Volume I Part 59 (1/2)

_Will._ Hum, a Woman of Quality and jilt me-- Egad, that's strange now-- Well, who shall a Man trust in this wicked World?

Enter _La Nuche_ as before.

_La Nu._ This should be he, he saunters about like an expecting Lover.

[_Will._ peeping and approaching.

_Will._ By this Light a Woman, if she be the right-- but right or wrong so she be Feminine: harkye, Child, I fancy thee some kind thing that belongs to me.

_La Nu._ Who are you? [In a low tone.

_Will._ A wandering Lover that has lost his Heart, and I have shreud Guess 'tis in thy dear Bosom, Child.

_La Nu._ Oh you're a pretty Lover, a Woman's like to have a sweet time on't, if you're always so tedious.

_Will._ By yon bright Star-light, Child, I walk'd here in short turns like a Centinel, all this live-long Evening, and was just going (Gad forgive me) to kill my self.

_La Nu._ I rather think some Beauty has detain'd you: Have you not seen _La Nuche_?

_Will._ _La Nuche!_-- Why, she's a Wh.o.r.e-- I hope you take me for a civiller Person, than to throw my self away on Wh.o.r.es-- No, Child, I lie with none but honest Women I: but no disputing now, come-- to my Lodging, my dear-- here's a Chair waits hard by.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. _Willmore's Lodging._

Enter _Harlequin_ with _Fetherfool's_ Clothes on his Shoulder, leading him halting by one Hand, _Blunt_ (drunk) by the other in the dark; _Fetherfool_ b.l.o.o.d.y, his Coat put over his Shoulders.

_Feth._ _Peano, Peano_, Seignior, gently, good _Edward_-- for I'll not halt before a Cripple; I have lost a great part of my agil Faculties.

_Blunt._ Ah, see the Inconstancy of fickle Fortune, _Nicholas_-- A Man to day, and beaten to morrow: but take comfort, there's many a proper fellow has been robb'd and beaten on this Highway of whoring.

_Feth._ Ay, _Ned_, thou speak'st by woful Experience-- but that I should miscarry after thy wholesom Doc.u.ments-- but we are all mortal, as thou say'st, _Ned_-- Would I had never crost the Ferry from _Croydon_; a few such Nights as these wou'd learn a Man Experience enough to be a Wizard, if he have but the ill luck to escape hanging.

_Blunt._ 'Dsheartlikins, I wonder in what Country our kinder Stars rule: In _England_ plunder'd, sequester'd, imprison'd and banish'd; in _France_, starv'd, walking like the Sign of the naked Boy, with _Plymouth_ Cloaks in our Hands; in _Italy_ and _Spain_ robb'd, beaten, and thrown out at Windows.

_Feth._ Well, how happy am I, in having so true a Friend to condole me in Affliction-- [Weeps.] I am oblig'd to Seignior _Harlequin_ too, for bringing me hither to the Mountebank's, where I shall not only conceal this Catastrophe from those fortunate Rogues our Comrades, but procure a little Alb.u.m Graec.u.m for my Backside. Come, Seignior, my Clothes-- but, Seignior-- _un Portavera Poco palanca_.

[Dresses himself.

_Harl._ Seignior.

_Feth._ _Entende vos Signoria Englesa?_

_Harl._ _Em Poco, em Poco_, Seignior.

_Feth._ _Per quelq arts_, did your Seigniors.h.i.+p escape Cudgeling?

_Harl._ _La art de transformatio._

_Feth._ _Transformatio_-- Why, wert thou not born a Man?

_Harl._ No, Seignior, _un vieule Femme_.

_Feth._ How, born an old Woman?