Volume I Part 113 (1/2)

_Page._ Shall we search his Breeches, an't please your Highness, for Pistol, or other Instruments?

_L. Lam._ No, Boy, we fear him not, they say the Powers above protect the Persons of Princes.

[Walks away.

_Lov._ Sure she's mad, yet she walks loose about, And she has Charms even in her raving Fit.

_L. Lam._ Answer me. What art thou?-- How shall I get my Servants hence with Honour? [Aside.

_Lov._ A Gentleman-- That could have boasted Birth and Fortune too, Till these accursed Times, which Heaven confound, Razing out all n.o.bility, all Virtue, Has render'd me the rubbish of the World; Whilst new rais'd Rascals, Canters, Robbers, Rebels, Do lord it o'er the Free-born, Brave and n.o.ble.

_L. Lam._ You're very confident, know you to whom you speak? but I suppose you have lost your Estate, or some such trivial thing, which makes you angry.

_Lov._ Yes, a trivial Estate of some five and twenty hundred Pound a Year: but I hope to see that Rogue of a Lord reduc'd to his Cobler's-Stall again, or more deserv'dly hang'd, that has it.

_L. Lam._ I thought 'twas some such Grievance-- but you must keep a good Tongue in your Head, lest you be hang'd for _Scandalum Magnatum_-- there's Law for ye, Sir.

_Lov._ No matter, then I shall be free from a d.a.m.n'd Commonwealth, as you are pleas'd to call it, when indeed 'tis but a mungrel, mangy, Mock-Monarchy.

_L. Lam._ Is it your business, Sir, to rail?

_Lov._ You rais'd the Devil, Madam.

_Page._ Madam, shall I call your Highness's Guards, and secure the Traitor?

_L. Lam._ No, that you may see how little I regard or fear him; leave us all-- [Ex. all but _Gill._ We'll trust our Person in his Hands alone-- --Now, Sir-- Your Bus'ness? [Smilingly approaches him.

_Lav._ Madam, I waited here by your Commands.

_L. Lam._ How shall I tell him that I love him, Gilliflower?

_Gill._ Easily, Madam, tell him so in plain _English_. Madam,'tis great; Women of your exalted height ever speak first; you have no Equals dare pretend to speak of Love to you.

_L. Lam._ Thou art i'th' right-- Do'st know my Quality, and thy own Poverty? And hast thou nothing to ask that I may grant?

_Lav._ Sure she loves me! and I, frail Flesh and Blood, Cannot resist her Charms; but she's of the d.a.m.n'd Party.

[Aside.

_L. Lam._ Are all your Party, Sir, so proud?

_Lov._ But what have I to do with Religion! Is Beauty the worse, or a kind Wench to be refus'd for Conventickling? She lives high on the Spoils of a glorious Kingdom, and why may not I live upon the Sins of the Spoiler?

[Aside.

_L. Lam._ Sir-- you are poor!

_Lov._ So is my Prince; a Plague on the occasion.

_L. Lam._ I think you are-- no Fool too.

_Lov._ I wou'd I were, then I had been a Knave, had thriv'd, and possibly by this time had been tugging for rifled Crowns and Kingdoms.