f veins this month. Why do you talk of bloody? hat come we for, to fall to cuffs for apples? hat, would you make the cause a cudgel-quarrel? n what terms stands this man? Is not his honour pen'd t' his hand, and pick'd out like an oyster ? is credit like a quart-pot knock'd together, ble to hold no liquor? Clear out this point. Petr. Speak soft, gentle cousin.

Anto. I'll speak truly.

What should man do, allied to these disgraces,
Lick o'er his enemy, sit down, and dance him?
ry, "That's my fine boy, thou shalt do so no more,
child?"

Petr. Here are no such cold pities.
Anto. By St. Jaques,

[Andrew, They shall not find me one! Here's old tough special.friend of mine, and he but hold, [for, 'll strike them such a hornpipe! Knocks I come And the best blood I'll light on: I profess it Not to scare costermongers. If I lose my own, ly audit's cast, and farewell five-and-fifty.

Petr. Let's talk no longer, place yourself with silence,

As I direct you; and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, so shew yourselves.

Oh

Anto. So be it.

how my fingers tingle to be at them!

SCENE IV.-A Chamber.

Enter Don JOHN and his Landlady.

Land. Nay, son, if this be your regard

[Exeunt.

Don J. Good mother[yourself Land. Good me no goods. Your cousin and Are welcome to me whilst you bear yourselves Like honest and true gentlemen. Bring hither, To my house, that have ever been reputed A gentlewoman of a decent and fair carriage, And so behav'd myself

Don J. I know you have.

Land. Bring hither, as I say, to make my name Stink in my neighbours' nostrils, your devices, Your brats, got out of allicant and broken oaths; Your linsey-wolsey work, your fileh'd iniquities! You're deceived in me, sir, I am none Of those receivers.

Don J. Have I not sworn unto you, Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it? Land. You found an easy fool that let you get it. Don J. Will you hear me?

[your ends, Land. Oaths! what care you for oaths to gain When you are high and pamper'd? What saint knows you?

Or what religion, but your wicked passions?
I'm sick to see this dealing.

Don J. Heaven forbid, mother!

Land. Nay, I am very sick.

Don J. Who waits there?

Peter. [Within.] Sir?

Don J. Bring a bottle of canary wine.

Land. Exceeding sick, heaven help me!
Don J. Hasie you, sirrah!

I must e'en make her drunk. [Aside.] Nay, gentle mother

Land. Now fie upon you! was it for this purpose You fetch'd your evening walks for your devotions, For this pretended holiness? No weather, Not before day, could hold you from the matins. Were these your bo-peep prayers? Still sicker, sicker}

Where's the infant?

Come, let's see your workmanship.

Don J. It is none of mine, mother, but I'll fetch it Here it is, and a lusty one.

Land. Oh! heaven bless thee! As I live, Your own eyes, signior; and the nether lip As like you as you had spit it.

Don J. I am glad on't.

Land. Bless me! what things are these?
Don J. I thought my labour

Was not all lost; 'tis gold, and these are jewels,
Both rich and right, I hope.

Land. Well, well, son John,

Here I am with you now, when, as they say,
Your pleasure comes with profit.

Don J. All this time, good mother,

The child wants looking to, wants meat and nurses.
Land. Now blessing o' thy heart! it shall have all,
And instantly: I'll seek a nurse myself, son.
'Tis a sweet child! Ah! my young Spaniard!
Take you no further care, sir.

Don J. Yes, of these jewels,

I must, by your good leave, mother; these are mine:
The gold for bringing up of't, I freely render
To your charge: for the rest, I'll find a master
But where's Don Fredrick, mother?

Land. Ten to one,
About the like adventure; he told me
He was to find you out.

Don J. Why should he stay thus ?
There may be some ill chance in't; sleep I will net,
Before I have found him,

Well, my dear mother, let the child be look'd to

And look you to be rewarded About it Straight, good mother.

Land. No more words, nor no more children, Good son, as you love me: this may do well: This shall do well: eh! you little, sweet cherub! [Erit with the Child. Don J. Away! So, so; I thought the wine would do its daty:

She'll kill the child with kindness: t'other glass,
And she had ravish'd me. There is no way
Of bringing women of her age to reason,
But by this: girls of fifteen are caught
Fifty ways; they bite as fast as you throw in;
But with the old cold 'tis a diff'rent dealing.
*Tis wine must warm them to their sense of feeling.
[Erit.

ACT II.

SCENE I-A Chamber.

Enter Don FREDERICK, and ANTHONY with a

candle.

Don F. Give me the candle; so, go you out that

way.

Anth. What have we now to do?

[Aside.

Let me come to him.

Let none come near the door, without my knowNo, not my landlady, nor my friend.

Anth. 'Tis done, sir.

[me.

My friend may be engag'd. Fie! gentlemen,
This is unmanly odds. [DUKE falls.] Press upon
A fall'n enemy! it is cowardly:
Thus will I protect him.

[Bestrides the DLEK

Anto. I'll stop your mouth, sir.

Don J. Nay, then, have at thee freely. There's a plum to satisfy your longing.

Petr. He's fallen; I hope I have sped him.

Where's Antonio?

Anto. I must have one thrust more, sir.
Don J. Come up to me.

Anto. A mischief confound your fingers! He's given me my quietus est; I felt him In my small guts; I'm sure he's feez'd me: This comes of siding with you.

Petr. I hear more rescue coming.

Anto. Let's turn back, then;

[Trampling within

My skull's uncloven yet, let me but kill somebody.
Petr. Away, for heaven's sake, with him!
They hurry ANTONIO of

Enter the DUKE's Party.

Don J. Help, gentlemen! How is it?
Duke. Well, sir,

Only a little stagger'd.

Duke's Party. Let's pursue them.
Duke. No; not a man, I charge you.

My thanks to you, brave sir, whose timely valour
And manly courtesy came to my rescue.
Don J. You had foul play offer'd you, and shame
befall him

That can pass by oppression.

Duke. May I crave, sir,

But this much honour more, to know your name, And him I am so bound to?

Don J. For the bond, sir,

'Tis every good man's tie; to know me further,

Duke. No, believe me, sir; pray, use mine,

For 'twill be hard to find your own now.

Don J. Indeed, I cannot.

That's my best comfort, for't has brought about it Enough to make it, man.

Don F. Where is't? Don J. At home.

Don F. A saving voyage; but what will you say, signior,

To him that, searching out your serious worship, Has met a stranger fortune?

Don J. How, good Frederick?

A little squeaking girl to this boy would hit it.
Don F. No, mine's a nobler venture; what do
you think, sir,

Of a distress'd lady, one whose beauty
Would oversell all Italy?

Don J. Where is she?

Don F. A woman of that rare behaviour,
So qualified, as love and admiration
Dwell round about her; of that perfect spirit-
Don J. Ay, marry, sir?

Don F. That admirable carriage,

That sweetness in discourse: young as the morning,

I do beseech you, honour me.

Don J. Well, sir, then I will;

Don J. Revelations !

I'll tell thee, Frederick: but before I tell thee,
Settle thy understanding.

Don F. 'Tis prepar'd, sir

Don J. Why, then, mark what shall follow:
This night, Frederick, this wicked night-
Don F. I thought no less.

Don J. This blind night!

What dost thou think I have got?

Don F. What such wanton fellows ought to get. Don J. Would 'twere no worse! you talk of revelations,

I have got a revelation will reveal me

An arrant coxcomb whilst I live.

Don F. What is't?

Thou hast lost nothing?

Don J. No, I have got, I tell thee.
Don F. What hast thou got?

Don J. One of the infantry-a child.
Don F. How!

Don J. A chopping child, man.

Don F. 'Give you joy, sir!

Don J. I'll give it you, sir, if it is joy. Frederick, This town's abominable, that's the truth on't.

Don F. I still told you, John,

Your wenching must come home; I counsell'd you;
But where no grace is-

Don J. 'Tis none of mine, man.
Don F. Answer the parish so.
Don J. Cheated, in troth!

Peeping into a house, by whom I know not,

NO. 21.

Don J. But where's this creature?

Shew me but that.

Don F. That's all one; she's forthcoming. I have her sure, boy.

Don J. Harkye! Frederick;

What truck betwixt my infant ?

Don F. "Tis too light, sir;

Stick to your charge, good Don John; I am well. Don J. But is there such a wench?

Don F. First tell me this:

Did you not lately, as you walk'd along,

Discover people that were arm'd, and likely

To do offence?

Don J. Yes, marry, and they urg'd it

As far as they had spirit.

Don F. Pray, go forward.

[them,

Don J. A gentleman I found engag'd amongst
It seems, of noble breeding, I'm sure, brave mettle,
As I return'd to look you; I set into him,
And without hurt (I thank heaven!) rescu'd him.
Ecce signum.
[Shewing the hat.

Don F. What the devil's that, John?
Don J. Only the laurel I gain'd in the scuffle.
Don F. Bravo! then all my work is done.
And now, to satisfy you, there is a woman—
Oh! John, there is a woman-