Volume Iii Part 21 (1/2)

Sir _Tim_. A Fidler, perhaps--let him play in the next Room.

_Bel_. No, my Brother--come to demand his Portion of me; he says I am in leud Company, and, like a Boy, he wou'd correct me.

Sir _Tim_. Why, this comes of Idleness; thou should'st have bound him Prentice in time, the Boy would have made a good saucy Taylor.

_Char_. Sirrah, y'are a Rascal, whom I must thus chastise.

[_Kicks him_.

[_They all draw, and_ Bellmour _stands foremost, and fights with_ Charles; _the Women run squeaking out, Sir_ Tim.

Sham, _and_ Sharp _sneak behind_; Trusty _interposes_.

_Trust_. Hold, hold, I beseech you, my dear Masters! Oh, what a fight is this? Two Brothers fighting with each other! Oh, were my old Master alive, this wou'd break his Heart: Oh, Sir, you've kill'd your Brother!

_Bel_. Why, then his Portion's paid.

[Charles _wounded_.

Sir _Tim_. How, kill'd! Nay, 'tis time we departed then, and s.h.i.+fted for ourselves.

[_Ex. Sir_ Tim. Sham _and_ Sharp.

_Trust_. Oh, Sir, shall I send for a Chyrurgion?

_Char_. No, for a Coach rather, I am not wounded much.

[_Ex_. Trusty.

_Bel_. How dar'st thou trust thy self alone with me?

_Char_. Why should I fear thee?

_Bel_. Because I'm mad, Mad as a Tygress rob'd of her dear Young.

_Char_. What is't that makes you so?

_Bel_. My Uncle's Politicks, h.e.l.l take him for't, Has ruin'd me, thou and my Sister too, By marrying me to a fair hated Maid, When I had plighted all my Faith before.

_Enter_ Trusty.

_Trust_. Sir, here's a Coach.

_Char_. Come, Brother, will you go home with me?

_Bel_. Home!--no, never to that place thou call'st so.

If, when I'm dead, thou wouldst behold thy Brother, And take the last Adieu from his cold Lips, (If those so perjur'd can deserve that kindness) Inquire for lost _Celinda_, at whose Feet Thou shalt behold me fall'n a Sacrifice.

Till then, I'll let mistaken Parents know The mischiefs that ensue a broken Vow.

[_Ex. severally_.