Volume Iv Part 16 (1/2)

Sir _Cred._ Worse! Zoz, Man, what the Devil can be worse?

_Lod._ Why, he has vow'd to kill you himself wherever he meets you, and now waits below to that purpose.

Sir _Cred._ Sha, sha, if that be all, I'll to him immediately, and make Affidavit I never had any such design. Madam _Isabella_! ha, ha, alas, poor man, I have some body else to think on.

_Lod._ Affidavit! why, he'll not believe you, should you swear your Heart out: some body has possess'd him that you are a d.a.m.n'd Fool, and a most egregious Coward, a Fellow that to save your Life will swear any thing.

Sir _Cred._ What cursed Luck's this!--why, how came he to know I liv'd here?

_Lod._ I believe he might have it from _Leander_, who is his Friend.

Sir _Cred._ _Leander!_ I must confess I never lik'd that _Leander_ since yesterday.

_Lod._ He has deceiv'd us all, that's the truth on't; for I have lately found out too, that he's your Rival, and has a kind of a--

Sir _Cred._ Smattering to my Mistress, hah, and therefore wou'd not be wanting to give me a lift out of this World; but I shall give her such a go-by--my Lady _Knowell_ understands the difference between three Thousand a Year, and--prithee what's his Estate?

_Lod._ Shaw--not sufficient to pay Surgeons Bills.

Sir _Cred._ Alas, poor Rat, how does he live then?

_Lod._ Hang him, the Ladies keep him; 'tis a good handsome Fellow, and has a pretty Town-Wit.

Sir _Cred._ He a Wit! what, I'll warrant he writes Lampoons, rails at Plays, curses all Poetry but his own, and mimicks the Players--ha.

_Lod._ Some such common Notions he has that deceives the ignorant Rabble, amongst whom he pa.s.ses for a very smart Fellow,--'life, he's here.

Enter _Leander_.

Sir _Cred._ Why, what shall I do, he will not affront me before Company?

hah!

_Lod._ Not in our House, Sir,--bear up and take no notice on't.

[_Lod._ whispers _Lean._

Sir _Cred._ No notice, quoth he? why, my very Fears will betray me.

_Lean._ Let me alone--_Lodwick_, I met just now with an _Italian_ Merchant, who has made me such a Present!

_Lod._ What is't prithee?

_Lean._ A Sort of specifick Poison for all the Senses, especially for that of smelling; so that had I a Rival, and I should see him at any reasonable distance, I could direct a little of this Scent up to his Brain so subtlely, that it shall not fail of Execution in a day or two.

Sir _Cred._ How--Poison!

[Shewing great Signs of Fear, and holding his Nose.

_Lean._ Nay, shou'd I see him in the midst of a thousand People, I can so direct it, that it shall a.s.sault my Enemy's Nostrils only, without any effects on the rest of the Company.

Sir _Cred._ Oh,--I'm a dead Man!