Volume Iii Part 40 (2/2)

_Fran_. Do't, but, my Lord, and with what face can I put off Signior _Antonio_, hum.

_Guil_. _Antonio_,--hy, Pages, give order that _Antonio_ be instantly run through the Lungs--d'ye hear?

_Fran_. Oh, hold, hold, my Lord! run through the Lungs!

_Page_. It shall be done, my Lord! but what _Antonio_?

_Guil_. Why, any _Antonio_; all the _Antonio's_ that you find in _Cadiz_.

_Fran_. Oh, what b.l.o.o.d.y-minded Monsters these Lords are!--But, my Lord, I'll ne'er give you the trouble of killing him, I'll put him off with a handsom Compliment; as thus,--Why, look ye, Friend _Antonio_, the business is this, my Daughter _Isabella_ may marry a Lord, and you may go fiddle.--

_Guil_. Ay, that's civil,--and if he do not desist, I'll unpeople _Spain_ but I'll kill him; for, Madam, I'll tell you what happened to me in the Court of _France_--there was a Lady in the Court in love with me,--she took a liking to my Person which--I think,--you will confess--

_Isa_. To be the most accomplisht in the World.

_Guil_. I had some sixscore Rivals, they all took Snuff; that is, were angry--at which I smiled;--they were incensed; at which I laught, ha, ha, ha,--i'faith; they rag'd, I--when I met 'em,--c.o.c.kt, thus--_en pa.s.sant_--justled 'em--thus,--[_Overthrows_ Fran.] They turn'd and frown'd,--thus,--I drew.--

_Fran_. What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?

_Guil_. All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa.

[_Fences him round the Stage_.

_Fran_. Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.

_Guil_. And run 'em all through the Body!

_Fran_. Oh Heavens! and kill'd 'em all.

_Guil_. Not a Man,--only run 'em through the body a little, that's all, my two Boys were by, my Pages here.

_Isa_. Is it the fas.h.i.+on, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?

_Guil_. Pages of Honour always;--these were stinted at nurse, or they had been good proper Fellows.

_Fran_. I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my Wife's Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her this morning.

[_Going out_ Guil. _stays him_.

_Guil_. Why, I'll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received in a Duel the other day,--nay, Ladies, I'll shew it you; in a very odd place--in my back parts.

[_Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak_.

_Isa_. Ah.

_Page_. Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a Coward.

_Guil_. Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I'll not shew you my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing.

_Page comes in_.

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