Volume Iv Part 22 (1/2)

L. _Fan._ Good Heavens, Sir, is she dead?

Sir _Pat._ I wou'd she were, her Portion and her Honour would then be sav'd. But oh, I'm sick at Heart, _Maundy_, fetch me the Bottle of _Mirabilis_ in the Closet,--she's wanton, unchaste.

Enter _Maundy_ with the Bottle.

Oh, I cannot speak it; oh, the Bottle-- [Drinks.] she has lost her Fame, her Shame, her Name.--Oh, [Drinks.] that is not the right Bottle, that with the red Cork [Drinks.]

[Exit _Maundy_.

and is grown a very t'other-end-of-the-Town Creature, a very Apple of _Sodom_, fair without and filthy within, what shall we do with her?

she's lost, undone; hah!

Enter _Maundy_.

let me see, [Drinks.] this is [Drinks.] not as I take it-- [Drinks.]

--no, 'tis not the right,--she's naught, she's leud, [Drinks.] --oh, how you vex me-- [Drinks.] This is not the right Bottle yet,-- [Drinks.] No, no, here.

[Gives her the Bottle.

_Maun._ You said that with the red Cork, Sir. [Goes out.

Sir _Pat._ I meant the blue;--I know not what I say.-- In fine, my Lady, let's marry her out of hand, for she is fall'n, fall'n to Perdition; she understands more Wickedness than had she been bred in a profane Nunnery, a Court,

Enter _Maundy_.

or a Play-house, [Drinks.] --therefore let's marry her instantly, out of hand [Drinks.] Misfortune on Misfortune. [Drinks.] --But Patience is a wonderful Virtue, [Drinks.] --Ha--this is very comfortable,--very consoling--I profess if it were not for these Creatures, ravis.h.i.+ng Comforts, sometimes, a Man were a very odd sort of an Animal [Drinks.]

But ah--see how all things were ordain'd for the use and comfort of Man.

[Drinks.]

L. _Fan._ I like this well: Ah, Sir, 'tis very true, therefore receive it plentifully and thankfully.

Sir _Pat._ [Drinks.] Ingenuously--it hath made me marvellous lightsome; I profess it hath a very notable Faculty,--very knavish--and as it were, waggish,--but hah, what have we there on the Table? a Sword and Hat?

[Sees _Wittmore's_ Sword and Hat on the Table, which he had forgot.

L. _Fan._ Curse on my Dulness.--Oh, these, Sir, they are Mr.

_Fainlove's_--he being so soon to be marry'd and being straitned for time, sent these to _Maundy_ to be new trim'd with Ribbon, Sir--that's all. Take 'em away, you naughty Baggage, must I have Mens things seen in my Chamber?

Sir _Pat._ Nay, nay, be not angry, my little Rogue; I like the young Man's Frugality well. Go, go your ways, get you gone, and finefy your Knacks and Tranghams, and do your Business--go.

[Smiling on _Maundy_, gently beating her with his Hand: she goes out, he bolts the Door after her, and sits down on the Bed's feet.

L. _Fan._ Heavens, what means he!

Sir _Pat._ Come hither to me, my little Ape's Face,--Come, come I say--what, must I come fetch you?--Catch her, catch her--catch her, catch her, catch her.

[Running after her.

L. _Fan._ Oh, Sir, I am so ill I can hardly stir.

Sir _Pat._ I'll make ye well, come hither, ye Monky-face, did it, did it, did it? alas for it, a poor silly Fool's Face, dive it a blow, and I'll beat it.

L. _Fan._ You neglect your Devotion, Sir.