Part 3 (1/2)

_Lord Fop._ [_Aside to_ AMANDA _squeezing her hand_.] I am in love with you to desperation, strike me speechless!

_Aman._ [_Strikes him on the ear_.] Then thus I return your pa.s.sion.--An impudent fool!

_Lord Fop_. G.o.d's curse, madam, I am a peer of the realm!

_Love_. [_Hastily returning_.] Hey! what the devil, do you affront my wife, sir? Nay, then-- [_Draws. They fight._]

_Aman_. What has my folly done?--Help! murder! help! Part them for Heaven's sake.

_Lord Fop_. [_Falls back and leans on his sword._] Ah!

quite through the body, stap my vitals!

_Enter_ SERVANTS.

_Love_. [_Runs to_ LORD FOPPINGTON.] I hope I ha'nt killed the fool, however. Bear him up.--Call a surgeon there.

_Lord Fop_. Ay, pray make haste. [_Exit_ SERVANT.

_Love_. This mischief you may thank yourself for.

_Lord Fop_. I may say so; love's the devil indeed, Ned.

_Re-enter_ SERVANT, _with_ PROBE.

_Ser_. Here's Mr. Probe, sir, was just going by the door.

_Lord Fop_. He's the welcomest man alive.

_Probe_. Stand by, stand by, stand by; pray, gentlemen, stand by. Lord have mercy upon us, did you never see a man run through the body before?--Pray stand by.

_Lord Fop_. Ah, Mr. Probe, I'm a dead man.

_Probe_. A dead man, and I by! I should laugh to see that, egad.

_Love_. Pr'ythee don't stand prating, but look upon his wound.

_Probe_. Why, what if I don't look upon his wound this hour, sir?

_Love_. Why, then he'll bleed to death, sir.

_Probe_. Why, then I'll fetch him to life again, sir.

_Love_. 'Slife! he's run through the body, I tell thee.

_Probe_. I wish he was run through the heart, and I should get the more credit by his cure. Now I hope you are satisfied?

Come, now let me come at him--now let me come at him.-- [_Viewing his wound._] Oops I what a gash is here! why, sir, a man may drive a coach and six horses into your body.

_Lord Fop_. Oh!

_Probe_. Why, what the devil have you run the gentleman through with--a scythe?--[_Aside_.] A little scratch between the skin and the ribs, that's all.

_Love_. Let me see his wound.

_Probe_. Then you shall dress it, sir; for if anybody looks upon it I won't.

_Love_. Why, thou art the veriest c.o.xcomb I ever saw!

_Probe_. Sir, I am not master of my trade for nothing.

_Lord Fop_. Surgeon!

_Probe_. Sir.

_Lord Fop_. Are there any hopes?

_Probe_. Hopes! I can't tell. What are you willing to give for a cure? _Lord Fop_. Five hundred paunds with pleasure.

_Probe_. Why then perhaps there may be hopes; but we must avoid further delay.--Here, help the gentleman into a chair, and carry him to my house presently--that's the properest place-- [_Aside_.] to bubble him out of his money.--[_Aloud_.]

Come, a chair--a chair quickly--there, in with him. [SERVANTS _put_ LORD FOPPINGTON _into a chair_.]

_Lord Fop_. Dear Loveless, adieu; if I die, I forgive thee; and if I live, I hope thou wilt do as much by me. I am sorry you and I should quarrel, but I hope here's an end on't; for if you are satisfied, I am.

_Love_. I shall hardly think it worth my prosecuting any further, so you may be at rest, sir.

_Lord Fop_. Thou art a generous fellow, strike me dumb!

--[_Aside_.] But thou hast an impertinent wife, stap my vitals!

_Probe_. So--carry him off!--carry him off!--We shall have him into a fever by-and-by.--Carry him off! [_Exit with_ LORD FOPPINGTON.]

Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.

_Col. Town_. So, so, I am glad to find you all alive.--I met a wounded peer carrying off. For heaven's sake what was the matter?

_Love_. Oh, a trifle! he would have made love to my wife before my face, so she obliged him with a box o' the ear, and I ran him through the body, that was all.

_Col. Town_. Bagatelle on all sides. But pray, madam, how long has this n.o.ble lord been an humble servant of yours?

_Aman_. This is the first I have heard on't--so I suppose, 'tis his quality more than his love has brought him into this adventure. He thinks his t.i.tle an authentic pa.s.sport to every woman's heart below the degree of a peeress.

_Col. Town_. He's c.o.xcomb enough to think anything: but I would not have you brought into trouble for him. I hope there's no danger of his life?

_Love_. None at all. He's fallen into the hands of a roguish surgeon, who, I perceive, designs to frighten a little money out of him: but I saw his wound--'tis nothing: he may go to the ball to-night if he pleases.

_Col. Town_. I am glad you have corrected him without further mischief, or you might have deprived me of the pleasure of executing a plot against his lords.h.i.+p, which I have been contriving with an old acquaintance of yours.

_Love_. Explain.