a Miracle of Constancy.

_Will._ That Absence makes me think of her so much; and all the Pa.s.sions thou find'st about me are to the s.e.x alone. Give me a Woman, Ned, a fine young amorous Wanton, who would allay this Fire that makes me rave thus, and thou shouldst find me no longer particular, but cold as Winter-Nights to this La Nuche: Yet since I lost my little charming Gipsey, nothing has gone so near my Heart as this.

_Blunt._ Ay, there was a Girl, the only she thing that could reconcile me to the Petticoats again after my Naples Adventure, when the Quean rob'd and stript me.

_Will._ Oh name not h.e.l.lena! She was a Saint to be ador'd on Holy-days.

Enter _Beaumond_.

_Beau._ Willmore! my careless wild inconstant-- how is't, my lucky Rover?

[embracing.

_Will._ My Life! my Soul! how glad am I to find thee in my Arms again-- and well-- When left you _Paris_? _Paris_, that City of Pottage and Crab-Wine, swarming with Lacquies and Philies, whose Government is carried on by most Hands, not most Voices-- And prithee how does _Belvile_ and his Lady?

_Beau._ I left 'em both in Health at St. _Germains._

_Will._ Faith, I have wisht my self with ye at the old Temple of Bacchus at _St. Clou_, to sacrifice a Bottle and a Damsel to his Deity.

_Beau._ My constant Place of Wors.h.i.+p whilst there, tho for want of new Saints my Zeal grew something cold, which I was ever fain to supply with a Bottle, the old Remedy when _Phyllis_ is sullen and absent.

_Will._ Now thou talk'st of Phillis prithee, dear _Harry_, what Women hast in store?

_Beau._ I'll tell thee; but first inform me whom these two Sparks are.

_Will._ Egad, and so they are, Child: Salute 'em-- They are my Friends-- True Blades, _Hal._ highly guilty of the royal Crime, poor and brave, loyal Fugitives.

_Beau._ I love and honour 'em, Sir, as such [Bowing to _Blunt_.

_Blunt._ Sir, there's neither Love nor Honour lost.