Volume I Part 62 (1/2)

_Beau._ Yes, yes, I know she's innocent of this, for which I owe no thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark.

_La Nu._ And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour'd your Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, that if this Night I lost you, I shou'd never regain you: now I am yours, and o'er the habitable World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases.

_Will._ Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou'dst try'd me, thou'dst ne'er part with me-- give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part us.

[Kisses her.

--so-- now here's a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage.

_La Nu._ Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as the Parson's of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing.

_Will._ Thou art reform'd, and I adore the Change.

Enter the _Guardian_, _Blunt_, and _Fetherfool_.

_Guar._ My Nieces stol'n, and by a couple of the Seignior's Men! the Seignior fled too! undone, undone!

_Will._ Hah, now's my Cue, I must finish this Jest. [Goes out.

Enter _s.h.i.+ft_ and _Giant_, _Hunt_ and _Dwarf_.

_Guar._ Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with 'em! I charge ye, Gentlemen, to lay hold on 'em.

_Dwarf._ For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us?

_Guar._ How, married to Rogues, Rascals, _John Potages_!

_Blunt._ Who the Devil wou'd have look'd for jilting in such Hobgoblins?

_Feth._ And hast thou deceiv'd me, thou foul filthy Synagogue?

Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank as before.

_Blunt._ The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated adulterated Villain.

_Feth._ Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal.

_Blunt._ Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue!

_Will._ What's the matter, Gentlemen?

_Blunt._ Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me to this ill-favour'd Baboon?

_Feth._ And me to this foul filthy o'ergrown Chronicle?

_Blunt._ And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry 'em: Sirrah, I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam'd Drugs, thy _Guzman Medicines_.

_Feth._ Nay, I'll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have him hang'd for a Witch.

_s.h.i.+ft._ Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their Portion, what wou'd you more?

[Aside to the _Guar._ Look ye, Sir. [Pulls off their Disguise.

_Blunt._ _Hunt!_