THE HECTORS: OR THE FALSE CHALLENGE. A COMEDY Written in the Year, MDCLV.  
The SCENE LONDON.  
LONDON, Printed for G. Bedel, and T. Collins, and are to be sold at their Shop at the Middle-Temple Gate in fleet-street 1656.   

I'Ll not inquire why this All-knowing Age  
Hath croped the laurel, that adorned the Stage,  
That loooking-glass of Morals, whose reflex  
Showed most their errors, whom it most did vex.  
But this I'll say, who ere the Author be  
Of this same piece, if't were my chance to see  
Him; as I have this issue of his brain,  
I'd beg the favour, that he'd write again;  
For till I read it from the self same pen,  
Such height of Sense and Wit, I ne'er again  
Shall hope to see; a strain( when read) you'll say,  
( As many things now are) in a new way.  
Here's comic mirth, yet mixed with serious lines,  
As if the Author had digged up the mines  
Of Mercury and Plato, and culled thence  
Their chiefest treasure, and would it dispense  
In plain, though lively phrase. Here's no Courts, no Kings,  
( I do suppose the Author thought such things  
Not now in use.) And what is yet more rare,  
Here is no dabbling Poet, no nor bare,  
Poor Belgic Captain; But what's most a wonder,  
You shall but once read here Jove and Thunder;  
No academic wit, the Senses five,  
Or Liber all Sciences not here contrive  
Into a plot he doth, or wedding make  
Upon Parnassus, or a story take  
From Lucian. I shall puzzle you, you'll cry,  
What a deuce than can this play ere be? Why  
It is— But stay, read it yourself, and then  
Judge rightly, and I'm sure you'll quit my pen.   

DRAMATIS PERSONAE.  

KNOW-WELL A sober, judicious Gentleman.  
Well-bred An accomplished Gentleman.  
LA-GULL A Gent. of a slender judgement, but of good means.  


Hector's.  
HAD-LAND A Gent. of worth and courage, although of a decayed fortune.  


CASTER  
SLUR   Rooking Gamesters.    
QUORUM A justice of Peace.  
CRISIS Father to Mrs. Crisis.  
Goosquill Clarke to the justice.  
CONSTABLE  
2. WITNESSES  
PEOPLE  
SERVANT  
2. GENTLEMEN Gamesters.  
Mrs. CRISIS A discreet Gentlewoman.  
Mrs. LOVE-WIT A Wit.  
Mrs. BUD A young Lass, newly come from School.  
Mrs. PATE A cunning subtle Gentlewoman.  
SUSAN Her maid.    

THE HECTORS: OR THE FALSE CHALLENGE.  
ACT I.  

SCENE I.  Enter Mrs. Pate and Mrs. Lovewit. Pate. 
HE is indeed a pretty Gentleman.  Lovewit. 
How well his dancing did become him!  Pate. 
He had a very handsome and unaffected way.  Love. 
His Discourse too( Methinks) I did extremely fancy, it was not too much starched with Formality, nor yet rudely loose.  Pate. 
He was though in my mind somewhat too full of his compliments.  Love. 
Yet they were still so fitted to, and grounded on what was said, that he cannot but have a sudden and quick wit.  Pat. 
He carried indeed the whole Entertainment through with an exceeding grace.  Love. 
Some would have spent five times as much, yet forced our good natures in the end to have laughed at it. Prithee what is he?  Pat. 
Why do you not know, child of ignorance?  Love. 
You know I came to th' Town but yesterday.  Pat. 
O it is true: And I pray you how do a ● our friends in Surrey? My Cozen Norris? and Mrs. Nonesuch.  Love. 
They all desire to be remembered; but—  Pat. 
How did my Cozen like the Stuff I bought her for her Gown?  Love. 
Very well. But prithee—  Pat. 
I did the best I could to please her fancy.  Lov. 
But what was that we were a talking of? O, of the Gentleman; what is he?  Pat. 
Why he i● one that lives here about the Town▪ of a fair Estate, his name is Welbred, he has now for some while been a servant of your cousins.  Lov. 
Me thought he applied himself much to her. Dost think she ere will love him?  Pat. 
Love him? How can she otherwise choose? Th●re is not a La●● twix●Lud-gate-hill and Westminster but is ready to run mad for him; at the first ●ight he smites and ki●s, where e'er he comes, there's none that can withstand him.  Lov. 
But yet methinks— But ●rethee let us talk no more of him. Enter Mrs. Crisis and Mrs. Bud.  Pat. 
Stay, here is your Cozen: prithee what girl is that with her?  Lov. 
It is a friend's Daughter of mine in the Country, that goeth to School here in London; she came up with me.  Crisi●. 
Affection! Where hast thou been? I have been looking for thee all over the house.  Lov. 
I your Affection, and you keep things so close from me!  Cris. 
What things▪ I pray?  Lov. 
You need not make so strange, for I know all: there is a Lad, they say, that smites and kills where ere he comes, and you are she in whom he intends to finish all his Conquests.  Cris. 
Smite! and kill! Where e'er he comes! Why, I hope, it is ●ot the old bald fellow with the scythe on his neck, old Monsieur Time? Smite, and kill! Strange, terrible words! What meanest thou?  Lov. 
I mean, he makes them talk or dream of him for a week, or so, or perhaps sigh or whine a little.  Cris. 
Hold there, as for talking or dreaming I am for you, but do you think I e'er shall sigh for him? I know whom you mean.  Lov. 
Why not?  Cris. 
Not I, as I live.  Lov. 
Spoke she but true! Aside.  Cris. 
And yet the man deserveth well, as men now are. He is( I must confess) a handsome sprightful youth, well qualified in most things that become a Gentleman: and since it is my friends desire that I should marry, he is one( I think) I should not be ashamed in company to own for a Husband.  Lov. 
O my unhappy fortune! Aside.  Cris. 
The man I don't dislike, 'tis possible I might stay for a worse; and as possible, if I did stay, I might have a better, for I see nothing in him in which I could place my happiness.  Lov. 
No▪ Bu● how come we to talk of this Gentleman again?  Pat. 
Believe me, thou lovest him with a pretty indifferent love.  Lov. 
Her Love was certainly articled and agreed on by the old man her father. But let us find somewhat else to entertain the time withal. And now I think of it, what was that Gentlewoman who was there last night in the Sky coloured satin Gown?  Pat. 
O she is one of the great wits of the Town.  Love. 
I thought so, yet Mr. Welbred put her shrewdly to it.  Pat. 
Her mind runs on nothing but Welbred, I think.  Cris. 
They say that thou too( Affection) goest for a kind of Country wit, what e'er thou ailest to be thus sober here.  Love. 
Sitting up so late last night hath somewhat disordered me, I confess.  Cris. 
But as thou hopest to be married under thirty, think not of it.  Lov. 
Why, I pray? for that is somewhat a terrible Conjuration.  Cris. 
Why? A female wit is a strange prodigious kind of thing, it frights off all that have no wit, and they that have will never come on, except it be for an Afternoon or so, to exercise their tongues. I have been out of conceit with it ever since I heard a Gentleman say, that he was going to a Lady that I know, a reputed wit, to prepare him for a Visit to his Mistress. Fie upon it, a thing fit for nothing, but to make one a common courting stock. I hate the very thought of it.  Love. 
Well then, if we must not think on them that have wit, let us think on them that have none: and first, how did you like the Gentleman that was there last night with the black curled hair:  Pat. 
With the black curled hair?  Cris. 
O, I know whom she means, it was a friend of that same gentlewoman's, she was here with him this morning to invite me to such another business to night. But why, I pray, dost thou take him to have no wit? Doth he pay all the Reckonings where ere he comes? Will he drink deep with a Lad that will keep a brace of Geldings and a lackey out of twenty pound a year? A dammee Captain, or an Oxford Majo●, and then game with them?  Love. 
No, I dare pass my word for him.  Cris. 
Why, these are the only modern fools.  Lov. 
Well, I cannot tell what you call a fool,( I must confess) I am a little too young to be his Godmother, but yet methinks, a dull and stupid thing( as I conceive him to be) should have a name.  Pate. 
I am sure if he had had any thing in him, there was a Lady gave him a fair opportunity to show it.  Lov. 
Mr. Welbred would have paid her home.  Pat. 
I was a great while in doubt whether he could speak or no.  Cris. 
Well, I cannot tell,— for aught I know, he might serve with a good Jointure to boot; for my part, I saw him do nothing much absurd. And had you been here to day, you would have thought his silence last night, to have been more out of choice than any thing else.  Bud. 
Really Cozen, there was a rare Gentleman in the slashed doublet, and a buttoned Cap, me thought he talked incomparably.  Love. 
Whom doth she mean?  Pat. 
Mr. Lagul certainly  Cris. 
Alas poor soul!  Pat. 
Well, I must be going.  Cris. 
Nay, prithee stay a little longer.  Pat. 
No, I have appointed to meet one,  Cris. 
Who ● Mr. Hadland, I'll warrant you.  Pat. 
'Tis no matter for that.  Cris. 
Well, I hope when you come to lie at this end of the Town again, we shall more enjoy your company. Exit Pate.  Love. 
O Mrs. Pate. Exeunt Lovewit and Bud after Pate.  Cris. alone. 
My Cozen too is certainly in love with him, for I have observed her mind all this day strangely musing, although sometimes it be disguised with some forced flashes of mirth: what e'er is talked of, her thoughts still run on him, and then she will recall herself, not thinking that affected hiding shows what else would ne'er be marked.— 'Tis strange to see how generally this Gentleman doth take: For my part, as I see not any thing in him that I much mislike, so truly naught that I admire: He has( I must confess) some graceful and becoming parts and qualities, a handsome way in talk; yet when I mark it seriously, methinks it is as curious Pictures, which( although they make a pleasing show, yet) for the most part are drawn on course and ordinary matter. I needs must say, he has this happiness, that if he excel in aught, it is in things of that familiar nature, that each place and company he comes in, afford him opportunity to show it. And this certainly is the only thing that makes him make a greater blaze than some of far more worth, whose eminence lying in that which is more choice, cannot so frequently discover itself, nor is their value prostituted unto every eye; but they, as great bells, who are not easily nor on all slight occasions raised, yet being up, will far out sound any of these tinkling ting-tang blades.— Would heaven allot me but such a one to spend my time withal, it would be what I most desire; but yet I think I shall scarce run that odious fortune of a stale Maid in expectation of such a blessing. Enter Maid.  Maid. 
Mr. Welbred is come( forsooth) and desires to speak to you.  Cris. 
Carry him into the Dining Room, and tell him I will wait upon him presently. Exit Maid.  
Stay, He will now set hard upon me, what shall I do? Yield? No, methinks my fancy at this time doth not prompt me to it; I will once more put him off, if handsomely I can. Exit.   

SCENE II.  Enter Lovewit. Love. 
He will not out of my mind, but doth over rule my thoughts and force them to desires vain and impossible: I impossible, for h● must needs fix on her, she is a Lady so without exception, of so fair a Fortune and such exquisite parts improved unto the height. He certainly then is hers; methinks the very thought of that should be enough to master these desires; for usually Objects, though ne'er so pleasing, if not probable, searce stir the mind; for since we all are rational, it were absurd our wills should act in vain. But on the contrary, when things with ease may be attained, we never give over until we are arrived at the utmost of our wishes. Thus nothing is more ordinary than for my Lady to love her Gentleman, or Mrs. Anne her father's man. But if a Country clown coming up hither, and seeking for his Lawyer in Gray's inn, should step into the Walks, and there should chance to spy some masterpiece of Nature, some famed Beauty, that for a time hath born the name, he would stand amazed, perhaps wish that his Jone were such, but farther would not be stirred, impossibility would stop more bold desires, and quench those sparks that else would turn to fires. But I without the remedy of hope, even in despair, begin a love that promiseth nought but grief and endless tears. But here he comes with my Cozen, I will stand and hear what they say. Enter Welbred and Crisis.  Wel. 
Come sweet Lady be no longer cruel, 'tis fit for vulgar common beauties to enhance the price of their Enjoyment by a long denial; such Art were vain in you, and desperate in me, since I already am wound up unto the highest, and higher cannot go but break.  Cris. 
Must I answer to all this presently? that methinks would be the greatest inequality in the world; in all reason certainly I should have as much time as you had to study it.  Wel. 
Study it? He that is inspired doth not so little deliberate; I speak my very thoughts, on you my mind doth naturally run, nor can it vary, for Nature that hath in you raised Beauty to its highest pitch, outdone her own ideas, hath thereby made you commandress of my soul, and all its passions and affects to wait on none but you; therefore seeing you have the power, O do no longer tyrannize.  Cris. 
Why, what now would you have me say?  Wel. 
What would I have you say? Can that be a question? Could your breath create me owner of the world, could I have diversity of woulds? Alas my thoughts are long since fixed on you, and my desires forgot all other Objects but yourself.  Cris. 
Myself? then that is it you would have.  Well. 
O God,— Would have? Ay, above—  Lov. 
I am lost, undone, undone: Within.  Cris. 
Nay, pray now let me go, for you have me not yet, I must first chide you a little for this kind of language. What things do you think us women to be? Or rather, what would you have us ourselves to fancy? For could I, methinks, bu● look into the breast of some fond silly Gi●le, and see what thoughts she entertains, by that time such a blade as you hath told her some such stories, that she gives Beauty being, and other faces to be accounted of as they partake of hers; that she can smite, wound, kill, ●as if the fate of all mankind did hang upon her will, and twenty such things more, which if the poor thing have but wit enough to u●derstand, she is( without mercy) ruined, lost, undone.  Well. 
Why I pray, Lady? for this is somewhat strange.  Cris. 
I'll warrant you I have a reason for what I say; for fi●st, she thinks herself somewhat( though what she cannot tell) that hath a just quarrel to Fate, that she can have nought but so poor a thing as man her mate; she fancies not this mean, she fancies not another's Discourse, she hates this man's breeding, she hates another's face, and for that coloured hair she refuseth a thousand pounds a year. Thus she continues for some years, until at the last, about some twenty nine, she doth begin to understand herself. But now the tide of suitors and her beauty being ebed, she stands a Fare for the next that comes; and in all haste she makes some desperate match, proves some old man's Nurse; perchance not so well, but Will her father's man, her tailor, or some Reformado Captain must serve her turn; or else( if she have any spirit) in a melancholy pet, she vows a Virgin life, and for his sake that first deceived her, turns man-hater. Come, come, in faith Sir you are to blame, were I now some kind of lass, forty to one but that I were merely cozened of a good Husband.  Wel. 
Did one ever see such a plaguy Wench as this?— Aside. Not at all, Madam, are we to be blamed for what we are forced unto, such high flown speeches are no more than what all will challenge, epithets not of the fair, but woman, mere Titles due by custom and long use, nor can they be denied without breach of Civility: Although I must confess sometimes, I give them with as much regret as when I call some base poor spirited thing Right Honourable.  Cris. 
Truly, Sir, in my mind, a very ingenuous confession.  Wel. 
She were as fond that would believe them, as if she should give credit to her Mercer; meet words of course, a tone the tongue must run in for fashions sake.  Cris. 
Say you so? I have then so little hope to make you see your fault, that I will spend no more time about it. Your servant Sir, I must be going a little way. She ●ffers to go out, he pulls her back.  Well. 
Nay dear Lady, I had as good part from my better Angel.  Cris. 
What? these are your words of course? Pray let me go.  Wel. 
Nay, but in earnest Lady, you are the only party of all the world, in whose enjoyment I could think all happiness confined.  Cris. 
She were as fond that would believe.—  Wel. 
'Slid, what shall I do now?— Believe, do you say Lady? O could you but look into my thoughts: the tortured wretch speaks not a truth more credible; the latest breath of dying men is not so sincere as what I say.— Believe me? it would question your Discretion( Madam) to do otherwise; it cannot but be so in nature; it is as impossible for you not to cause these passions in me, as for fire not to burn a matter combustible.  Cris. 
Language due by custom and long use.—  Wel. 
●Sfoot, what shall I do? she will outwit me this way, I must try another.— Aside.  
Well Mrs. Crisis, come, the truth of it is, I love thee; thou art handsome enough in conscience; & hast a little too much wit for a wife; but I don't doubt but I should rule it well enough: wherefore prithee keep no more fooling, but let the Parson be doing.  Cris. 
Well Sir, I will be as plain as you, it is possible you may love me, although the language you have chosen to express your love in, hath not( in my mind) a little prejudiced it. For my part, I do hate none living, nor will I forswear to marry you; but I must needs say, I am not yet quite resolved on it, in things of such consequence I cannot too much consider. Pray let this for this time suffice.  Wel. 
Well then, if it must, I will leave you to consider until anon. You will go, to Hide Park as you promised?  Cris. 
I shall be ready to wait upon you.  Wel. 
In the mean time, let this make you think of me.  Gives her a Ring. Cris. 
Nay, Mr. Welbred.  Wel. 
'Tis but a trifle. Exeunt.  Enter Lovewit. Love. 
As when a close besieged Town, opening a secret Sally Port to receive some scouting Spies, in rushes the pursuing enemy, and they with their Intelligence receive their ruin: So I, through my too inquisitive ear have let in that which cuts me to the heart. O Welbred! did I but know thee to be made miserable? Or should I have been more wretched in not knowing thee? It is impossible she should withstand a fresh assault; this Journey to Hide Park will end the business, and begin my woe.— But shall I like some neglected wretch, left on an unknown shore, only look and stare after my happiness, that with full gale is flying from me? Can there be nothing done, but to prevent this present threatening mischief? O what? What shall I do?  
Stay,— that would go nigh to do it, if not, it will however be a handsome way to discover my affection, which custom hath made( in me) immodesty to do.— it will be an odd kind of thing though; It is no matter, even nature bids us shun a present danger, though we future hazards run. Exit.   

SCENE III.  Enter Lagul and Mrs▪ Bud, Mrs. Crisis standing at the other door, beckons to Lovewit, to the end that she should come and hear what thty say. Lag. 
What( Madam) is it a Massacre resolved, is killing one by one grown tedious sport? Aglaura Scen. 3. Act. 1.  Cris. 
Did ever poor Sir John think thus to be abused?  Bud. 
Really Sir, it pleaseth you to speak far beyond my deserts.  Lag. 
O God, Madam, your Deserts are far transcending whatsoever I can say, Divinity inhabits in your face, and your cheeks contain the elixir of all perfection.  Bud. 
I am confident Sir, it pleaseth you to say so.  Lag. 
Madam, I should esteem myself incomparably felicitous, if you would vouchsafe to honour me this Afternoon with your company to Hide Park, and grace my Coach with your transcendent beauty.  Bud. 
Really my company will be no honour, but rather disgrace you.  Lag. 
I presume not so( Madam)— for your Beauty doth anihilatize all others.  Cris. 
Hark, Anihilatize, methinks it is a pretty word.  Love. 
It is a great deal of pity it should signify nothing.  Lag. 
For by this fair hand, Madam—  Love. 
He is almost spent, I know by his beginning to toy with her,— I will go and relieve him. She goeth to him with Crisis.  
Monsieur Lagul, your servant; What? making new Conquests? Have you no pity on our Sex? If you go on thus, we shall look on you as on some common threatening mischief that will destroy us all.  Lag. 
It is my eternal felicity Madam,— But I presume.—  Love. 
You do indeed, to forget your old friends; What was the matter, I pray, we did not see you in the Country according to your promise?  Lag. 
Really, Madam, I did ruminate in my thoughts to kiss your hands, but fortune was not so propitious to me as to favour me with that felicity.—  Cris. 
It favoured her I am sure. Aside.  Lov. 
Why what was the matter?  Lag. 
I must confess( Madam) there hath an accident or two fallen out of late, that hath taken me up, and made me extremely uncivil in this nature unto all my friends; I shall certainly be weary of these Duels in the end, if it be but for this cause.  Cris. 
So, now he is in. Aside.  Lov. 
Then I see men sometimes feel your wounds as well as we. But I pray beware left in the end we may all rue some unlucky thrust.  Lag. 
These Duels( Madam) I must confess, are businesses of danger enough; but that is a thing which he that values his honour and reputation, must not entertain a thought of.— But yet at the first, I must needs say, they seemed somewhat strange; but now methinks they are nothing, I look upon them as a mere Exercise; I cannot scarce eat a Dinner with a good appetite until I have fought one: They clearly save me forty shillings a Month unto my Fencing Master.  Lov. 
Were I but now disposed to be merry. Aside.  Cris. 
But I pray let me persuade you out of them.  Lag. 
'Tis impossible( Madam); for he that stands upon his punctilio's, must needs run into them every day. I have fought two this we●k already, tomorrow I am to fight a third, and I look for a Challenge to another every minute.  Lov. 
Why, for God's sake Sir?  Lag. 
I was yesterday( Madam) in the Afternoon at the devil Tavern, there happened to be some words exchanged between a Gentleman and myself;— as I remember, he called me, Empty prating Coxcomb: Upon that( Madam) by the rule of Honour I could do no less than give him the lie; I expected then that he would have singled me out, and have wispered somewhat in my ear, but the ignorant fellow nothing but flung a quart pot at my head, and kicked me down the stairs.  Cris. 
Why, was not that enough?  Lag. 
No( Madam) the affront doth yet lie clearly on his side, it was so resolved afterwards at the Golden-fleece.  Cris. 
Me thinks that is somewhat strange.  La. 
Not at all, Madam, for the lie is the highest affront that can be given, and so is the French mode, for once FranÇois de Valois, the French King, upon an affront that Charles the Emperor put upon him, sent him a Challenge, in which he gave him the lie; the Emperor refusing to answer him, the French ever since in compliment to their King have esteemed it the highest affront that can possibly be put upon a man.  Lov. 
But how came you off in the other Duels you said you have fought?  Lag. 
Very well, Madam: for the first it was a business of nothing; for at the very first pass I disarmed my Adversary, and I not seeking after blood, but the Vindication of my Honour, was content to receive reasonable satisfaction, the acknowledgement that he had done me wrong, and so forth. Some body knocks.  Cris. 
Who is that at the door?  Lag. 
But the other was like to have proved transcendently more periculous: for( Madam) I stood upon my Guard thus.— Draws.  Cris. 
Bless us!  Lag. 
This( Madam) is Prince Rupert's Guard,— He came ferociously upon me with a Passado or two, which I putting off, run at him just thus, as my Lord Shandos killed Compton.— Crisis squeeks  Enter Knowwel. Know. 
Villain! Draw upon a woman! He takes away his sword.  Lov. 
Hold Sir, he is but in jest.  Know. 
In jest!  Lag. 
He knows it is against the Mode to make a quarrel among Ladies.  Know. 
The Mode, you Coxcomb!— Beats him, Lagul runs out, Know-well follows, and presently returns again, Bud goeth out after Lagul.  Know. 
Well let him go, for he is an ass I'm sure, and so he ever will be, therefore it were a folly for to trouble myself any more with him.  Lov. 
He can fight I see, although he cannot talk. Aside.  Cris. 
Now, Sir, I am not altogether of your mind; though the Gentleman( I must confess) doth appear absurd enough, my Cozen and I though, are not altogether out of hopes in time to make him a little more understand himself, somewhat I think we have done already.  Know. 
It is impossible, Lady, except you should alter the fabric of his mind, unbend its appetite, or give it new desires; for as long as the divine soul creating breath, is clad with different disposing matter, and cast in several moulds, there will be Wise and fools.  Cris. 
Sir, if he were a natural Fool, I should yield much to your opinion, but in my mind his chiefest unhappiness is, only to have set his mind on some odd fancies, which if we could persuade him out of, he would be( at the least) not ridiculous.  Know. 
Lady, 'tis likely you may know him a great deal better than I, for, I must confess, although he be one that I see almost every day in the streets, yet of all men living I have the least acquaintance with him: wherefore( Madam) if you please to make my knowledge to be so far indebted to you, as to let me a little more fully understand him, I shall take it as no mean favour.  Cris. 
That Sir would be a very tedious task.  Lov. 
A tedious task! Why, what have you to do, I wonder?  Know. 
That question I think may not be unnecessarily put to a Lady that is dressed, and hath dined, as I suppose you have.  Cris. 
Well Cozen, if you will help me, I will venture on it then. And to begin, Sir this Gentleman( as I have said) although he doth appear ridiculous enough, yet in my opinion not so much by nature as unlucky chance: for as when some common metals will serve for good substantial use, yet if you strive to force them to more curious shapes, they only such rude draughts will take as will render them more deformed: So this Gentleman( had his courser soul but had the luck to have acted in some downright way, to have managed some plodding Trade) he might by long experience have understood himself within his Sphere; nay, have had wit enough to have got a good Estate, and through the repute of that, have been looked upon by the world as wise; but this by his father's industry being left to his hand, the common course of the world, unhappily doth fling him upon things fit only for more refined minds; which although he cannot master, yet some odd grudges and imperfect stamps have transformed him from what he was, nor can he be what he would.  Lov. 
So( Sir) that some laugh at him, some wonder, as one would at some monstrous thing; some, indigested vain attempt of Nature.  Cris 
And first Sir, his Fortunes enabling him to keep variety of company; he hears indeed all sorts of wit enough, but that being a thing too subtle for his soul, naught stays with him, but some few words and phrases, which he rudely plucking from that natural chain that linked them with appropriating circumstances, show very strangely.  Know. 
Not much unlike( Lady) the relics of those species, which( although in a methodick way, and by the discursive hints of thought are represented to the mind, yet) in a dream appear with casual consequence, the fancy making absurd contradictions, whilst at one act it doth rethink things treasured up in different time and place.  Cris. 
Right Sir; for with some conceited speech, he is your Servant; what e'er you answer, on he goeth to what is next in h●s memory.  Lov. 
Me thinks he sometimes puts me in mind of the Discourse between Clarangeus and Al●idon, what e'er Alcidon answered, Clarangeus went still on with the story of his wooden window.  Cris. 
But Sir, it is with compliments as with all things else, except they beget one another, they are quickly at an end.  Lov. 
His tongue indeed like the German Clockwork at Bartholomew Fair, is wound up but for a season.  Cris. 
You would take him for friar Bacon's head, made only to speak some certain sentences.  Lov. 
It may be so: for I must confess, for the most part, he doth use strange, high, and conjuring words; nor do I think his face wants brass.  Cri●. 
Conjuring! You shall have him Court his Mistress, as if she were a Lady in some enchanted Castle. to be won with certain strange Ceremonies and mystical speeches.  Lov. 
When he i● quite spent, he is wont to cry, O Lord.— tell you, You are mel●ncholy;— but that we have almost laughed him out of; for now with some fond protestation, he will say somewhat, which in effect shall be only a denial of what you say.  Cris. 
A little better than the Canterburry Fidler, that would still cry, You lie Sir.  Lov. 
Then he will talk somewhat of news, or of the Weather, tell you it hath not rained of late; some common places of the cried up Wits and Beauties of the town, with certain formulas of censure on them all, may a little prolong his Discourse.  Cris. 
O● if a Horse-Race chance to be, it serves in no small stead,( believe me) it will keep him in good talk for at the least a week.  Lov. 
You know, Cozen, what a stir he uses to keep sometimes with Trigunnel and his Mare.  Cris. 
But that which is his greatest labour, and which most perplexeth him to attain, as the only thing which in his judgement renders him right Gallant and most complete, is the punctilio Discourse, the Laws of Duel and the Sword.  Lov. 
He thinks that if he could go handsomely through with a quarrel without receiving a baffle, according to these Laws, he hath done more, and hath got more honour and repute then e'er Montross, the Sweden King or Scanderbag.  Know. 
Doth Fury know a Rule? Anger a Law? Strange Tyranny is this, that thus doth passions awe! Great spirits know your wrongs, can you whose actions might determine what is Valour, whose looks might daunt a fashion, and outstare the Mode, whose names might make your deeds, though interferring ●ustome, regular? Can you( I say) be governed by the paltry bylawes of a tavern? Shall Honour, that Spring of worthy minds, that just Reward of Courage, Pains or Art, be measured by the dictates of a crew able to degenerate the word, make it a term for Cowards, or a talk to busy fools; a thing, a well tempered mind e'er long will scarce dare own. As I have known a man whose spotless life would seem to question Adam's fall, yet would he startle at the name of Godly, Saint or Holy. But Lady, I doubt I have too much interrupted you.  Lov. 
Not a whit, Sir.  Cris. 
There is not a quarrel about the Town, but he labours to get the exact History of it; he will tell you its rise and growth, who gave the first affront, and where it last did lie; together with the judicious observations of the Sword men on it.  Lov. 
Then he hath strange Romances too of his own Adventures; there is no Scout, Gazet or Weekly Intelligence will furnish you with more improbabilities. Captain Jones was but a mere ass to him.  Cris. 
Ay, for yesterday me thought, he told a story that went beyond his wounding the man in the Air.  Know. 
What was that, I pray Lady?  Cris. 
Why Sir, he said, as he was coming from Hide Park, there was five bailiffs beset his Coach, which he routed; but with what do you think?  Know. 
With his sword; what else?  Cris. 
No Sir, it was but a Lady's busk, that he said he had in his hand.  Lov. 
A pretty Instrument, and much in fashion with him of late.  Cris. 
He gives one( Hadland, I think they call him) fifty pounds a year to keep him company.  Lov. 
That is, sometimes to countenance him, and keep him from a Baffle.  Know. 
Hadland! Certainly I have heard of that same Gentleman.  Cris. 
'Tis possible, Sir, for he is one of no less ●ame then worth, although his decayed fortunes sometimes force him on unhandsome shifts.  Lov. 
Is not that he you said to day Mrs. P. hath been so much in love with?  Cris. 
The very same; he is one of the chief of our modern Hectors.  Lov. 
Hector's?  Cris. 
This 'tis to be so long in the Country; Do you not know what I mean?  Lov. 
Not I.  Cris. 
Why I mean a certain Order, more famous than that of Malta, the Garter, Saint Esprit, or the Golden-fleece, a race of Adventurers, who, out of what strange humour I cannot tell, have usurped the name of that famous Trojane Prince.  Kn. 
A Prince! a Pander, a fellow was killed in the quarrel of a whore.  Cr. 
And afterwards, Sir( as I have heard) dragged at a cart's tail.  Lov. 
Believe me, a very proper patron.  Cris. 
But whether is your Cozen gone?  Know. 
The little Gentlewoman, Lady, went out presently after Mr. Lagul.  Lov. 
Poor silly girl! She cannot though but put me in mind of my own folly, for( I must confess) when I was of her years, I did not a little admire this same Gentleman; but a little time did teach me more wit.  Cris. 
Yet still you did retain him though—  Lov. 
Why such a one for some businesses, I will assure you, will not do amiss.  Cris. 
I must confess, for a walk or such a matter he may be as requisite as the Satin-peticoat.  Lov. 
And, believe me, I think a handsome young Gentleman, his hair neatly curled and powdered, sitting beside one in the boot of a Coach with his hat in one hand, may become the Coach as well, and be as necessary an appurtenance, as the rich Scarlet Livery, or the plumed lackeys; and for treatments and such kind of things, you do not know the pleasure such a one may do.  Cris. 
But Cozen, you are well enough served, for I have heard that he will talk a little mystically sometimes; what, do you think men are fools, spend their money for nothing?—  Know. 
Well, Ladies, my knowledge is not a little engaged to you as to this Gentleman.  Cris. 
Truly Sir not much, no more than it would have been to a day or two acquaintance with him.  Know. 
But( Lady) I had almost forgot, how stand your resolutions for to night?  Cris. 
If you please Sir, I shall be ready at eight a clock.  Know. 
Lady, 'Tis a thing that company much improves.— Wherefore if you please.—  Cris. 
Ay, I, she shall come.  Lov. 
Sir, 'Tis well you used that Argument, for I must confess, all that I can do in company is but to add to the number.  Know. 
What must I say then? I have even pulled an old house on my head. Aside.  
Your further acquaintance( Madam) may furnish me with better Arguments; but, methinks though, to help to increase a number is none of the worst things a fair Lady is good for. Well( Ladies) seeing you do intend to meet, I must go and take some order about things.— But stay, what shall I do with this same sword?  Lov. 
Sir, if you please to leave it with me, I will see it restored.  Know. 
I shall rely upon you( Lady) to do it. Gives it her. Exit.  Cris. 
How now cousin? What thinkest thou? What, is he a fool?  Lov. 
I must needs say, I was a little deceived in him. But stay, this Mr. Lagul is as fit a man as I could possibly have thought of, and my having his sword, will give me a good opportunity to crave this courtesy of him. I will go therefore and find him out as soon as I can. Aside. Exit.  Cris. 
alone. Happy you nobler substances that purely do impart what ever images your minds do form, and ca● transfer your thought resembling species, without the abuse of this adulterating matter; matter that our souls doth dress in such disguising garbs; Don't Education, Custom and long use disfigure us enough? A few distant leagues making us to stare at one another as at some monstrous things: Will not the state fucus, and the holy Varnish serve, with all Arts antic Wardrobe, but that each soul must wear a natural mask, and such improving glosses and allaying dashes, take from the nice sitting of this clayie Suit. Some whose flashy airy souls( if by judgement grasped) like air come to nothing, yet meeting with strange happy accidents, with a sly fallacy deceive even sober minds; each action draws attention, and each word regard; Their talk, though vain and empty, some odd, I know not what's, doth so become and grace, that the deceived fancy( as when one looks through some false mediums or abusing optics) cannot but conceit strange shapes of Wit, which else would not appear. But this same Gentleman,( had not his better Fortune enforced my notice with a little acquaintance) I had o'er passed him as one of the common things of the world, but now, methinks, I do begin to see a glimmering worth, though muffled with disadvantages. Exit.  The end of the first Act.   

ACT II.  

SCENE I.  Enter Lagul and Lovewit. Lag. 
I Run him through the arm.  Lov. 
Who, I pray Sir?  Lag. 
The Gentleman I was talking of that I fought with.  Lov. 
Cry Mercy, I had almost forgot— You were indeed a little interrupted in your story.  Lag. 
Ay, did you ever see so rude absurd a fellow, to make such a business before Ladies? But that you protected him, Madam.—  Lov. 
We have told him of his fault, Sir.  Lag. 
Had not I been more knowing in my punctilios, we might have been the Town talk for this month.  Lov. 
He doth begin to see his Error.  Lag. 
He shall else: Is his name Knowel, say you? And doth he lodge in Chancery-lane?  Lov. 
I think I heard him say so.  Lag. 
Stay, to morrow I must meet at marrowbone Park.  Lov. 
What do you mean? the Gentleman hath sent you your Sword, and by me doth crave your pardon, which I did oblige myself to get.  Lag. 
This is as base as before he was uncivil; what doth he take me for a footboy, or a Porter, that I should put up an affront so? No( Madam) my Honour and Reputation is engaged; I am a Gentleman, and must have the satisfaction of a Gentleman.  Lov. 
Nay, I pray Mr. Lagul.  Lag. 
O God( Madam) Honour is the life and soul of a Gentleman, it gives him being, it is the very heart and vital heat that makes him act and move, and can no more endure a wound.— But( Madam) I must take my leave of you, for I have engaged to meet at the horn tavern at three a clock, and now I think it is somewhat past.  Lov. 
Are you going thither? You may then do me a small courtesy.  Lag. 
Madam, I do esteem myself incomparably felicitous that my stars are so benign as to make me capable of doing you any service.  Lov. 
Sir, I had best to let you rest in that opinion until I have an opportunity to requite you.  Lag. 
Madam, I am your most eternal bondslave to do whatsoever you shall please to imperate.  Lov. 
I am( Sir) so much the more engaged.  Lag. 
Upon my Reputation( Madam) I do not conceive so.—  Lov. 
So now he hath done. Aside.  Lag. 
But( Madam) what is that you would have me do?  Lov. 
You say( Sir) you are going to the Horn Tavern,— there is a Gentleman there, one Mr. Welbred.  Lag. 
He that invited us last night?  Lov. 
The very same  Lag. 
He hath not affronted her, I hope, she would not have me fight with him. Aside.  Lov. 
Only( Sir) there was a Letter I brought out of the Country for him, I quite forgot to give it him the last night; but if you please to do me the favour to deliver it.—  Lag. 
I am glad it is no more.— Aside.  
'Tis my ambition( Madam) to be subservient to you.— But where is my Sword?  Lov. 
If you please to walk in( Sir) you shall have it. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Enter Slur and Caster. Cast. 
Come this is the fairer Room, it looketh towards the street.  Slur. 
Ay, so it doth, we might have been here all this while.  Cast. 
Well, if this business succeed, now—  Slur. 
Succeed I Will death succeed to life, the day to night? It cannot but succeed: 'Slid, old Oughthred never did demonstrate a consequence so certain, as I could this.  Cris. 
But if he should prove an angry boy though, be mortal and wound unto the death.—  Slur. 
Come fear nothing, I'll warrant he is as arrant a Coward, as ever wore broad silver Belt.  Cast. 
Pray God he be.  Slur. 
There is another Youth too of the same breed above, I dare swear, I do not think but much good might be done upon him.  Cast. 
But prithee let us make an end with one first.  Slur. 
But I wonder what Hadland ails, to make us stay thus long.  Cast. 
He said he would be here almost an hour ago.  Slur. 
— take his milksop pocky face, for me.  Cast. 
That pocky face shall pay for it, if thou wilt.  Slur. 
Shall us jeer the Rogue, and make him mad, as we use to do?  Cast. 
I have this night studied some new matter for his purled taffata countenance.  Slur. 
But take heed you do not provo●e him unto fury.  Cast. 
I'll warrant you: do you think I do not know the man?— But stay, I think he comes yonder.  Slur. 
Ay, there he is, but I do not see the Gentleman that he said he would bring with him; Enter Hadland.  
Come, you are a trusty Card in faith Dick, did not you promise upon your word you would be here an hour ago?  Had. 
Promise upon my word, quoth the man! What dost thou take me for a Scrivener, that I should mind such things as words and promises?  Cast. 
A Scrivener! No, Di●k, I do not think thou art a Scrivener: but yet I must tell you, thy face doth look not much unlike the blank side of a bond..  Slur. 
Not quite so smooth, in my opinion.  Cast. 
Come you shall contrive no more of these stratagems, if you can look no better upon them.  Had. 
The truth of it is, I did a little disorder myself the last night.  Cast. 
Disorder thyself! Why? what didst thou go to bed without being drunk?  Slur. 
At nine a clock without a Wench?  Cast. 
No that he did not, if the Madam in lincolns-inn-fields say true. What sai●t thou Dick?  Had. 
Why, I hope you are not my Ghostly Father.  Cast. 
No Dick, I think thou lookest a little more Ghostly of the two.  Slur. 
An absolute Ghost, I vow: had he but a Surplice and a Torch, he needs no Chalk.  Cast. 
Chalk!— he looks like any.—  Had. 
Come out with all thy paltry old similes, and then we shall have done. What is it, Ashes, tallow Candle, green Cheese?  Cast. 
Well, Green Cheese let it be then, if thou wilt: but if thy face be a Green Cheese, the cheesecloth was somewhat course.  Slur. 
Why prithee?  Cast. 
Because the coat is so rugged.  Slur. 
Why Dick?— But what if it be a Candle?  Cast. 
What if it be a Candle! Was there ever such a question heard of? Why dost thou not kick him Hadland? he asks, What if thy face be a tallow candle?  Slur. 
He will give me leave to put the case I hope, I do but suppose.  Cast. 
Well then, suppose it were a candle: stay— why then I say, it would be a Christmas on●.  Slur. 
Ay, for it is all wrought crinckum, cranckum.  Had. 
Come, the face is a face, and may be a face.  Cast. 
It may be( I grant) when it is finished.  Slur. 
Finished!  Cast. 
Ay, for yet i● is but rough cast.  Had. 
Come, 'tis no matter what the face is, or how it looks, I am ●ure if it had not been for him that owes the face, you might have both looked like Asses ere this.  Cast. 
As we did the other night when the Sussex Gen●leman beat us.—  Had. 
Was not I the man, who when we were quite blown up by those same City Rogues: And we had been in three day's consultation whether we should turn brethren of the highway, down right beggars, or hang ourselves: Was not I the man( I say) that found out this same Youth, this precious Squire, of whom within this week we have won some ninescore pounds, besides the expectation of this business?  Slur. 
Well, for my part( I say) the man speaks reason, and ought not to be so abused.  Cast. 
Yes, one touch more.  Slur. 
Come, out with it then, man.  Cast. 
I say, if we had turned brethren of the highway, as he said, he for his part might have robbed without a Handcherchief.  Slur. 
Why, prithee now▪  Cast. 
— One would take h●● face for a piece of Holland.  Slur. 
It must be purled then.  Had. 
Come, are you not ash●med to abuse yo●r brother Hector thus?  Cast. 
You a Hector?  Had. 
What am I else?  Cast. 
That wan pale sprightl●s● thing dr●w Pri●ms curt●in in the mid of night, and told him half his Troy was burnt.  Slur. 
O Lord, why Dick what sai●● t●ou?  Had. 
Why this Dick says,— And first for you, you Rascal, Do you remember what you were when first I knew thee? a lean, starved, thin-gut, threadbare Rogue, that had never a rag to clothe thy body, nay, scarce a body to thy soul: Do you remember where I found you? Clapped up in the Fleet for forty shillings, that thou owedst in Ram-Alley for chippings of bread and porridge, when thou, chameleon like, hadst for some days lived by nothing but air, and wert just resolving into thy first principles? Did not I pay this dribbling debt for thee, set thee free, and since have made thee the man thou art? I must confess, I saw a good hopeful cozening countenance in thee, that did promise much.  Cast. 
Come, a truce, a truce.  Had. 
No you Rogues, since you have provoked me, you shall repent it. And as for you my friend, with you I have been somewhat longer acquainted, I think I knew thee in the late Wars, thou wentest by the name of captain, a thing could do nothing but drink and damn thyself, and run away, so monstrous a Coward, that thy prodigious fears were able to work upon the genius of an Army; And this you shall confess, or else I will beat it out of you.  Cast. 
Well, hold, I do confess here before my friend then, that I am a Coward, and thou art a terrible child of war; so thou wilt let me alone, thou shalt be no more Dick Hadland, but a furious Hector or Achilles', any thing what thou wilt: thy pock holes shall be no more pock holes, but scars of dreadful Mars.  Slur. 
Why Dick?  Cast. 
Characters of honour in which may be read full mighty acts of Chivalry.  Slur. 
Characters sayst thou? 'tis some strange Oriental tongue; Stay, let's see, I think they are the Egyptian hieroglyphics.  Cast. 
No 'tis Greek, for I think they are all Omegaes, Hadland.  Enter Drawer. Draw. 
Sir, There is a Gentleman below would speak with you.  Had. 
With me? I'll warrant 'tis Mr. Lagul. prithee desire him to come up.  Draw. 
I will Sir. Exit Drawer.  Cast. 
I must now vanish then. Exit Caster.  Had. 
Stay, I will go meet him. Exit, and enters presently again talking with Lagul.  Had. 
Will you meet him, say you?  La. 
What should I do else?  Slur. 
Will he fight?  Had. 
So he saith.  Slur. 
So now you have made a fine business. Aside.  Had. 
Come I'll warrant you, Aside. Come Mr. Lagul sit down, here is a health to all our friends in the other world, you will remember me to them all. Drinks to him.  La. 
What do you mean?  Had. 
You will meet him, you say.  La. 
I shall be posted else: And I shall lose my honour and reputation.  Had. 
I 'tis true, but—  La. 
But what?  Had. 
'Slid, you had as good meet Jove armed with Thunder, the shears of Atropos: the dart of death itself is not half so fatal as his Rapier.  La. 
Say you so?  Had. 
The Sword of Justice strikes not so certain; no foreman of a Jury could breathe more sure destruction.  Slur. 
If it be so, in my mind the Gentleman hath a great cause of comfort; fo● to know the certainty of his death, is that which many a good Christian prays for all his life long.  Had. 
'Tis well you put him in mind, for certainly it is time for him to begin to forsake the flesh, the world and the devil.—  Slur. 
Some Ghostly Father indeed were fit company for him than we.  Had. 
No, no, Mr. Lagul, I say, drink on, it may be your last▪— We will meet somewhere to morrow before you go, and sing a Psalm, and it will be well enough, I'll warrant you.  La. 
Nay, but Mr. Hadland.—  Had. 
Come Mr. Lagul, to deal plainly and seriously with you, you have chanced upon a man that hath not his fellow, I am confident in the Kingdom; he is absolutely one of the greatest Duellifts about the Town.  Slur. 
Prithee who is it, Mr. Hadland?—  Had. 
One Caster, as I take it, his name is▪  Slur. 
Caster! I have heard indeed very much of the man, he came lately out of France.  Had. 
Ay, the very same, he killed a great Monsieur there in a Duel the last Summer, and was pardoned by the King for the gallant service he did against the Spainiard at the siege of Arras.  Slur. 
I believe he is fain to leave France now upon some such account, I have heard somewhat.—  Had. 
Nay to my knowledge he hath killed some of our own fellow Subjects, but that he hath had the luck to carry things closely.  Slur. 
The truth of it is, the Gentleman is a gallant spirited Gentleman; but he hath one humour in his fighting that I do not so well like of.  Had. 
What is that I pray, Sir?  Slur. 
When once he is in the field he will make the utmost use of all advantages, he never spares any man.  Had. 
I have heard that very thing dis●uted with him diver● time●, but he saith it is the only Mode b●yond se●; crye●, Vn enemy le m●indre.  S●u●. 
But methinks( Sir) that it doth not savour so much of magnanimity; true Valour sh●uld never think upon enemies in the way of fear.  La. 
What should I do then, Gentlemen, in this case?  Had. 
Nay, for my part, I cannot tell.  Slur. 
Truly Sir, your condition in my opinion is somewhat desperate▪  Had. 
This 'tis, when you will venture upon quarrels when I am not with you.  L●. 
Venture! I could not possibly avoid it, I did but deny to lend him forty pounds, and straight he called me base uncivil fellow; and told me I did not like a man of honour.  Had. 
I think so; could you expect any other consequence? 'Slid, could any man have been guilty of such an uncivility?  La. 
What, to deny a man I never saw before?  Had. 
It was no matter, he looked like a Gentleman.  La. 
Upon that( you know) I could do no less than give him the lie, and so the business began. For my part, I thought I might safely have done so, for I am sure I saw a Gentleman beat him not above an hour before.  Had. 
Beat him!— 'Slid, Slur, what shall I say? What a Rogue is this he did not tell us of it?— Aside— In some cases, you know, one is not bound to strike again by the rule of Honour; as if I have given the lie, or so.—  La. 
No, there was no such matter here, for the Gentleman was at play with him, when on the sudden he told him he was a Cheat, and gave him a blow on the pate with a Candlestick.  Had. 
And did he do nothing, say you?— Pox what shall I say? Aside  La. 
No, nothing.  Slur. 
You cannot tell what new Mode of quarrelling he may have brought over with him from France?  Had. 
Strike him! if there be not some such matter in it, he had as good have struck fire into a Magazine.  La. 
Well then, I am resolved.  Had. 
What to do?  La. 
I will not fight.  Had. 
How! Not fight!  La. 
No.  Slur. 
Nay, now we have over done the business. Aside  Had. 
Prithee have but a little patience, Aside. What do you say? Will you not fight! Speak it again, for I c●n scarce believe my ears.  La. 
I say, I will not fight.  Had. 
What is all the pains that I have taken with you lost? Will you with one act forfeit all your Honour?  La. 
Honour! hang it, I am almost weary of it.  Slur. 
Do not you value your reputation?  La. 
I cannot tell what to do, it doth every day so endanger my life.  Had. 
Your life? Can there be a life without it? To live to be the scorn of men, is worse than a hundred deaths. Can he be said to live, that is not fit company for a footboy, that will be howted and laugh●d at, and posted for a Coward?  La. 
I care not, let them post me; it is but going into the Country for a while, or giving out that I am gone to travel, as you know one did not long ago in such a case.  Had. 
No, that will not do, for you would as soon avoid your own shadow as him, no troubled conscience could more closely pursue you, divine Justice would not so soon ●ind out the wicked as he would you: 'Slid, 'twas but the last Summer he followed from France, quite through Germany, into Italy, one that he had never seen, neither had the least affront past betwixt them, merely out of a generous humour, because he heard he was a man of arms.  La. 
What shall I do then?  Had. 
Come, Mr. Lagul, the truth of it is, your Quarrel was not an hour old before I heard of it; and I being extremely sensible of your danger, began to think how I might possibly procure your safety, at the last came into my mind a Gentleman, one that is an intimate friend of this same Casters, whom I have some acquaintance with. And to be short, I did a little feel him, to see whether he would be a means of taking up this matter, but—  La. 
What?  Had. 
Why, to be short, he I believe hath heard that you are a man of Estate, and he it seems hath had an ill hand of late, and is a little out of money, and so he thinks to take an advantage of this opportunity to request a courtesy of you.  La. 
What, would ●e borrow any money?  Had. 
He talked as if he wanted 200.—  La. 
200 l. I cannot Sir by no means, you know how much I have lost of late.  Had. 
That is all one, he knows your credit is good; and if you should deny him this small favour, he is somewhat a humoursome fellow, and I cannot tell whether ever I should persuade him to serve you in this same business; and yet I know he is the only man that can do it.  La. 
I could spare now some twenty pounds, what if I offered to give him so much outright? would not he rather have it, do you think?  Had. 
By no means. 'Slid, What? offer to give a Gentleman money? for aught I know he might take it for an affront, and then there would be another business.  La. 
An affront say you! nay, I will take heed how I run into any more of these affronts;— But if there be no remedy, I shall refer myself unto you in this same matter.  Had. 
I will do my utmost endeavour to see what can be done then.— But what quarrel was that you were a telling me you fell into this afternoon?  La. 
Why there was a rude, uncivil fellow abused me; but because it was in the company of some Ladies, I let him alone; but I believe I must challenge him.—  Had. 
Why, what was the matter, for God's sake?  La. 
Why this same Gentleman( I know not for what cause) on the sudden fell upon me, and took away my sword.  Had. 
I hope not so: Would you let him take away your sword?  La. 
How could I avoid it, except I had made a quarrel before the Ladies, and that you know I must not do.  Had. 
O excuse me Sir: In your own defence you might.  La. 
Might I in mine own defence, say you?— That I had but known so much!— Well, but what is to be done as the case now stands?  Had. 
As the case now stands, you cannot challenge him, for a man in Honour is supposed to have but one sword.  La. 
That is pretty, I vow.— That I could but think on these things myself!— But he hath restored me to my sword again.  Had. 
Nay, than you must, for he hath restored you to your former condition.— But stay, upon what terms did he give it you? What said he?  La. 
He said nothing to me, for he sent it by a Lady.  Had. 
A Lady! I cannot tell how that same circumstance may alter the matter.— Stay Mr. slur, here is a pretty case, a Gentleman is disarmed, and then the party that disarmed him, s●nds him his sword again by a Lady; what do you think of it?  Sl. 
What say you Sir? A Gentleman is disarmed, and then his sword is sent him again by a Lady?  Had. 
Ay, that is( as I take it) the case.  La. 
Ay, that is the case.  Sl. 
Why then the first thing that will be considerable is, whe●her the Law of Honour takes notice of a Lady; for you know Sir all laws look on some persons, as in jure nu●●as.  Had. 
But in my opinion, thereafte●●s she may be qualified, the Law of Honour may take notice of her.  La. 
As how I pray, Sir?  Had. 
Was there ever blood drawn in her quarrel?  Sl. 
then there may arise a question, whether that blood were drawn in the field, or no?  Had. 
You say true.— This I see will be somewhat a difficult case; wherefore( I think) we had best to stay till night, when we may have the opinion of all our brethren.  La. 
Well, I see there is somewhat in these laws, if I could but understand them.  Had. 
Somewhat do you say? they are beyond what Solon or Lycurgus ever made.  Sl. 
If you be not knowing in these, although you were more valiant than Hercules, you might be resolved a Coward.  Had. 
Were John of Gaunt now living, one of our subtle duel Casuists would baffle him with a qu●rk.  Sl. 
Turn the affront up●n him cleerl●, in despite of his sword and buckler.  La. 
Well, I must leave you, for I have a little business with a Gentleman that is above.— But Mr. Handland, do you think this Gentleman would take it as an affront, if I should offer to pay the reckoning?  Had. 
I cannot tell, you had best to leave some money with me.  La. 
Your servant Sir, I shall think myself super-eminently happy in your farther acquaintance; and therefore I shall not be a little ambitious of it.  Sl. 
Sir, I shall prevent your desires.  L●. 
I could wish that I had but the felicitous fortune to be any way subserviceable to you.  Sl. 
I shall esteem it no mean honour to be your servant.  La. 
Really Sir, I presume you think not so. Exit.  Sl. 
Well, go thy way, God send thee more wit, and me more money, as they use to say.  Had. 
Money you rogue! What would you have? Have we not now 200 pounds? Two hundred pounds! methinks it sounds very roundly; but that we have forsworth it, we might go purchase Manors, you Rogue, Lands and Tenements.  Sl. 
— take your Lands and Tenements, give me an ass with a thousand pounds a year, '●is the only revenue in the world, it comes in clear without any taxes.  Had. 
But if we go on thus, I know no reason but that they should rate us to the poor of the pari●h for him:  Sl. 
Such a lad indeed is a frank tenement that Plowden never dreamt of.  Had. 
A franktenement! A fee-simple rather.  Sl. 
Two or three such youths, a● I live, if I had but a mind to marry, were a jointure sufficient for a lass of a thousand pounds.  Had. 
Why, there is another, just such a one, in my conscience, not far off.  Sl. 
I remember you were speaking some such matter to day.  Had. 
Nay, I have enquired more of him since, and I hear he has at the least fifteen hundred pound a year, besides some good sums in his purse.  Slur. 
Such a one, my boy, might be worth our notice: but what shall we do to him?  Had. 
Faith, even modo quo priùs.  Slur. 
Nay hold, all men are not a●ike:▪ 'slid, he may be terrible and valiant, a child of courage and the sword.  Had. 
Dost take me for a Fool or an ass? Do you think I do not know men's tempers? He cannot in nature but be a Coward. Did I not see him the other day with a c●p buttoned up on one side, and a Feather in it, upon a horse with a g●eat saddle, at Hide Park? besides, did I not hear him to day talk of his Honour and Reputation?  Slur. 
They are shrewd signs, I must co●f●●se.—  Had. 
Come, let it happen as it will, I will take the business upon myself; and let the worst come to the worst, he shall not have a child to deal with.  Slur. 
Spoke like a Hector, and thyself, brave Hadland.— But stay, shall I go call Caster, and tell him of our success?  Had. 
Hold: shall we fright the Rogue a little, and make him believe he must fight?  Slur. 
It will be rare, I vow. But here he comes.  Enter Caster. Cast. 
How now, my Lads? What is the matter you look thus sober? How go affairs?  Had. 
Faith, even scurvily enough.—  Cast. 
Why? He will not fight? Will he?  Slur. 
Fight! He was ready to fight with us two but for asking him the question.  Had. 
Fight, do you say! He was got, I think, betwixt two furious Armies in the heat of Charge: he thinks, he speaks, he talks of nothing else but fighting.  Slur. 
In the while that he was here with us, but that we carried ourselves discreetly, he would have given us twenty occasions of the Challenge  Had. 
I looked out after him, and I saw his Sword out twice, merely upon some trifl●ng business, of a justle, or the wall.  Slur. 
We have a great deliverance I think: for my part, I never was in the company of such a furious terrible boy since the hour I was borne.  Cast. 
Come▪ I am confident ●ou did not your parts handsomely; you did not fright him enough.—  Had. 
Fright him, say you! I am sure I made thee such a dreadful thing, that I dare swear, hadst thou but heard me, thou wouldst have been afraid of thyself this twelve month.  Slur. 
But that was so far from frighting of him, that it wrought an effect quite contrary, in stirring up a noble emulation in him: he swore such a one as I described thee to be, he would go through the world bu● he would find out.  Had. 
He blessed himself, that at the length he had the luck to light upon one, in whom his sword might find some resistance, or in whose death he might gain some honour.  C●st. 
— Take you( Hadland) this was your doings.  Had. 
Nay, prithee be not angry, I for my part did all for the best.  Cast. 
The best! Hang you, you knew it could not be otherwise.  Had. 
Nay, do not judge of a business by the success.  Cast. 
What do you think I shall do now?  Slur. 
In troth I cannot tell,— Now the matter is so far gone there is no flying off, you must even go through.  Cast. 
What? Would you have me fight?  Had. 
Why not?  Cast. 
Do you ask why? You know it is against my n●ture: fight( quoth you!) I tremble at the very word.  Slur. 
Alas poor man!—  Had. 
Come, come, even fight, and if thou chance to fall, I will see thee honourably buried on the common stock.  Slur. 
Fight! What wouldst thou do else? Hast thou not lived long enough?  Had. 
I must confess, if I had been in his condition, I think I should have hanged myself some years ago.  Slur. 
Hast thou not lived to spend a fair estate, that hath kept thy Ancestors in good repute for many ages?  Had. 
Ha●t thou not lived by thy profane debauchness, and base cowardliness to help to sink a cause in which we all do suffer?  Slur. 
Nay, now you are a little too serious, Dick.  Had. 
Hang him, I would I could say any thing that would mad him, for jeering of my face.  Slur. 
Nay, then have at him.— What dost thou live for? but to be a Moth and Canker to thy Country?—  Cast. 
So 'tis well.  Slur. 
To perve●t and seduce her youth?  Cast. 
O that my heart would but give me leave to fall upon either of these Rogues.—  
You damn Villains must you abuse me too?— But there is no tr●f●●ng in this matter; I must go see what may be possibly done for to prevent it. Exit.  Slur. 
Shall we call him back again?  Had. 
No, let the Rascal alone in his fears until we meet anon at night.  Slur. 
Well, here is a Health to the Rogue howsoever.—  Had. 
Come on: But you know whom we are to meet withal at night; we had not best to be too busy, for they are Lads we shall do no good upon, except we first drink them up pretty high.  Slur. 
Well, as you will.— But what becomes of your business?  Had. 
O things are in an excellent posture; what will you say, if before night I have my Land again?  Slur. 
'Tis impossible.  Had. 
Well, Do but mark the motions, and observe consequences.  Slur. 
But how can it be man, that thou shouldst ever make such an ass of that old, wary, subtle fellow?  Had. 
You are deceived in him, he is not so subtle as you think for; he is as fine a dull and stupid piece of matter as you would wish to work upon: I grant you, for this many years he hath had the luck to be much employed in his way. And although he never read Cook nor Perkins, yet I cannot tell by what conspiracy of the world, he hath been that way accounted very knowing, so that for this many years he has heaped up huge sums, and now I think is owner of some Two thousand Pounds per annum; through the repute of which Estate he hath been lately made a Justice.—  Slur. 
For all this, if thou bringest this about, thou wilt be more f●mous than he that cozened the Jew, the juggler, and the Broker in Long-lane.  Had. 
Well, do but go a long with me; and you shall know how all the matter is, for you have a part to act this Afternoon, which you must do before we meet them we promised. Exe●●t.   

SCENE III.  Enter Welbred and Lagul, Welbred reading of a Letter. Wel. 
What should this mean? Aside.  
Well( Sir) you will be pleased to tell you● friend, I shall not fail at the appointed time: and place.— You are not ignorant, I suppose, of the business.  La. 
Sir?  Wel. 
I say, I will not fail to meet him.—  La. 
Upon my honour( Sir) I cannot guess your meaning, I was only desired to deliver it unto you.  Wel. 
You will know more than I believe; for certainly you are the friend he means to bring along with him.  La. 
I the friend!— Really, as I am a Gentleman, I do not apprehend you.  Wel. 
No? that is strange; why the Gentleman doth challenge me.  La. 
God's-foot, am I falling into another D●el?  Wel. 
But you say, you know nothing?—  La. 
Upon my reputation, not I.  Wel. 
Well( Sir) Your Serva●t. I m●st go find o●t what this doth mean. Exit.  La. 
Well, certainly in the end I shall be weary of this same Honour, it is such a dangerous thing; I am no sooner out of the hazard of one quarrel, but straight I run into another; I cannot do anything, scarce move, or stir, or speak, but it is ready to bring me endanger of a Duel; one quarrel I fell into yesterday, another to day, and now they are drawing me into a third. Well, to prevent them, I will even take a Coach and go with my little new Mistress to Hide Park as I promised her. Exit.   

SCENE IV.  Enter Welbred solut. 
Stay,— Whether do I go? If I fight, what shall I hazard? My estate, my life, my soul; for( as I am taught) I shall offend as well the laws Divine, as Civil: If I do not, I shall be wounded in my honour. My Honour▪ I, what is that? for I must confess( the word of late hath been so abused, that) I scarce can tell. However, this I am sure of, that each man doth naturally addict himself to make a choice of some way gaining a repute with others; in which, if he receive a check, there is nothing can more undervalue him; he being supposed to choose that in which he most excelled. I therefore, being a man of that condition, that doth pretend unto a sword, must run all hazards, rather than be foiled in that.  
Now 'tis true, one that hath employed his endeavours to ra●se a same another way, might pass over such a business as this, and perhaps it would not at all reflect on him.  
But these kind of men are not competent Judges of what in us they call rash; for we shall see, when any thing doth happen that doth concern them in the way they have taken for to acquire a value and esteem, They will act things as strange and inordinate: You shall have a man made up of meekness; A man, whose life and doctrine preacheth nothing else but patience and compliance unto others; yet he will venture for to ●end both Church and State, nay, tear the world in pieces, rather than yield himself worsted in one silly argument.  
I must then fight!  
Ha! What said I? fight!  
Me thinks the word doth carry horror in it; I may be kil●'d, or( which is worse) I may kill.  
However, 'tis an action scarce consistent with humanity; Yet, my unlucky fortune will force me on it; for were I one who already had satisfied the world of my courage, I might then perhaps pretend a conscience, yet preserve my honour.  
But being as I am, a fresh and raw young man, whose deeds will be looked upon without the countenance of former actions, Conscience( I say) will appear but a lame and pitiful excuse. Exit.  
The end of the second Act.    

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Know-well. 
She has an acute and handsome wit, a judgement too, not usual in a woman, than which there is nothing doth more touch my fancy; and yet, she wants not that which we call Beauty, that most divine proportion, that doth so lively strike our souls.  
Nay, I needs must say, this was the only thing which at the first put me to a stop, and would not let me pass her over, as other common things: But now, a more noble Idea doth so fully represent itself, that I scarce feel its force at all; Nor doth it move me, more than those trivial petty ends, which in my child●sh ignorance I have pursued, would now stir me: Nor is this strange; for certainly, Beauty's chiefest( if not only) Empire, is at the first; but afterwards, it yields unto, and is regulated by what farther conversation doth produce. For, without doubt, had she now all the deformity that age, or erring nature ever yet produced, I should make her my choice; and those impressions, that by the little acquaintance I have had with her, she hath made in my mind, would so overrule my fancy, that in despite of the world, I should account her fair. Exit.   

SCENE II.  Enter Had-land and slur. Slur. 
Stay; yonder he comes.  Had. 
Come, shall we go meet him?  Enter Well-bred: Hadland and slur meet him, and justle him. Wel. 
Why how now Sir? What is the matter?  Had. 
— Do you ask questions? Hadland Strikes Well-bred.  Wel. 
Was ever man thus abused? I will die a thousand times rather than suffer this— you base uncivil villain.—  draws, and so doth Had land and slur, they fight a little while, and wound Well-bred, and go away. Wel. 
They are gone, but yet they have left somewhat behind them; for I do bleed a pace; the heat they have put me into, has bo●l'd my blood up unto that height, that it will all run over; well, I must go get a Surgeon as soon as I can.— Exit, and enters again.  
It doth bleed more and more, and I begin to grow weak and faint; The fatal hour doth certainly draw nigh; for methinks I do begin to feel my life run out with my blood.—  
And now as when some impressions that the fancy doth by day receive,( other objects continually plying the sense) are not at all, or else but dully sensible, but at night appear more fresh than ever;  
So, now methinks, some odd kind of thoughts, which in the earnest pursuit of those things, my youth addicted me unto, I scarce did mark,( now I am going to my eternal rest) begin to stare upon me, and look somewhat strange.—  
What a high piece of madness have I done, thus to lose my life about a trifle! I say, my life; that which is the chiefest good in nature, that to which all other goods are but subservient; nay, are not at all without it? What competent end than can any man propose in hazarding of it, since in all reason that for which we hazard should be of more value than that we hazard?  
What dishonour had it been to me, if by my wife declining I had given some cause to think I had feared them, more than if in such case I had avoided a bear or ox; for Honour, certainly, is nothing else but that respect and value that those things do draw, which buoy and prop one up in the world. this Wealth, Authority, good Friends▪ and knowledge,( furnishing us with those means by which the great●st actions are performed) must needs beget a reverence and esteem: but the force of the body is( without doubt) the most inconsiderable thing possible; he that enjoys the greatest share of it, how small a power doth he thereby acquire? We see he must be subject to each petty Constable; nay, a dagger or a pistol makes the weakest equal to him: 'Tis true, those powerfuller arts of the more nobler part are to be honoured and admired. These many times with strange subtleties unite into one commanding power particular strengths, and being united, with as much cunning obtain its rule and mastery. These flights we see, do make even weak, decrepit age, often formidable to▪ and th●refore honoured by the world.— Had I this way employed!— But oh!— he faints. Enter two men.  1. 
Help, help the Gentleman.  2. 
What, is he dead?  1. 
Almost, I think: look how he is wounded!  2. 
Me thinks I should know him: I, certainly he is a customer of my Masters, and he lodges in Chancery-lane.  1. 
We had best then to carry him thither.  2. 
Pull out his handkerchief to help stop the blood.  He pulls it out, and withal pulls out the challenge La-gull gave him. 1. 
Look, what is that? you had best to read it.  2. 
What is this? I think it is a challenge.  1. 
A Challenge! Jesus bless us; then it seems this was some duel:  
Will these Gentleman never leave off these same scurvy duels?— But we had best to make haste whilst he hath any blood left in him.  They carry him out.  

SCENE II.  Enter Know-well and Mrs. Crisis. Know. 
I heard, Lady, that with much earnestness, he seemed to inquire for me at my lodging; and therefore because I think I heard you say he would be here about this time, I came hither to see what he would have with me.  Cris. 
The truth of it is, he appointed to come hither, and go to Hide Park with me; but since he hath sent his man to desire me to excuse him, because there was a business of consequence fallen out, that he was to go about.  Know. 
Then all that I can say to it, is that he hath made me lose a little pains.  Cris. 
And so truly he hath me, for I have been almost this hour a dressing myself, thinking to go with him.  Know. 
That were a great deal of pity, Lady, that any pains you have taken should be in vain; rather than so, if you will please to give me leave to wait upon you thither, although it be a place that I do but little frequent; yet Lady, upon this occasion, I shall not a little desire it.  Cris. 
By no means Sir, I would not put you to that trouble.—  Know. 
Nay, if that be the only obstacle.  Cris. 
I beseech you Sir.—  Know. 
Come Lady, it is the first request I ever made to you, and I will not be denied.  Cris. 
Nay, if you will not, I cannot tell what to say to it.—  As they are going out, they meet her Father. Old Cris. 
And whither, and whither, I pray, in all this haste?  Cris. 
Only a little way, Sir, with this Gentleman.  Old Cris. 
A little way! And why am not I good enough to know?  Cris. 
We were a-going to Hide Park.  Old Cris. 
To Hide Park? I thought it was some such place you were going to, you were so bedecked and trimed up with all your Jin-combobs; will you never leave following of these idle fashions?— Come, stand out in the light a little. hay da! What, powdered and patched again? have not I time and time forbade you ever to do so? off with them, I say, those filthy blains and scabs of pride,— off with them, or I will pull them off.  Know. 
Nay, I beseech you Sir, with your pardon; I must needs say you are a little too severe, in not letting her please her fancy in these kind of things.  Old Cris. 
Mr. Know-well, I ever have had that opinion of you, that I do not a little wonder, that you, of all men, should speak thus if you speak according to your Judgement.  Know. 
Sir, for my part, I speak what I think; for certainly, you have little reason to blame her thus.  Old Cris. 
Reason? though to her my will is reason sufficient; yet I would not have you believe that I speak without a cause. For do you think it doth become a sober, civil, modest Virgin, as I hope she is, to follow all the several fashions, those fantastic changes, and whimsical dances led by the vain and emp●y part of the world?  Know. 
Sir, for my part I could wish our habits were as constant as the course of nature, nor that we had more change of dress then birds or trees; but this I can but wish; for we see the general humour of the world ever yet has been so set upon the contrary, that one can scarce discreetly hope it; nay, he that would but a little strictly inquire and search into our natures, and mark how prone and apt they are for variety and change, might almost demonstrate its impossibility; for certainly, as long as in the world there are men of several qualities and degrees, the inferior, and more base will imitate the ways of those of better rank, and strive to entrench upon, and gain their customs; which being no sooner got by the one, but the other will despise them, and seek for new. Seeing then these alterations are so unavoidable, without doubt, it will more become one in a moderate way to yield unto, then vainly to oppose them. For whatsoever the riged do pretend, there is nothing can more argue a fantastic humour, or self-conceited pride, then with ones single whimsies to oppose what is received by the generality.  Old Cris. 
'Tis true Sir, I needs must yield thus far, for I should condemn her of the height of folly, should she oppose the general use in things that are indifferent: but that I chiefly blame her is, for certain knacks and fashions, which although in common use and custom, yet not being decent and comely in themselves, must needs be unlawful.  Know. 
That, Sir, is impossible; for custom is the very square and rule of what is decent, and what not; indecency being nothing else but that harsh discord that any thing doth make, if it doth chance to interfere with the common course of things, and certainly, the soundest judgments will not hold any habit to be simply in its self unlawful. Thus much, indeed, must be granted, that some attires, by being first used by( and therefore being reckoned for the badges of) the vainer and more fantastic sort, may from them acquire some accidental scandal, which afterwards( they growing into use, with the sober and more stayed) by the same reason they must needs mew and let fall.  Old Cris. 
This Sir, is somewhat strange; for although I cannot tell to what narrow limits you may confine the word decency in its strictest notion, yet there is nothing more certain than that there are vain, light, & immodest habits, of their proper nature abstracted from all those glosses that custom may fl●ng on them.  Know. 
Truly Sir, I think not, nor I believe will you, if you but consider the business a little more; for vanity is nothing else but the affectation of the signs of those things we really have not; as in attires, if the aged do usurp what doth belong to youth, the poor to the rich, the inferior to the more N●ble. Now Sir, what is it that doth define to each of these their several Characterizing Ga●bes, but use and arbitrary custom? And so far is any habit in itself from representing what is grave or light, that should it please Omnipotence,( as there is nothing impossible) but to invert the common course of Nature, make those the marks of age, which are now of youth; the smooth chin would then be as reverend, as is now the bald head; Then should you have the grave and venerable s●lver hairs be worn in amorous wanton Bracelets. Nay, nothing in this kind, but as to these respects, would have its alteration.  
And as for Modesty; 'Tis true, although it be a virtue alike requisite in all; yet, what those things are wherein 'tis exercised, custom doth only determine: You see here that familiar with our coyest, nicest Dames, which, in some places, would scarce be done by the most notorious strumpets; nay, what many times with us is but necessary, how strangely would it look in the other sex? And I would fain know that man could give me a solid reason of this difference besides common custom. I am sure there can be no habit whatsoever fancied to be so immodest, as we should now account none at all to be; yet there are some that with no slight reasons will maintain our only natural dress( were it but backed by a ●●nerall custom) would be the most innocent; and those desires which by restraint are now chiefly inflamed, would then grow cold and dull, as we see some things which elsewhere are accounted a recompense sufficient for a stab, here through there facility are scarce valued; Nor was it said amiss of one who called clothes a mere device hatched in Madam Venus' Closet;— for surely they are the greatest stratagem by which her Empire doth subsist.  Old Cris. 
I must confess, Sir, you do represent some things unto me, which before I did not so clearly mark; But yet( Sir) were it granted, that custom were the only rule for what were to be done in these kind of matters, yet those things for which I did find fault with her, have nor obtained a general use; for if we should go presently into the stree●s, we should see not one in forty use them.  Know. 
Herein, Sir, doth lie the grand mistake; for as many several sorts of men, the various accidents of for●une doth produce; so many several fashions doth common use alo●; nor is this more than what hath been provided for by public laws, in the best ordered commonwealths. Now Sir, If in my attire I do conform myself to those of my degree, I never shall offend against the rule of decency; and for my part, I see nothing in her dress, but what for some while hath generally been done by the civilest Ladies of her years and quality, especially in this place; for I must confess, that may be stared at in a Country town, that here would be but needful. And this discourse, Sir, doth put me in mind of what I have known to have been the opinion of some Judicious men, that the dress which of these late years hath been in request amongst us( what e'er the aged out of their usual vanity of magnifying their younger years will say to the contrary) is the civilest, most comely, and less extravagant that hath been used for these many ages.  Old Cris. 
Well daughter, Mr. Know-well hath so well pleaded for you, that I am content that you shall follow your own humour, for this day at the least.— And if you do go, you had best to go presently, lest it be late before you come home, for I can tell, you the air is very sharp.  Know. 
Your servant Sir.—  Old Cris. 
God bu'ye, good Master Know. Exeunt several ways.   

SCENE III.  Enter Mrs. Pate in a widow's attire, and justice Quorum. Iust. 
Now Mrs. you have no more to do, then to take out execution, for you have a judgement of 5310 pounds.— Believe me, your adversary was like to have served you but a crafty citizen's trick of it, if I had not bestirred myself for you.  Pate. 
He that doth command you to plead the cause of the Widow, Sir, I hope, will reward you.—  Iust. 
But what was the reason, I pray Mrs. that your husband did intrust him with so great a sum?  Pate. 
Sir, going to the late wars, and fearing what hazard he might thereby run, did think he might have relied upon this man's fidelity,( he being his very intimate friend) little imagining that he would have proved such a wicked knave, as to have cozened me his poor wife.— She Weeps.  Iust. 
Peace, Mrs. for seeing the matter has succeeded so well, you have little cause to weep.  Pate. 
I Sir, 'Tis true: but whensoever I think of the good man, I cannot forbear, O! little did he think I should ever have been put to all this trouble and vexation.  Iust. 
But the main point now will be, whether this man be responsible?  Pate. 
O Sir, that is not to be questioned, for he is on● you cannot look upon, but you must think of thousands, a fat, greasy burgomaster, he commonly goeth in a ruff, and a black pinked Satan doublet, you had as good doubt of my Lord Major, and all the Aldermen; the public Faith would not take up so much upon the Exchange, as his word.  Iust. 
'Tis well, if it be so.— But Mrs. where be those writings you sent for me to look upon?  Pate. 
You shall see them presently Sir.—  
Sue, bring me the little black Trunk in my Chamber.—.  Enter maid with a trunk. 
Here they be, Sir, some old writings of my husbands, I would be glad to know what they mean.—  Su. 
Forsooth, your brother is below with another Gent. they are newly come out of the Country.  Pate. 
My brother! She runs out hastily.  Iust. 
But Hea●k you hither, sweet heart; do you remember what you promised me.  Su. 
I▪ Sir, and if I durst, I could say somewhat.  Iust. 
Durst? Why, what is the matter?  Su. 
O Lord Sir, I am afraid she will be angry.  Iust. 
Come, come, I'll warrant you: Here. Gives her money.  Su. 
O Sir, You are a Noble Gentleman, and for your sake, I will venture her displeasure. The truth of it is, Sir,( but I hope you will not say I said so.)  Iust. 
No, no, do not fear.  Su. 
Well, Sir, I dare swear she loves you.  Iust. 
Say you so? Stay, here is somewhat more for you.  Gives her more money. Sue. 
Ay, Sir, for she doth nothing but talk what a grave, comely, old Gent. you are, and very like her first husband.  Iust. 
Why, was her first husband an old man?  Sue. 
O, I Sir▪ or else he never had had her, for I think there never was woman of so strange a humour as she is, in this world; for from her infancy, she ever doted on old men; I have heard her say, that in these her late Law-troubles, it has been no small comfort to her, that still she hath been conversant with grave counsellors & Sergeants, and what a happiness she has had to look sometimes an hour together upon the Judges. She will go and walk a whole afternoon in Charter-house-Garden, on purpose to view the ancient Gentlemen there.  
And if she hear but of a man that is buried with as many old men following him, as he is years old, she will go a mile to see it: There is an old beggar that uses to come hither sometimes that she will talk with an hour together: sometimes she will condole herself that she did not live before the flood, that she might have had one of those ancient patriarchs; the last year she was scarce persuaded, but that she would take a Journey into some of the far Northern Nations, where men do ordinarily live unto seven or eight score years of age. As we were coming by S. Dunstan's not long ago, she spied the Picture of old Par, she needs would have the Coach stay until she had bought it, and since she has hung it up in her Closet, and will weep sometimes over it an hour together.  Iust. 
Nay, if this be true, I cannot tell what to think of it.  Sue. 
Sir, not long ago there was a young Gentleman here about the Town, who hearing of her Riches, and knowing this her humour, had almost got her, by counterfeiting himself to be an old man.  Iust. 
I?  Sue. 
O I shall never, I think, forget how he came in a white periwig and his false beard; I cannot almost but laugh, when I think how handsomely he carried the business, how he made as if his hands trembled, and his head shaked, how he seemed to be deaf, and have the Gou●, and twenty other Infirmities of age, insomuch that my Mistress was extremely taken with him.  Iust. 
And how came he to miss her?  Sue. 
The strangeliest that ever you heard: for all things were agreed, the very Writings drawn, and when he came to seal them, because he set his name without using a pair of Spectacles, she would never see him more.  Iust. 
Nay, if she can love an old man so well.—  Sue. 
But here she comes, Sir. Exit Sue.  Enter Pate with Hadland and Slur. Had. 
Sister, I desire that you would entertain this Gentleman, Sir Thomas Cranfield, as my friend.  Slur. 
Madam, I shall think it no small happiness to be reckoned amongst the number of your servants.  Pat. 
Sir, for my brother's sake, I shall be glad of your farther acquaintance.  Had. 
Sister, I am loaden with a number of Services to you from your friends in the Country.  Pat. 
How do they all, I pray? Sir Richard Howard, and my Lady Tanfield?—  
But, Brother, have you brought up the money I wrote for, you know what occasions of expense I have had in this Law business.  Had. 
I could not in so short a time, Sister, procure so much as you wrote for; but I have made a shift to get almost 200 l. though among your Tenants, the rest they will pay you when you come down, which your friend's hope will not be long first; I promised them to bring you down with me.  Iust. 
Ha! Tenants! Aside.  Had. 
But, Sister, I must speak a word to you in private.—  Slur. 
Sir John, I take my leave of you.  Had. 
What are you going Sir Thomas? I will wait upon you anon at your Lodging.  Slur. 
Madam, your most humble servant. Exit.  Exeunt Hadland and Pate. Iust. 
Stay, what is here? A Mortgage of the Manor of Dove—  
A Bond for seven hundred pounds—  
A Bond in nine hundred pound to John Tompkins of S. Clement's Esquire. That was her husband suit.  
Another Mortgage of Lands in Lincolnshire,— to him too. There is no end of her Wealth.—  
And then the Land they talked of in the Country.— Enter Sue  Iust. 
How now, Sue? what news now?  Sue. 
What do you think?  Iust. 
What, prithee?  Su. 
Did not you see a gallant Gentleman come with my Mistress her brother?  Iust. 
Ay, Sir Thomas, I think they called him: What of him?  Su. 
I dare say, he comes to be a suitor to my Mistress.— Somewhat I have overheard—  
If you will but step in here a little, I believe you may hear more.  Exeunt.  

SCENE IV.  Enter Hadland and Pate, justice and Sue at the other door to overhear them. Had. 
Sister, you see he is a proper Gentleman, and I can assure you he has almost seven thousand pounds per annum.  Pate. 
Speak no more of him, brother, for I shall never think of him in that Nature.  Had. 
Why? what is the reason, Sister?  Pat. 
I desire that you would pardon me for that.  Had. 
I hope you are engaged unto no?  Pat. 
No, not engaged.— But— She weeps.  Had. 
What is the matter, Sister? Come, let me be partaker of what ever troubles you. You do not use to be thus strange to me.  Pat. 
I do not indeed, but now, methinks, I have too much cause for me to appear strange unto myself.  Had. 
Why? what is the matter?  Pat. 
From you( dear brother) I cannot conceal any thing, yet I could wish you could now guess my thoughts, and look into my mind, and see what strange passions there have ruled of late, without forcing of me to strain my modesty.  Had. 
What? are you in love with any? Come, let me know the party, a brother's advice may do you no hurt.  Pat. 
If I should tell, I know you would laugh at me; but truly I shall rather deserve your pity.—  Had. 
Come, come, tell me; who is it?  Pat. 
Did not you see an ancient Gentleman with me when you came in?  Had. 
What, is it any son or kinsman of his?  Pat. 
No, no. She weeps.  Had. 
Who then?  Pat. 
I have told you.  Had. 
Who, that feeble and decrepit piece of age?  Pat. 
Nay, brother.—  Had. 
That sad effect of some threescore years and ten, that antic relic of the last Century?  Pat. 
Nay, brother, I told you, you would serve me so.—  Had. 
But, sister, prithee be a little serious. Dost thou love him indeed?  Pat. 
Alas, dear brother, it is but too true.  Had. 
It is impossible.  Pat. 
One would think so indeed.  Had. 
I grant, you may bear a reverence and regard, as you would to your father's ashes, or your grandsire's tomb..  Pat. 
Witness all that are good and just, never a youth of two and twenty stirred more amorous desires than he hath done in me.  Iust. 
I see now Sue, thou sayst true.  Had. 
Certainly the Villain hath bewitched her, could ever woman be thus mad else, to be in love with age and rottenness, to be in love with a withered carcase, whom its own soul being weary of, is ready to forsake and leave?  Pat. 
Alas, brother, you know I never did affect those vain, though pleasing braveries of youth, but still have let my mind on the more nobler part of man, which Age doth more refine and elevate; than it doth depress and sink this same contemptible clod.  Had. 
Well, Sister, to morrow you shall go down with me into the Country; I'll warrant we shall find them there shall make you forget this same reverend Sir.  Pat. 
O never, never.  Had. 
Do but try.—  
I have a Coach here in the Town, come, come, you shall go, I will p●e●ently go and ●ake order about things. Exount.  En●er justice and Sue. Sue. 
Now you will believe me another time.  Iust. 
I can scarce believe myself; but is it possible that she should so love me, and I could never perceive it all this while?  Sue. 
Alas, Sir, she is so modest, that I dare swear, except it had been to her brother, she would have concealed this same passion until it had broke her very heart.  Iust. 
But what had I best to do?  Sue. 
Nay, Sir, you see your danger, if her brother should carry her into the Country to morrow, how they may work upon her easy nature, I cannot tell.  Iust. 
You say true.  Sue. 
Even strike while the iron is hot; for aught I know, if you let this night pass, you are gone for ever.  Iust. 
Dost think she would marry me this night then?  Sue. 
That would be somewhat sudden, I must confess, but I dare swear you might persuade her unto any thing, if you do but take your opportunity when her Brother is gone.  Iust. 
Well, I will try what may be done.—  
But, sweetheart, They were just now talking of Tenants that she had, has she any Land too in the Country?  Sue. 
Ay, Sir, for my part, came to her since she came to London, and therefore cannot speak any thing of mine own knowledge, but somewhat I believe I can guess.  Iust. 
Why, I pray?  Sue. 
Sir, every now and then here comes a company of fellows in leathern breeches with money to my Mistress, and here they keep a talking of Leases, and renewing of Leases, and Fines; a deuce take them for me, I am sure I am fain to clean our Dining-Room some four or five times a week after them.  Iust. 
Say you so? Say you so?  Sue. 
Then( Sir) for a month together about last Lady-day, we lived upon nothing but Capons that these fellows sent us.  Iust. 
You were shrewdly hurt, were you not?  Sue. 
'Twas but the last week that one, she calls him her— bailie, I think.  Iust. 
Ay, I, right, right; what of him?  Sue. 
Why he sent her a Gammon of Bacon seasoned with peppercornes, that were due to her, one from each Farm.  Iust. 
I?  Su. 
And when that fellow comes up to the Town, there is such a talking of Rents, quitrents, Reversions, heriots, and I know not what all—  
There are some other things she has, they use to talk much of, that I have quite forgot; Stay,— Mannals I think they call them.  Iust. 
Manors, you mean.  Sue. 
ay, Manors, Manors, what are they( Sir?) any sort of cattle?  Iust. 
No, no, you Cockney.—  
How shall I wallow in Wealth! I shall never be able to ●ame my luxuriant bags.— I may found Hospitals, colleges, or build Churches.  Sue. 
Sir, and have them turned to Stables.  Iust. 
Mas, thou sayst true, Wench. I may make Causeways or build Bridges.—  Sue. 
Well( Sir) you had not best to lose all, while you are a thinking of it.  Iust. 
'Tis well said, I will go to her presently. Exeunt.    

ACT III.  

SCENE I.  Enter Lagul and Mrs. Bud. La. 
YOur Physiognomy( Madam) will erect a Monarchy greater than that of the Ottomans.  Bud. 
Lord! What doth this mean? Aside.  
I am confident( Sir) you do but compliment.  La. 
Compliment! No, upon my Honour, Madam; for certainly your beauty was composed to captivate the world, and amongst the rest, to make me your eternal Bondslave.  Bud. 
Truly Sir, I dare not think myself worthy of that honour.  Enter Orange-Woman with Oranges. Wom. 
Please your Honour, Madam, to have some Oranges: Please your Honour, dainty, curious, fine Oranges.  Bud. 
Let's see Woman.— How many Oranges for two pence?  Wom. 
How many for two pence!— Take you, you use to come to Hide Park, I'll warrant. I wonder under what Milk-pail you have been bred.  La. 
Was there ever such an affront?  
What must I do now? May I draw upon a Woman by the rule of Honour? Or must I kick her? Aside.  
You dirty whore, you.—  Wom. 
You think yourself a pretty fellow in your buttoned cap. Exit Woman.  Enter Woman with Apricocks. La. 
I could wish( Madam) that she had been one that I could have in an honourable way, sacrificed my dearest blood to your incomparable Beauty.  Wom. 
Please your Honour, Madam, curious Apricocks▪ Please your Honour to buy my Apricocks?  La. 
I think, I will not be so affronted again.  
Come woman, let's see your Apricocks. What is the price of these two baskets?  Wom. 
They are three shillings a piece, if it please your Honour.  La. 
Three shillings a piece! What no more? Have you no better?  Wom. 
If it please your Honour, at the other end there are some that are Crowns a piece.  La. 
Are there so? And, I pray, why did not you show them at the first?  Wom. 
Because I did not think you such an ass. Aside.  La. 
Please you to choose, Madam.—  Bud. 
I'll have this.  La. 
Come, I'll have one too.—  
Hold up your basket: There is an Angel, I think. Flings her a handful of money.  Wom. 
God bless your Honours.—  
And send you more wit. I rose on my right side, I think, to day.— Aside.  Bud. 
What do you mean to spend your money thus, Sir?  La. 
O God, Madam, were I ma●ter of the Indies, of all the hidden Treasures of the sea, your Beauty should command it all.  Bud. 
Truly, Sir, you make me that I cannot tell what to say.—  
But( Sir) had we not best go where the company is again?  La. 
I will go see( Madam) whether the Coach be where we left it. Exit.  Enter Lagul again. La. 
Madam, will it please you to walk, for the Coach is yonder? Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Enter Know-well and Mrs. Crisis talking. Know. 
— For you, Lady, are the only she of whom I ever yet could seriously in this nature think of; And if I shall e'er find in you an affection answerable to my desires, they then will rest, as having attained the chiefest good I e'er could hope for from your Sex.  Cris. 
Am I the only she( say you) that you ever could think of? That very thing methinks) doth make me suspect whatsoever else you have said.  Know. 
'Tis true( Lady) I needs must say, that I have seen ma●y a one in whose enjoyment, perhaps, I could have had no mean content; we might have lived together with all the usual love, she might have made me a Father, and I have thought so; and if I should have lost her, I should have thought myself bereaved of one of those things that serve to pass away a troublesome life, as good company, or Sack.  
But one, in admiring of whom I could be content to spend my time, one whom, rather than to miss, I should run all imaginable hazards, I never yet saw, till you.  Cris. 
Come, fie, fie, Mr. Know-well. Truly, I did not expect this from you.  
Should one of those youths indeed, who then think they show most of Accomplishment, when they express most Service unto us; not surely that they have that real value they pretend; but because( as sometimes great Doctors, upon trifling silly questions, will show their Learning) they judge us to be convenient properties to try their Wit and Courtship on: Should such a one( I say) have said so much, I should have esteemed it accordingly.  
But what your most sober judgement can find out in me, a thing so trifling and inconsiderable to occasion these kind of words, I do not a little wonder.  Know. 
Lady, do not wrong yourself with these mean thoughts, for certainly there is not that person in the world that I do value like you. I will not so far trespass on your modesty to tell you why; yet I have not been esteemed to act things irrational.  Cris. 
Value me, Sir! for what?  
Me thinks, were I but subject to those general imputations, to which our Sex is liable, it were enough to extinguish such a thought.  
You see, Sir, I am a woman, one of the most undervalved Creatures living; we never yet by any polity were allowed to meddle with any thing but a needle: We are not esteemed to know aught of rational but our wills; nay, some will not allow us for to know our wills. And should I but consider myself by what some satiric Wits say of us▪ I could not but believe myself one of the most despicable things in Nature.  Know. 
You have indeed no little cause for to quarrel with the general custom that doth put such a difference betwixt you and us. For have we not all the same rational souls, the same affects and qualities? Nay, I need must say, I have not seen more acute differencing and discerning spirits, than I have in some women; nor do I see any reason, but if they should improve and blow those natural sparks they are endued with, by the same means that we do use( neglecting those poor mechanic things to which the absurd humour of the world doth usually addict them) but that they would make a greater blaze than the most eminent of men. And such accomplishments meeting with the usual beauty and sweetness of their Sex, must needs extremely captivate and ravish, nor would any thing come so nigh Divinity.  Cris. 
Well Sir, Although it were granted that there might be somewhat possible in woman sitting to be valued, what were that to me? I should no more dare to believe myself owner of any such thing, then that I did possess the Indies.  Know. 
No!  
Could I but upon as good an account believe you ever to be mine, I should believe myself to possess more than them.  
Come( dear Lady) will you give me but the least of hopes to enjoy what e'er perfection it be that you are owner of? Shall I think ever to call it mine?  Cris. 
Truly( Sir) I think not, for.—  Know. 
Hold Lady, let me have a little more warning before you intend to give me a stroke so mortal; do not in one instant make me a thing irrational, of no design. For since my hopes have once made you their end, there can nothing surely ever appear to me, so worthy as to fix a thought upon.  Cris. 
Sir, you did a little mistake me, for( as I think) I never did yet any thing that might encourage you to speak in this nature. So truly, thereby I needs must say, I did not intend to destroy whatsoever hopes you have conceived of me; for that which I was a going to say,( had you but given me leave) was only this:  
Suppose me Mistress of all the Wit and Parts that ever yet was incident to our Sex,  
And( now I am supposing of such impossible things) suppose me( as you just now said) yours; what were that to you more than to all the world? for you could as well hope to appropriate the Air as such Accomplishments. The Sun itself doth not afford more general and communicative influence than they would do.  
Nay, perhaps as we now are, you might more enjoy such qualities; for what would wit in a wife serve for, but to interfere with yours. Nor have they been esteemed unwise, whom I have heard say, they could well spare all judgement in one of that relation, save what were requisite to a handsome dress, or so.—  Know. 
I am so far, Lady, from thinking so, that were that realwhich you now supposed, the greatest Epicure could not more enjoy what e'er his sensual appetite doth prompt him to, than I should those perfections of your mind; for than we should not only be linked in that mystical knot, nor with those more natural ties and charms, as you are woman or fair; but certainly we should close in that stricter conjuncture of friend and friend, the greatest cement possible 'twixt human souls.  
And where it joins us with the more refined minds, it is a happiness that the super-errogating Saint in his boldest error could never hope to merit. For to have one who as my better Genius, might regulate even in their first matter my imparted thoughts. What can be a greater bliss?  
Or if I had any thing of worth or value in me, to have such a conscient judge and witness, would almost imitate the pleasure that some in the thought of an all-knowing Deity, can in any misconstrued action solace themselves against the opinion of the world.  
'Tis true, I know some kind of Madam, who perhaps, having some not unhappy vain which a little too much taking with the world, might drive her into strange conceits of what she scarce can tell, and make her prove as troublesome and cross, as sometimes are the winds, and have as various and fantastic ways: but we should no more thwart or differ from each other, than truth would do from truth, the ways of judgement and discretion being as certain and demonstrative: we should anticipate each others thoughts, our actions would be as harmonious as are those of Ants or Bees, as if by some secret law of nature we were designed to carry on some common work: what say you, Lady, should we not? shall I ever enjoy in you this happiness?  Cris. 
If not Sir. Your Fancy that hath thus largely supplied all my defects, will easily make good to you a greater loss.  Know. 
Nay, prithee be as serious as is the love I bear thee; and tell me freely and plainly what result that which you have observed of me hath wrought upon your thoughts; for this is the only thing by which I must either stand or fall: for should I by entreaties seek to force your will, 'twould be but vain, since if you cannot afford, to answer my affection, they must needs make you loath, if not contemn and scorn me.  Cris. 
Shall I answer you then, and will you not be sorry?  Know. 
Hold, for methinks I stand with the same pain, that the prisons doth, that is to receive sentence either of life or death; fain would I be out of doubt, but loathe I am to undergo the trial; but speak, for certainly you have no condemning look.  Cris. 
Well then Sir; to be short, if I should say you are a man, like whom, I never yet saw any; such a one, whom when in my prayers I have thought of man, I have wished for, and desired; it is a truth Sir, which perhaps, by the exact rule of wooing you should not yet have known; and now you know it, you may be sorry that you so easily know it; but I cannot help it.  Know. 
What could I more desire!  Cris. 
Sir, but I believe it is pretty late, wherefore, if you please, let us go to the Coach again. Exeunt.   

SCENE III.  Enter lovewit. L●. 
It was my better genius surely, put me on this device, it could not else have fallen out so luckily; for methinks I have observed a more th●n ordinary kindness between my Cozen and this Gentleman, since their coming home; and now I call to mind, this was the man whom she did so commend today, and defend against us all; I needs must say, that I was much mistaken in him, for surely, he is one of far more worth than I did take him for to be.  
Well, if she have any such desires, would heaven inflame them to the height, and so finish my imperfect hopes, which already do begin to take some shape and form.—  
But here I think she is.— Enter Crisis, and Know-well.  Lov. 
What, are you come, Affection?  Cris. 
ay, is it not time?  Lov. 
And how go now affairs at Hyde-park? what new beauties are there come to Town, since I have been in the Country? which is the chiefest planet that doth now shine in that round-moving orb of Coaches?  Cris. 
You should have asked, what was the newest fashion, who had the finest gown, or the handsomest dress; for these are things we women only mark: This Gent. I believe, would better have resolved you that question.—  
What say you Mr. Know▪ well, which was the handsomest Lady that you saw there?  Know. 
That, Lady, would be a very difficult business to determine, I should rather choose me a Mrs. by her picture, or as the Italians, they say, do, through a window, and think myself subject unto less deceit.  Lov. 
Why, I pray Sir?  Know. 
When one sees, Lady, nothing but a face, and that dressed up unto the height, I might as well Judge of a book by the fine Greek title; the farthingales had not so much imposture; give me a place where I may see and Judge of all dimensions.  
I remember I marked a Lady there whom I have seen somewhere before, she is one( Ladies) that hath the strangest antic shape as ever nature in her greatest whimsy was Author of.  
But as sometimes you shall see a pretty neat device carved on a knotty crabtree stick, her face, I must confess, is not much amiss, for as she ordered the business with her advantageous sitting in the Coach, she was the only shining planet, as you say, that drew all eyes upon her.  Lov. 
No Sir, she was but a false deluding Comet.  Know. 
Ay, so she might, for I am sure she has a huge excrescence at her back.  Cris. 
Well, but Mr. Know-well, what say you to the Western Lady that I showed you?  Know. 
She doth well, I must confess, at a distance, but when we came nearer, me thought she was but ordinary.  Cris. 
There was one I told you of, that I said was newly come to the town, is not she handsome?  Know. 
Handsome?  Cris. 
I will assure you there are some whose opinions are accounted very authentic in these kind of things, that say so.  Know. 
Surely than I believe they have a mind to try how much their judgments can impose upon the world.  Cris. 
There was a lass in the Coach with the green Livery that you looked much upon.  Know. 
She had indeed a good complexion, and I believe right; besides, a pretty innocent look, as if she meant no hurt, and pity it were to do her any. And although she have some features which, according to the exact rule are not esteemed handsome, yet certainly, there is somewhat in her face, will force one to believe them pleasing.  Cris. 
Do you remember Sir, she in the cloth of Silver waistcoat, that I bade you take notice of.  Know. 
Yes, that I do, and truly she will serve well enough, only methinks she has a kind of sullen look, as if she would be angry, if the artillery of her eyes should fail.  Lov. 
There was, when I was last in the town, a City Lady, that was much talked of.  Cris. 
O! I wonder how I have forgot her all this while, that was she we overtook, you eyed her much.  Know. 
I did indeed, because I have heard so much of her; she has a most complete and perfect beauty, nor can the greatest critic in this kind find any fault with the least proportion of her face, but yet me thought I was no more taken with it, than I should with some curious well drawn picture.  Lov. 
That Sir, is somewhat strange.—  Know. 
In my mind, not at all, Lady; for it is not always that we are Governed by what the general fancy of the world calls beauty; for each soul hath some predominant thoughts, which when they light on aught that strike on them, there is nothing doth m●●e inflame.  
And as in music, that pleaseth not most which with the greatest art and skill is composed; but those airs that do resemb●● and stir up some dormant passion to which the mind is addicted. So I believe, never yet was any one much taken with a face, in which he did not espy aught that did rouse and put in motion some affection that hath ruled in his thoughts, besides those features, which only for the sake of common opinion we are forced to say doth please.  Lov. 
Yonder comes Mr. La-gull, I think.  Know. 
I will stand aside here a little, then. Exit Know-well.  Enter La-gull and girl. Lov. 
Mr. La-gull, your servant.  
What? are you come but now?  La. 
No, Madam, We stayed somewhat the longer by reason of a small accident that happened.  Lov. 
What was that, I pray?  Cris. 
I hope it is not another story of a busk. Aside.  La. 
This night, Madam, there was a horse-race, on which I had laid a trifling bet of some forty pounds. Wherefore I being desirous for to see it,( first, craving pardon of this Lady, for my so rudely leaving her) got upon my Barbary Mare that my lackey had there. And( Madam) there happened to be there a French man, one who( as I have heard) is a Monsieur of much honour and repute in his Country: He( Madam) observing me, said I did ride well, and manage my horse handsomely for an English man; which I over hearing, told him, that I was transcendently engaged to him for his good opinion of me; but yet I could not in honour but take notice of the affront he put upon my Country in those words; wherefore( Madam) I told him, that if he pleased, he should find an English man could rule a sword as well as a Horse; and upon that( Madam) we drew.  Cris. 
There was no hurt done I hope? was there?  La. 
Not much, Madam.  
Yet I must confess, I made a thrust at him, which he bearing down run quite through his Porte-canon; And he with a hanger that he had, stroke at my head, which I could not so fully ward, but that he cut off the button of my Cap; and then( Madam) we were parted by the company▪ but he bid me look to hear further from him, and went his way, and I came back to this same Lady.  Cris. 
Truly Sir, your Country cannot but look upon you as one of her chiefest Champions.  La. 
O God Madam! the honour of my Country is far dearer to me, than my life. I should be unworthy to live in it, should I have suffered it to receive such an affront. Enter servant with a letter.  Ser. 
Sir, here is one hath brought you a letter.  La. 
For me? I'll warrant 'tis the Gent. I talked of, hath sent me a challenge.— For I have taken order to have one sent, the more to countenance this same story.— Aside.  Lov. 
A challenge say you, is it? pray let me see, I never yet did see the fashion of a challenge.  She takes it. La. 
Nay Madam.—  Lov. 
Come, I will read it.  La. 
If you will, I cannot tell how to help it, for I was not born to contradict fair Ladies wills.—  Lo. 
Stay, What is this?—  
Sir, I( according as you desired me) have found out the Gentleman you wot of, whom I do really find to have much interest in your adversary.  La. 
Hold Lady, for this is not a challenge, but a letter of some private business.—  Lov. 
'Tis no matter, now I have begun, I will make an end of it.  La. 
Excuse me, Madam.  Cris. 
Why Mr. La-gull, I thought you had not been born to contradict fair Ladies wills.—  La. 
Nay, Madam, I must have it. He offers to take it from her.  Lov. 
Here— she flings it t● Crisis. La-gull offers to take it from her with some rudeness, she striving to keep it, in the midst of the bustle Enter Know-well.  Kn. 
Why, you uncivil fellow, what is the matter? He makes him let her go.  La. 
What, is he here too? how unluckily it falls out? Misfortune on miss fortune!  Cris. 
Here Mr. Know-well, read this.  Know. 
Read this!— He reads the beginning.  
But I could by no means prevail with him to be a means of taking your quarrel up, except you lend him the sum I told you of, which( you to day referring the matter unto me) I hav● promised him; and have procured one that will lay down the money. We shall be all at night at the old place, where I desire you would not fail, but meet, that we may make an end of the business.  
Your humble servant Rich. Hadland.  Lov. 
No surely, this is no challenge.  La. 
What shall I do? I am disgraced for ever. My honour, my honour and reputation is lost eternally.  Cris. 
Not a whit Sir; for to tell you plainly, there is none here, that I believe, did ever think you had any to lose.  La. 
I am abused, some body has abused me with this letter.  Know. 
You are abused indeed Sir, and will be more, if you do not take heed.  La. 
Come Mr. La-gull, you are amongst none but your friends, if you will be ruled by us, I'll warrant you you shall do well enough yet.  Cris. 
You had as good take some counsel now, lest you repent when it is too late.  Kow. 
The truth of it is, Sir, you are happened into the hands of some su●●le youths, who knowing you to be a man of a fair fortune, never any merchant's cashkeeper, or lass of twenty thousand pounds, had more designs on them, than they have on you  La. 
What would you have me do?  Cris. 
Do? Why, e'en as those of your temper use to do; leave this town, marry, and seat yourself in the country.  Lo. 
Come not up hither, except it be in an Easter term, or so, to buy your wife a new gown.  Cris. 
Trouble yourself no more about these nice and subtle rules of honour, or in getting a fine affected strain of compliment; but if you will needs bu●●e your brain, you may learn the strange dialect of Hawks and Hounds.  Lov. 
Some fine speeches though, you may keep in Lavender, to excuse your Christmas cheer, or to use in distributing a pheasant of your own taking.  Cris. 
You need not then be so inquisitive after the modes and fashions; a fine gaudy suit or two to wear on Market days, or in the assize-week, will be well enough.  Know. 
In stead of roaring night and day in Taverns, or venturing with a company of Cheats, at some Ordinary, the price of a farm, keep your drinking matches of tubs of Ale, and your bowling days, where your Crown rubbers will not do you much prejudice.  Lov. 
And when you have a mind to play the good husband, a nursery, or a hop-ground may find you good employment.  Cris. 
You may learn to inoculate, and if any Ladies come to visit you, a dish of fruit, with a story how you yourself did graft it, may serve for all your costly treatments here.  Know. 
Upon a rainy day, or when you have nought else to do, you may read Sir Walter Raleigh, Lord Bacon's Natural History, the Holy war, and Brown's Vulgar Errors. You may find too some stories in the English Eusebius, and the Book of Martyrs, to hold discourse with the Parson on a Sunday dinner.  Lov. 
Sometimes to your wife you may read a piece of shakespeare, Suckling, and Ben. Johnson too, if you can understand him.  Know. 
You may read the Scout, and Weekly Intelligence, and talk politicly after it. And if you get some smattering in the mathematics, it would not be amiss, the Art of dyalling, or to set your clock by the quadrant, and Geography enough to measure your own land.  Lov. 
Thus you may employ yourself, and do the business that you came for into the world, uphold your name and family, make your son somewhat at the better Gentleman, in making his pedigree the longer by one.  La. 
I am highly engaged to you for this advice, and hence forward I shall study to observe it. Enter Constable, and others with him.  Con. 
Is not Mr. Know-well here?  Knw. 
My name is Know-well, friend, what would you have with me?  Con. 
O, is it so? Then pray come along with me.  Know. 
With you? for what?  Con. 
Come away, I say, without dispute, for I am a man of Authority.  Know. 
Cry mercy, for I might very well have mistaken you. But I pray, what is the matter?  Con. 
The matter? as if you did not know.—  Know. 
Not I, nor can I guess.  Con. 
You do not know I'll warrant, one Mr.— well bred, I think they call him.  Lov. 
Why, I pray, Mr. Constable, what of him?  Know. 
I have some little acquaintance with him.  Lov. 
But what of him?  ( Cris. 
Why, what doth it concern you, I wonder, that you are so hasty to know?)  Con. 
Nothing, but that this Gentleman hath killed him a little, he is only dead.  Lov. 
Dead!  Con. 
Ay, as a door nail, I'll warrant you by this time; I am sure I left him gasping almost two hours ago.  Lov. 
Dead!  Con. 
Ay, as a Herring, I dare lay my life, by this time.  Cris. 
How do you Cozen? are you not well?  Lov. 
A kind of a fainting fit that uses to take me sometimes, since I had my Ague in the Country, it will presently over again.  Know. 
What can be the meaning of this? I have not seen him to day.  Con. 
Come, come, I am not to dispute that with you.— You did not send him a challenge neither? did you?  Know. 
Ay, a challenge! certainly you are mistaken.  Con. 
Yes I'll warrant, did not these eyes see it taken out of his pocket? but if I am mistaken, then pray come along with me without more ado.  Lov. 
What strange unlucky accident hath happened, that hath thus blasted all my hopes that did begin to bud, and made that occasion of my endless grief, which I had thought had been the way to what I had most desired. Aside.  Cris. 
This is a sad story; we had best to follow and inquire further into it.— Stay, Now I think of it, I will go to his l●dging; prithee Mr. La-gull, go bid your man get a Coach. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Enter Caster. Cast. 
Malicious wit could never have devised such a plague.— Fight I dare not.— 'Slid, but here he comes I think, what shall I do? I will walk on, perhaps he may not see me.— Enter Lagul.  La. 
My man is out of the way, who shall I get to get a Coach?— But yonder is Caster, certainly he cannot but see me, yet he takes no notice of me; perhaps it is the mode not to take notice after a challenge: I will do so too. Exit.  Cast. 
Nay Mr. La-gull, good Mr. La-gull, I did but.—  
'Slid, I thought he had been here.—  
What a strange kind of thing is this same fear, that doth not only improve real dangers, but raises fantastic ones, where there are none at all. Enter La-gull.  La. 
Surely he called me.  Cast. 
Thou prodigious and unruly monster, could I but quell thee!  La. 
He talks terribly, certainly he doth intend to fight presently.  Cast. 
Look, here he is again, if my fear do not again deceive me. I had e'en best to tell him the truth, yield up my sword, and put myself to his mercy, I care not upon what terms.  La. 
'Tis so— he draws.— Hold.— But they say he has no mercy,— I had then as good die according to the rule of honour. He draws also, and begins to fight.  Cast. 
Hold, hold, I yield. Murder. Murder.—  La. 
Give me your sword then;  Cast. 
Here, here.—  La. 
Is it no more to fight then so? is this the thing all this while I have been so affrighted with? have I so easily Mastered such a man? a man so valiant as they said he was? whom then need I fear?  
Me thinks I could now fight with any, would any living thing but affront me. Exeunt several ways.   

SCENE V.  Enter Hadland. Had. 
What have I done? For they say he is like to die. He was too( as I have since heard) a very accomplished man; Nay, certainly I was much deceived in him, for his carriage had much of spirit in it, and a Gentleman.—  
Well, little did I think I should ever have been compelled unto these kind of courses; and nothing doth more vex me, then that I am fain to consort myself with such unworthy things, which I should abhor, did not my fortunes, broken by these late Wars, force me to make them the instruments of my subsistence,— One of them though I would be now glad to light on, if I could tell where.— But yonder I think he comes. Enter Caster.  
Why, how now Caster? Where hast thou been? For I have been looking for thee almost all over the Town, I think.  Cast. 
All over the Town! You might have chanced to have looked beyond China and Japan, and not have found me.  
Well,— I thank God I am here now, but I was like to have been further than ever Drake was, by this time.  Had. 
Why, prithee, where?  Cast. 
Where? Why, in that Terra incognita, the other world.  Had. 
The other world! What wouldst thou have done there? they do not there play at dice: or if they do, old Nick, I doubt, would go nigh to be the better Cheat.—  
But what was the matter?  Cast. 
Why, I met with the dreadful blade.—  Had. 
Whom do you mean?  Cast. 
Whom should I mean? the terrible Squire Lagul.  Had. 
He has not spoiled all now, I hope.— Aside.  
Well, and what then?  Cast. 
What then! He drew, and came upon me like any lightning, but my discreet and timely submission, together with the coming of some company, did a little assuage his fury.  Had. 
Did you submit unto him, say you?  Cast. 
What should I do else?  Had. 
If I did not think so—  
I could now kick thee, could I but afford to take the pains.—  
Thou hast spoiled all that we have been plotting of this fortnight, when we had just brought it to perf●ction.  Cast. 
You would have had me( I'll warrant) have been such an Ass, as to have fought and ventured my life.  ●Had. 
Fought! Thou needst not so much as have made a mouth, row, or put thyself into a fighting posture.  Cast. 
What should I have done then unto such a son of Thunder?  Had. 
A son of Thunder! a more arrant Coward then thyself, if possible.  Cast. 
Did not you tell me he was another kind of man?  Had. 
I did indeed in jest to fright you a little, but we this night were to have had Two hundred pounds of him to have made you his friend.  Cast. 
Well, this it is, when you will put me on things that are out of my Element; I could have been a Cheat this seven years, and have done well enough.  Had. 
Well, I have a business for you to do, which if you will do handsomely, you will redeem my opinion.  Cast. 
Is it to fight?  Had. 
No.  Cast. 
Then I'll warrant you. Exeunt.  
The end of the fourth Act.    

ACT V.  

SCENE I.  Enter Welbred, and Crisis, Welbred his arm in a Scarf. Welb. 
— BUt surely you were not always of this mind.  Cris. 
I needs must say, I was not; for it is not long since I did look on you, as one with whom rather by the Decree of Heaven, than my own desires, I was ordained to live as wife. Although( I must confess) I never saw any thing so unpleasing in you, but that( if such a thing had been) I could have afforded you whatever love and duty you could have expected from one of that relation; yet this is more than I am sure you could promise to yourself from any thing I ever showed to you; But the various accidents of this day hath so fully represented to me a man with whom my soul would more agree, that in him I am resolved to rest as to these kind of thoughts.  Wel. 
Nay, Lady, if you be in earnest, even as you please; for I would this wound would but admit as easy cure as any you have given me. And I cannot tell what out of the height of Courtship I may have said, but I believe you do not think I was born to die of love.  
Yet I know not, for the story that you have told me of your Cozen, hath raised some kind of thoughts in me that I never had before. And if this that she hath done be out of love to me( as it cannot but deserve, so) it must needs cause in me an answerable affection.  Cris. 
Well, Sir, the Gentleman is by this time before the Justice; it is more than time that I went and informed them of the truth.—  
But I had almost forgot: Here is a ring Sir, you gave me to day, which I desire you would take back.  Wel. 
Excuse me, Lady,— It is not of that value.  Cris. 
Believe me, Sir, I will not keep it.  Wel. 
Well, than I will tell you what you shall do; even present it to your Cozen in my name as an earnest of my love.— I hope it will not be long, before I may be in that condition, as to wait upon her myself, for I do feel myself much amended now my wound is stopped, my illness only proceeding from some loss of blood.  Cris. 
Well, Sir, I wish you a speedy recovery.  Wel. 
Nay, Lady, I may wait upon you to the door. Exeunt.   

SCENE II.  Enter Hadland, Slur, and Caster. Had. 
Come, here they are, what will you do?  Slur. 
Let's see.—  
Faith, all our old devices, false cubed Dice with Quicksilver, the boxes with springs, besides all the other Arts of the hand, are grown as common as the juggler's box.  Cast. 
They are only fitting to cozen Prentices of their Christmas Box-money.  Had. 
What say you to that which I told you of the other day?  Slur. 
The business with the Loadstone?  Cast. 
That I believe is not very common, nor is it easy to be discovered; but you know we are not now provided for that.  Had. 
Then you must even see what you can do with your old Tricks.  Slur. 
These Lads I am afraid will go nigh for to discover them.  Had. 
No I'll warrant you, they are drunk up unto a handsome pin.— Besides, let the worst come to the worst, I will be here hard by.— Exeunt Slur and Caster.  Enter La gull. Had. 
Mr. La gull! Your servant; I am glad to hear of your good success. They say, you have gained a great deal of Honour to day.  La. 
— Take your Honour for me; I am not now for Honour, but for fighting.  
And first I will begin with you, as the principal man that has abused me.  Had. 
This is brave, I vow,—  
What is the matter with him?—  
Is your name Lagul?  La. 
Yes, I am the self same man, only I do a little better understand myself, what an ass you have made me all this while. And to be short, I here demand of you satisfaction, you being the only man that either dares, or is worthy to give it.—  
Come draw, for I am resolved.  Had. 
As I live, I like your resolution howsoever.  Enter two Gentlemen beating Slur and Caster. Slur. 
Hadland, Hadland, help, help.  Had. 
Why how now, Sirs, what is the matter?  1. 
They are Cheats, arrant Cheats.  2. 
Cheats,— Cheats, they have cozened us of almost 100 l. but at the last we caught them.  1. 
Rogues, Cheats, give me my money, or I will beat out your brains.  La. 
Come let them alone since they have made a couple of fools of you, do not you make yourselves more by keeping such a doings.— 'Slid they have cozened me of at the least 300 l. within this fortnight, and yet you hear me say never a word.  1. 
Fools of us, do you say!  La. 
Ay, most notorious fools and coxcombs; nothing more plain, for thus I will prove it: You came in with money in your purses, but this money you have lost, and are like to go away without it, therefore you are fools.  H●d. 
I deny your Minor, for I say, they have not lost it, but have played with Cheats, and have been cozened of it, therefore they are not fools.  La. 
'Tis true, they have played with Cheats, and have been cozened, but therefore they are fools.  1. 
Shall we endure this?  Had. 
But they did not know them to be Cheats, and therefore they are not fools.  La. 
'Tis true, they did not know them to be Cheats; but therefore they are fools.  
What say you? are you not Gentlemen?  2. 
Shall we lose our money and be abused too? you uncivil, rude fellow. They draw upon Lagul.  La. 
Nay, if you be thereabouts, here is an Argument to prove you fools that you have not seen. And this shall make you confess. Draws.  Had. 
Nay Gentlemen, two to one is too much, there shall be no unequal doings. He draws, they fight, and disarm the two Gentlemen, in the mean while Slur and Caster run away.  La. 
This act hath reconciled me to thee; 'twas bravely done, I vow, and like thyself; for whatsoever courses you have run of late, I have not long since heard much of your worth and value.  Had. 
The truth of it is, I have done some things, more for to satisfy my wants, than through my own desires. And I am now grown so weary of this kind of life, that I could wish any other employment, though never so mean, that would but maintain me but as a Gentleman.  La. 
I'll tell you what, I think I shall now shortly marry, and settle myself in the Country; if you will come and live with me, and bear me company, I will continue what I give you, and more will add( if you do desire) and whatsoever is past, I will forget, and never think of, except it be over a bottle of Sack when we have a mind to be merry.  Had. 
Your offer is noble, and if a design that I have in hand, do chance to fail, may possibly be opportune. However, as it cannot but much engage me, so I shall endeavour to show how sensible I am of this your Civility. Nor—  La. 
Hold, for I am now grown quite out of conceit with compliments; if you will come, I will assure you, you shall be welcome.—  
And as for you, my brace of Asses, now I hope you are not so furious but that one may in sober sadness prove you a couple of fools for venturing of your money upon uncertain chance.  Had. 
I hope not so.  La. 
Yes, but I will, and because they shall not take it ill, I will assure you it is no more than what a sober Gentleman proved me for the selfsame cause not above half an hour since.  Had. 
That( Sir) in my mind, if you be in earnest, is somewhat strange; for although that the chance of dice is certain in itself, and doth( as all other things of chance) depend on sure and natural causes; yet these causes either being unknown to us, or else not in our power, their effects must needs to us, before they come to pass, be also unknown; and from this ignorance, if thereby we are concerned, must needs arise a certain strife and Altercation of hopes and fears, which with no little pleasure doth affect the soul.  
Now Sir, all pleasures by providence being created for our better being, may rationally enough be( if but discreetly) used.  
From hence it follows, that one may not only play at D●ce, but also venture so much upon their chance, whereby these passions may arise.  La. 
'Tis true, Sir, if one venture no more; but to venture so much, as that the loss thereof may m●ke any considerable alteration in ones fortune, cannot but be( as he said) the height of folly.  Had. 
Why so, Sir▪ For have I not as probable and rational hopes for to improve, as to impair the same, Chance in reason being supposed impartial unto none?  La. 
But, Sir, then said he, ones estate and fortune, being the principal thing that makes one to be valued in the world, I cannot certainly more rationally imply the force and vigour of my wit, then about that.  
Now( Sir) in a thing that so much concerns me, wholly to balk whatsoever benefit my judgmen● might afford, and put myself into such a way, where the starkest ●ool has as much advantage as I, and more too, if the Proverb be t●u● must needs, in any sober man's opinion render me a fool.—  Had. 
Well, Gentlemen, I can no longer help you, but that I see there is a necessity you will be concluded fools.  La. 
Well then my couple of fools, adieu, and here also I do take my leave of whatsoever folly I have been guilty of.—  
Stay, there was a pair of Knaves too, that I should have bid God bye; but 'tis no matter, I shall see them again when I next come to Town;  
For as long as London City doth endure,  
In it a knave, as well as fool, to find you shall be sure.  Had. 
That( Sir) is no marvel; for fools and knaves are the two main springs on which not only that, but all the world doth move; he that would have none of these, encounters providence, and would overturn the policy of the world: were all things of one temper, the Universe would not subsist one minute: were all men wise, the world would be at a stand, whilst each do prove unmalleable unto others designs.  
Fools and Knaves are the two Poles on which the wheels of Fortune turn: 'Tis these make Riches, Honour, with a healthful course to ebb and flow through all the world, which else would rot and putrify in some particular names and families.  La. 
But I shall be stayed for, for I have appointed to meet at a certain place.  Had. 
Your servant Exeunt several ways.   

SCENE III.  Enter justice and Pate Iust. 
Come my Chuck, now thou art mine, and whatsoever is in this house is thine.  Pat. 
But when my brother knows this, he will never endure me for serving him so.  Iust. 
'Tis no matter, so long as thou hast my love.  Pat. 
I Sir, if I were assured of that, I would despise all the world besides; but I doubt I have too much cause to fear, that it is my Wealth you have married, and not me.  Iust. 
But you shall have no such cause, I'll warrant you.—  
O my dear Honey, I could wish that thou wert worth never a groat, that thou mightst see how I love thee.  Enter Goosquil. Goos. 
Sir, there is the Constable without, he hath brought a Gentleman.  Iust. 
What? Cannot he let me be quiet on my Wedding-day. Exit Pate  Enter Constable, &c. Know-well. Iust. 
Come Mr. Constable, what is the matter?  Con. 
Why, Sir, an't please your Worship, I have reprehended a man upon suspicion of murder.  Iust. 
Of murder! God forbid man, I hope not so.  Con. 
Look you( Sir) I do but charge him of suspicion of murder, I do not lay flat murder to his hands:— I'll warrant you I know what I do.  Iust. 
Well, but how stands the case? What witness have you of it?  1. 
If it please your Honourable Worship, that which I have to say against this Gentleman under correction, in brevity is only this.  2. 
Nay, an't like your Worship, I saw the first beginning, therefore, I hope you will give me leave to speak first.  Iust. 
Come on then friend, you look like an honest fellow; what are you?  2. 
An't like your Worship, I am by Trade a blacksmith. I was a apprentice in Fetter-lane, and have been a man for myself ever since the last great sickness, which is some thirty years ago, I think, for I am sure our Ned was born the year after, and he is nine and twenty now this next long Vacation.  Iust. 
Well, but what can you say to the business?  2. 
Why, an't like your Worship, I this Afternoon, after I had bid my wife lay down the shoulder of Mutton▪ that( an't like your Worship) I bought in the morning, I went out into the fields( an't like your Worship) to take a turn or two to get me a stomach.—  
But I had almost forgot one main thing, for as I was going, I met with an old companion of mine, one Will. Freeman by name.— An't like your Worship, I tell you no lie, for as they say, Tell the truth and shame the devil.  Iust. 
Well, but what then, friend?  2. 
Why, An't like your Worship, honest Will said I, it was a merry old world when you and I were Prentices together in Fetter-lane. And upon that,( an't like your Worship) he would needs have me go spend my two pence with him.  Iust. 
Well, but come to the point, what do you know concerning this Gentleman?  2. 
Nay, by your Worships favour, I am bound to speak the truth, and the whole truth.— But stay, where was I?  1. 
Your friend and you were a going to drink, you said.  2. 
O I, and then( an't like your Worship) we went to the Ca● and Fiddle, and when we had drunk our flaggon● a piece, and we were just a coming away, in came a neighbour of mine,— stay,— I shall hit on his name presently.  Iust. 
Well, 'tis no matter for his name,— but what of him?  2. 
An't like your Worship, he would needs make us stay the drinking of his flagon too; and by that time that was done, an't like your Worship, I began to think the shoulder of Mutton might be overroasted, and therefore I made as much haste home as I could; and as I was coming along by the wall, imagining no hurt, nor thinking of no harm, O I saw the saddest and lamentable sight.—  Iust. 
What was that?  2. 
I never saw so much all the days of my life.  Iust. 
But what was it?  2. 
And I hope I shall never see the like again.  Iust. 
Nay, what was it?  2. 
Why, An't like your Worship, I saw a proper, goodly young Gentleman, as one shall see in a year and a day, lie in the most yearnful condition, all in gore blood, that it would have grieved any heart to have seen the like; and than this same young man came.—  Iust. 
And what can you say friend? I think I have seen you som●where; is not Mr. Du-cape the Mercer your Master?  ● 
If it please your honourable worship, I am resident with Mr. Du-cape upon the account of a Journeyman.  Iust. 
Cry mercy, but what say you?  1. 
Why, if it please your honourable worship, as I was going a long upon a very civil account, to carry a piece of Satin to a person of Honour, in the Peazza, in Lincoln's inn fields, just under the wall, I chanced to cast my eyes and view the aforesaid Gent. whose name is Mr. Well-bred, in the self same condition as this man has before specified and declared, and I upon that account deeming him to be dead, did debate with myself upon what account the said manslaughter should happen; but I approaching nearer, did descry him to be one that had been a customer to my Master, and I upon that account knowing his lodging, did desire this same man that upon that account he would be instrumental in conveying him thither. And when upon that account we began to stir him, his wound upon that account began to bleed with a most extreme violence, in so much that I seeing his handkerchief, hang out of his pocket, did upon that account judge it requisite to pull it out, to help stop his wound; and pulling it out, I chanced upon that account to pull out a letter, which this man desiring me to read—  2. 
You may see that some are wiser than some.  1. 
— Upon that account I read it, and finding it to be a challenge, upon that account did I estimate this Gentleman to have fought a duel.  Iust. 
Where is the letter?  1. 
Here, if it please your honourable Worship.  Iust. 
Read it Goosquill.  
Goosquill reads.— Sir, I cannot but as I am a gentleman take notice of the affront you put on me, in pretending to Mistress Crisis, to whom none living doth owe more service than myself; wherefore I desire that you would henceforward desist, or else meet me at the back side of Islington, with your friend and a Rapier, where I shall in the same manner attend you, about five of the clock. In the mean while, I rest,  Your humble Servant Thomas Know-well. Iust. 
will these bloody and inhuman duels never be left off? shall we never but be thus barbarous one to another? as if we were not men, but Butchers, Turks or Tartars.  
What say you Sir, are not you the man that killed him? do you not know that blood requires blood?  Know. 
Surely Sir there is some great mistake, for my part I have not seen the Gentleman this day.  Iust. 
It will be well if that will serve your turn; I think the matter cannot be more clear; Come Goosquill make a Mittimus presently.  Know. 
Sir, If you please, I shall produce some, in whose company I have been all this afternoon. Enter Crisis.  Cris. 
Hold, hold, I beseech you Sir, let him stay a little.  Iust. 
Mrs. Crisis! how doth your father, my very good neighbour?  Cris. 
Very well Sir, he will be here shortly.  Iust. 
But what is the matter, can you say any thing in this business?  Cris. 
Sir, only this, the Gentleman that Mr. Know-well here is supsed to have killed, is not dead.  Iust. 
How! not dead?  Cris. 
No Sir, He was only through much loss of blood, fainted away for a time; but now Sir, he is very well again, neither did he give him the wound that he has, but he saith he had it in a quarrel that happened between him, and some that he met in the fields.  Iust. 
That is strange.  Cris. 
Sir, If you will have but a little patience, there will be some here immediately that will clear all things to you.  Iust. 
Well then, stay a little.  People, 1. 
What, must he not be hanged then?  2. 
I'll warrant that Gentlewoman has begged him.  1. 
She must be a pure virgin if she have.  3. 
They say he has bought his life for a thousand pounds, and then he to have a lease of it for fourscore years.  1. 
There is a fine device indeed; this it is to be a Gentleman, I'll warrant one of us should have been hanged without more ado.  Con. 
Bear back there.—  Cris. 
But Mr. Quorum, I hear you have stolen a wedding to day.  Iust. 
Such things will be sometimes; she was a fortune merely cast upon me.  Cris. 
But shall not I have the happiness to see your Bride in the mean time?  Iust. 
Yes that you shall.  
Goosquill, go and desire your Mistress to come in.  Exit Goosquill, and Enters presently with her and Had. Had. 
Speak but one word, you rogue, and I will cut your throat.  Know-well and Crisis salute her. 1. 
witness. Surely I should know her. Ay, that is she without doubt. Looks on her.  Pate 
Nay, 'Tis I.  Iust. 
Do you know my wife?  1. 
I have a little reason, for I am sure she owes my Master almost 〈◊〉 pound.  Iust. 
50 pound! that is nothing;— but I hope thou dost not owe many such debts, Chuck.  Pate. 
Why, what if I do?  Iust. 
Nay, nothing, but I hope not so.—  Pate. 
What, am I examined already?  Iust. 
Be not angry Love,— for I know thou hast wherewithal to pay them.  Pate. 
Have I so? Were I disposed, how could I laugh to see how thou art cozened!  Iust. 
Ha! cozened!  Pate. 
I cozened, thou old doting fool: could you ever imagine any thing else?  Know. 
hay da!  Iust. 
Nay, but Honey, what do you mean? you are not in earnest, are you?  Pate. 
In earnest? Do you think I am not? could you ever be so mad, as to think that I in my heat and strength of years could ever do●e on thy dull frosty carcase?  Iust. 
Oh, oh, oh, oh.  Pate. 
Do you think that I would mix my blood with thy cold phlegmatic, gou●y humours, had it not been to raise my sinking fortune, ●nd to keep me from those extremities of poverty, that did daily threaten me?  Iust. 
Oh I am undone, I am undone, undone.  Pate. 
And yet had my condition been ten times worse, were I to be tied only to thy bed, I should repent the change.  Know. 
A brave girl I vow.  Pate. 
For I already do begin to feel those warm desires that thou this many a year never hast been able to satisfy.  Cris. 
Come, Master Know-well, let us go into the next room, she will make me blush' else.— Know. and Cris. Exeunt. As they are a going.  Pate. 
What, are you going Sir, I hope now you know the house, I shall see you here sometimes, our years indeed would somewhat suit, and what ever we should chance to do, here is one must father all.  Cris. 
O impudence!  Iust. 
O patience, patience, patience, I shall run mad else, mad, mad, mad.  Had. 
Now Sir, my revenge is perfect; do you not know me?  Puts off his periwig. Iust. 
Mr. Had-land!  Had. 
Ay, Do you not remember how some seven years ago you took the forfeiture of my Lands that were mortgaged to you, and ever since have unjustly kept me from them?  Iust. 
O, I do remember, and confess this is a judgement, a judgement.  Had. 
I'll warrant her she is a judgement worse than either fam●● sword or the pestilence, or I am deceived. Enter Slur.  Slur. 
You have wronged me, for I say mine was the first turn.  Pate. 
Peace.  Slur. 
Peace, you whore! I will not hold my peace.  Pate. 
What, shall I be called whore in mine own house? out you roq●● Mr. Constable, I charge you to turn him out.  S●ur. 
He turn me out!— stir but one inch you rogue, and you stir your last. Draws.  
And now I say, you are a whore, and a most damned whore.  
And Sir, nothing so much grieves me, as that I have been the cause of helping you to this same strumpet.  Iust. 
O Sir, what is she? what is she? let me know the worst, for I am prepared.  Slur. 
That which I know of her, Sir, is this; I was first acquainted with her in the army, where I will assure you she was accounted a very necessary piece of ammunition, in some five nights, I think, she would serve all our troop; since( Sir) she has lived about the town, no small sinner, she has been as common as a Hackny Coach, and much about the same price, two shillings the first hour, and one shilling an hour after, as long as you will: she is as prostituted as some modern works, only they are spread upon the stalls in the day, and she in the night.  
Hold her.—  
And Sir, if the knowledge of men be the chiefest wisdom, believe she is not unwise, for in them she is not a little experienced; she will tell you( I believe) the difference betwixt the melancholy, and the sanguine, the fair, or the black haired youth: she could perhaps from her own knowledge, mend the observations of Culpepper, or Aristotle's problems, tell who doth afford most pleasure▪ the hot Italian, or the tough german, the nimble Frenchman, or the grave Spaniard.  Pate. 
Why, you villain you, if through the frailty of my youth I have committed any of these kind of things, must every rogue tell me of it?  Slur. 
On I go for all this— And Sir, about a year ago in this service, she got a certain mischance, that you may guess, insomuch, that what with her expenses to the Surgeon and Apothecaries, together with the intermitting of her trade, she was reduced to much poverty, and had incurred many debts.  Iust. 
Debts!  Sl. 
Ay, debts of all sorts, from her Mercer to her milkmaid, all which have been some while forborn through the expectation of your paying them.  Iust. 
Oh, oh, oh, what shall I do? here Goosquill, take my knife, I don't know what I may do else.  Sl. 
Believe me( Sir) you will have a very charitable employment of it, you will pay many a pound that for a long while hath been accounted desperate; but for you( Sir) many a poor man might have been undone.  Pate. 
This( Sir) will be almost as good as founding colleges, or building Churches.  Had. 
And although you build no Hospitals, yet she may chance to find you employment for Surgeons.  Pate. 
You may in time to come, repair and make bridges for your nose.  Iust. 
O thou damned perfidious whore.  Sl. 
O Sir, she is perfidious indeed, if you know how she has served me.  Iust. 
O How, how, how? let me hear, it will be some comfort to me to know any else that has been cozened by her besides myself.  Sl. 
Why( Sir) this Gentleman and I,( although for my part I must confess, I do repent of what I have done) did much assist her in the accomplishing of this her design on you, for which in gratitude to us, and also in respect of your years, she did agree, that we two should have a certain kind of employment( Sir) an ancient Roman office called Adjutores thori, conjunctim & divisim, execute per vices, or by turns; And( Sir) by the bargain I was to have the first turn; but she( Sir) not minding the premises, fraudulently and maliciously, against all equity, justice, and good conscience, and against the true intent and meaning of the parties, hath let this Gentleman—  Goos. 
I that she has, I'm sure; when you sent me for her, I caught them both upon the bed.  Iust. 
Oh, oh, I shall never be able to endure: O give me my knife again, O give me it, I say.  Sl. 
You had best, and be accessary to his death.  Iust. 
Well, I am resolved on it; I know what I will do. Exit.  Sl. 
Come, let us follow him, he may do himself some mischief else. Exeunt.  Enter Pate, Slur, Had-land Pate. 
Which way went he?  Had. 
I cannot tell.  Slur. 
Up stairs, I think.  Pate. 
Go after him, for God's sake, and see whether you can find him. Exeunt.   

with you. Mr. Constable, I charge you for to seize upon her.  Cast. 
Hold, hold.  Iust. 
Why?  Cast. 
This is my reason; Discovers himself.  
Was not I the man that married you?  Had. 
Nay, Sir, it is a plain case, yours was clearly no marriage.  Iust. 
Nay, than I see I am cozened.  Had. 
You are indeed, Sir, I hope, for we have taken a great deal of pains in vain else; I am sure we have been plotting this same business any time this month.  Iust. 
Well, I do yield myself cozened, and am glad it is no worse.—  
And now Mr. Had land, I see you have wit to get an Estate, I hope you will have wit to keep it. You are one, I must confess, of whose good parts I have heard divers times, and you shall shortly find, you have no more than I can well afford you.  Know. 
And now, Sir, here the Gentleman hath made a shift to come hither in a Coach, that I was supposed to have killed.  Wel. 
And here I do acquit him.—  
I must confess, I had a challenge from him; but going for to meet him, I met with some other Gentleman, between whom and myself there chanced a certain quarrel, in which I got the wound.  Know. 
I challenged you! Certainly.—  Lov. 
Sir, do not wonder any longer, for I will resolve the doubt.—  
This Gentleman was this afternoon to go to a certain place, whither, if he had gone, I had been for ever lo●t; wherefore I upon the sudden, not thinking of a better way, sent him that Challenge in your name, only thereby to hinder his going,— for which, Sir, I beg your pardon.  Cris. 
Which I durst warrant, if it be but for my sake, you shall obtain.  Know. 
Madam, you are so far from wanting pardon for what you have done, that to you I owe whatsoever happiness I do expect in this same Lady.  Lov. 
If, Sir, you owe any thing to me, I shall look for satisfaction only in this same Gentleman, for whose sake I did what I did.  Wel. 
I shall be, Lady, so far from quitting others scores, that what I owe you on mine own account, while I live, I shall never clear.  Pat. 
Well, Mr. Had-land, I cannot but blush when I think what a part you have made me act to day.  Had. 
Thou hast done that this day( my Dear) that will eternally oblige me.  Slur. 
Madam, I hope you will pardon what I said today, knowing to what end it was spoken; for there is not that Lady in the world of whom I have more honourable thoughts, than I have of you.  Pat. 
I am sure I never gave you cause to have other.  Enter two Gentlemen. Iust. 
How now Sirs? What would you have?  1. 
Sir, we come to demand your assistance against a couple of knaves that are here, that this afternoon have cheated us of almost a hundred pounds.  Iust. 
Which be they?  2. 
Here is one.—  1. 
And this is the other.  Iust. 
Have they cheated you, say you?  1. 
Yes that they have.  Iust. 
What say you, Gentlemen?  Slur. 
Your Worship( I hope) by experience knows, that such a thing may not be altogether impossible.  Iust. 
Well, Gentlemen will you refer the business to me, upon that condition, that I do please you all?  1. 
Ay, Sir, upon that condition; but we shall not be pleased without our money.  Iust. 
Why, then I order you to give them their money.  Slur. 
But than we shall not be pleased.  Iust. 
Yes, but you shall: for now I am resolved upon a design, which I hope will be as good as building Hospitals.  
Gentlemen, by the carriage of this business, I see you have more in you then ever I did take you for to have. And although you have been wild in your time, yet now I believe you would know how to value an estate.  
First therefore, as for you Mr. Had- Land, what you have gotten by this device from me, I freely will let you enjoy.  
And for these Gentlemen, I will give them that which shall maintain them like themselves without these shifts.  
To be short, Gentlemen, I have an Estate and never a child, and if you henceforward do nothing that may displease me more than this your day's work hath done, I shall not be wanting in any thing that you may expect from a father. What, doth this please you?  Slur. 
Beyond our expectation.  Cast. 
We, Sir, shall never be able to deserve this.  Iust. 
Come, come, you have deserved it already.  Cast. 
What strange accidents have happened this day!  Enter Goosquil, and Whispers to the justice. Iust. 
O I, 'tis true, I did not think of it.  
Mr. Hadland, there is a Supper ready within, which I did cause to be provided as for my Wedding Supper; but since you have got my Bride, you must even take the Supper too.  
Gentlemen, will you please to walk?  Old Cris. 
Then here we do begin the round; tomorrow my daughter and this Gentleman say, you must be at my house.  Wel. 
The next day after I do invite you.  La. 
And I the next day after that.  Iust. 
March then in, and as you your Weddings make, In the same order now your places take. Exeunt.  
FINIS.    

ERRATA.  
Pag. 29. lin. ult. add, I am resolved. p. 29. l. 20. dele[!], after the word, Fight. p. 41. for Act III, read Act IV. p. 45. l. 4. after themselves, add with. p. 64. l. 29. after believe, add, me.