Volume Iv Part 15 (1/2)

Sir _Cred._ Ay, ay, that, we'll have that,--_Ill-wedded Joys, how quickly do you fade_,-- [Sings.] That's excellent! Oh, now the Windows open, now, now shew your capering Tricks. [Vaulting.

[They all play again.

Enter _Roger_ and a Company of Fellows as out of Sir _Patient's_ House, led on by _Abel_ a precise Clerk, all armed with odd Weapons.

_Abel._ Verily, verily, here be these Babes of Perdition, these Children of Iniquity.

_Rog._ A pox of your Babes and Children, they are Men, and Sons of Wh.o.r.es, whom we must bang confoundedly, for not letting honest G.o.dly People rest quietly in their Beds at Midnight.

Sir _Cred._ Who's there?

_Rog._ There, with a Pox to you; cannot a Right-wors.h.i.+pful Knight, that has been sick these Twenty Years with taking Physick, sleep quietly in his own House for you; and must we be rais'd out of our Beds to quiet your h.e.l.l-pipes, in the Devil's name?

_Abel._ Down with _Gog_ and _Magog_, there; there's the rotten Bell weather that leads the rest astray, and defiles the whole Flock.

_Rog._ Hang your preaching, and let's come to him, we'll maul him.

[Beat Sir _Cred._

Sir _Cred._ Oh, Quarter, Quarter, Murder, Help, Murder, Murder!

Enter _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ d.a.m.n these Rascals, who e'er they were, that so unluckily redeem'd a Rival from my Fury,--Hah, they are here,--Egad, I'll have one touch more with 'em,--the Dogs are spoiling my design'd Serenade too--have amongst ye.-- [Fights and beats 'em off.] Sir _Credulous_, how is't?

Sir _Cred._ Who's there? _Lodwick?_ Oh dear Lad, is't thou that hast redeem'd me from the inchanted Cudgels that demolish'd my triumphant Pageant, and confounded my Serenade? Zoz, I'm half kill'd, Man,--I have never a whole Bone about me sure.

_Lod._ Come in with me--a plague upon the Rascal that escap'd me.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE I. Lady _Knowell's_ House.

Enter _Lucretia_, followed by Sir _Credulous_.

_Lucr._ Marry'd to morrow! and leave my Mother the possession of _Leander_! I'll die a thousand Deaths first.--How the Fool haunts me!

[Aside.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, delicious Lady, you may say your Pleasure; but I will justify the Serenade to be as high a piece of Gallantry as was ever practised in our Age, though not comparable to your Charms and celestial Graces, which shou'd I praise as I ought, 'twou'd require more time than the Sun employs in his natural Motion between the Tropicks; that is to say, a whole Year, (for by the way, I am no _Copernican_) for, Dear Madam, you must know, my Rhetorick Master,--I say, my Rhetorick Master, who was--

_Lucr._ As great a c.o.xcomb as your self;--pray leave me, I am serious--I must go seek out _Lodwick_.

Sir _Cred._ Leave ye! I thank you for that, i'faith, before I have spoke out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady--because my Rhetorick Master commanded the frequent use of _Hypallages_, _Allegories_, and the richest Figures of that beauteous Art,--because my Rhetorick--

_Lucr._ I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure to attend your Nonsense.

[Goes out.