Volume Iv Part 15 (2/2)

Enter Lady _Knowell_.

L. _Kno._ What, alone, Sir _Credulous_? I left you with _Lucretia_.

Sir _Cred._ _Lucretia!_ I'm sure she makes a very _Tarquinius s.e.xtus_ of me, and all about this Serenade,--I protest and vow, incomparable Lady, I had begun the sweetest Speech to her--though I say't, such Flowers of Rhetorick--'twou'd have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou'd; and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the very middle on't, so snuffy I'll warrant.

L. _Kno._ Be not discourag'd, Sir, I'll adapt her to a reconciliation: Lovers must sometimes expect these little _Belli fugaces_; the _Grecians_ therefore truly named Love _Glucupicros Eros_.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag'd as another, but I'm sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.

L. _Kno._ Name it no more, 'twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I'll accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane Affairs.

[Goes out.

Enter _Lodwick_, stays Sir _Credulous_ as he is going out the other way.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, whither away so fast?

Sir _Cred._ Zoz, what a Question's there? dost not know I am to unty the Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister, that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to _Lincolns-Inn_ to my Counsel about it?

_Lod._ My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what's the matter?

_Lod._ Have you made your Will?

Sir _Cred._ My Will! no, why my Will, Man?

_Lod._ Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from this place.

Sir _Cred._ Good Lord, _Lodwick_, thou art the strangest Man,--what do you mean to fright a body thus?

_Lod._ You remember the Serenade last night?

Sir _Cred._ Remember it? Zoz, I think I do, here be the marks on't sure.-- [Pulls off his Peruke, and shews his Head broke.

_Lod._ Ads me, your Head's broke.

Sir _Cred._ My Head broke! why, 'twas a hundred to one but my Neck had been broke.

_Lod._ Faith, not unlikely,--you know the next House is Sir _Patient Fancy's_; _Isabella_ too, you know, is his Daughter.

Sir _Cred._ Yes, yes, she was by when I made my dumb Oration.

_Lod._ The same,--this Lady has a Lover, a mad, furious, fighting, killing Hector, (as you know there are enough about this Town) this Monsieur supposing you to be a Rival, and that your Serenade was address'd to her--

Sir _Cred._ Enough, I understand you, set those Rogues on to murder me.

_Lod._ Wou'd 'twere no worse.

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