THE Man's the Master: A COMEDY.  
WRITTEN BY Sir WILLIAM D'AVENANT, KNIGHT.  
In the SAVOY.  
Printed for Henry Herringman, at the Blue-anchor, in the Lower-Walk of the New-Exchange. 1669.   

PROLOGUE.  

1.  
NO Country Lady ever yet did ask  
Such shrewd advice before a Ball or Masque  
(When curious dressing is the Courts great task)   

2.  
As now young Poets do, in this nice Age,  
To gain the froward Lovers of the Stage;  
Whose heat of humours nothing can assuage.   

3.  
The Muse, disdained, does as fond Women do;  
Instead of being courted she courts you:  
But Women are less valued when they woo.   

4.  
And as young Poets, like young Ladies, fear  
A Concourse, great as this Assembly here,  
Till they seek council how they should appear,   

5.  
So all old Poets, like old Ladies, may  
Be more afraid to venture the survey  
Of many apt to censure their decay.   

6.  
Both know they have been out of fashion long;  
And, e'er they come before a shining Throng,  
Would dress themselves by Patterns of the Young.   

7.  
Well, our old Poet hopes this Comedy  
Will somewhat in the fine new fashion be;  
But, if all gay, 'twould not with Age agree.   

8.  
A little he was fain to moralise  
That he might serve your Minds as well as Eyes:  
The Proverb says, Be merry and be wise.   

9  
This, Gentlemen, is all he bade me say  
Of his important Trifle called a Play;  
For which, he does confess, you dearly pay.   

10.  
But he did fear that he could hardly make  
A Prologue so in fashion as might take,  
For he does much of too much boldness lack.   

11.  
He never durst, nor ever thought it fit,  
To censure those who Judges are of Wit.  
Now you expect the Rhyme will end in Pit.    

The Persons represented.  

Don Ferdinand. Father to Isabel.  
Don John. Suitor to Isabel.  
Don Lewis. His Rival.  
Sancho. Steward to Don Ferdinand.  
Jodelet. Servant to Don John.  
Stephano. Servant to Don Lewis.  
Isabel. Daughter to Don Ferdinand.  
Lucilla. Sister to Don John.  
Bettris. Isabella's Maid.  
Laura. Lucilla's Maid.   
The Scene MADRID. And in one House.   

THE Man's the Master.  

ACT I.  Enter Lucilla, and Laura with a dark Lantern. Lu. 
YOu have served me but two days, and are you weary already?  Lau. 
Pray add the nights to the days; for I have not slept since I came into your service.  Lu. 
Love has ordained us for these Journeys; and will, I hope, bring us at last where we may rest quietly.  Lau. 
Yes, to the last Inn of all Travellers, where we shall meet Worms instead of Fleas; Lovers never rest quietly till they lodge at the sign of the Grave.  Lu. 
Prithee be patiented Laura.  Lau. 
If I had been waiting-woman to Will of the Wisp, I could not have wandered with so much uncertainty as when I follow a Mistress led about by Love.  Lu. 
But, Laura, I follow you now.  Lau. 
You may with ease enough when I'm so tired that I can go no farther; this is the pretty Foot belonging to a Leg; which (though I say't) was fit to lead a Dance in Hymen's Hall.  Lu. 
And does it limp now, and grow weary of the errands of two days.  Lau. 
You have little reason to blame that Leg which has been so nimble in your service; but the other will follow it no further. Me thinks it has got a shackle instead of a Garter She limps a little.  Enter Sancho with a dark Lantern. Lu. 
Take heed, Laura; I see light.  Lau. 
Why, what would you see, darkness? are not your eyes made for the light?  Lu. 
'Tis a Man; He seems to seek some body with a Lantern.  Lau. 
He seeks me here by appointment.  Lu. 
I'll retire to this Portico.  Lau. 
Do, whilst I accost him.  Lu. 
What is he?  Lau. 
'Tis Sancho, Don Ferdinando's Steward; he was my sworn Brother over a Posset, he is by the length of his Beard and the heat of his Constitution, a very Goat.  Lu. 
For Heaven's sake lose no time.  Lau. 
You need not fear his loss of time; I use to call him my Brother-Brevity; He is so thrifty of his speech, that his Tongue does seldom allow his thoughts above two words to express them.  San. 
Laura!  Lau. 
Are not you my Brother Sancho?  San. 
I am.  Lau. 
Have you contrived a way to conceal my Lady in your Master's house?  San. 
Yes.  Lau. 
Can you admit her now?  San. 
No.  Lau. 
May it be to morrow?  San. 
It may.  Lau. 
I'll attend you in the morning.  San. 
Do.  Lau. 
Pray name the hour.  San. 
Nine.  Lau. 
My Mistress is very sensible of your care, and would know if I may have leave to give you this Gold?  San. 
You may.  Lau. 
I hope you hate not me, nor the present.  San. 
Neither.  Lau. 
Are we both acceptable?  San. 
Both.— He looks on the Gold.  Lau. 
'Tis very Gold; and Signior Sancho you shall find me to be as true metal as it.  San. 
I'll try.— Offers to kiss her.  Lau. 
Not so soon, good Signior Sancho, Bring me to the Wedding night, and then try if, like Gold, I can endure the touch.  San. 
Humph!—  Lau. 
Lover's may pretend to have true Metal, but Marriage is the Touchstone.  San. 
Of Fools. aside.  Lau. 
Hands off, good Signior Sancho. You want sleep, Good night, Pray let me go.—  San. 
Pass.— Exit Sancho.  Lau. 
Come, Madam, we may hasten home, Nine is the appointed hour when you shall have admittance.  Lu. 
After I have sought opportunity, I am afraid to find it.  Lau. 
Madam, I do not yet understand your intrigues of Love. You are afraid to find the opportunity you seek, and I, poor wretch, seek more opportunities than I fear I shall find.  Lu. 
Lord help thee,! thou dost want a great deal of sorrow to make thee a little wise. Exeunt.  Enter Don John and Todelet. Tod. 
Sir, by your favour, you are either mad, or the Devil is malicious to bring you to Madrid, at so unseasonable an hour, after riding post, or rather flying, without meat or drink, as empty as wild Hawks, and as uncertain of your Quarry.  D. John. 
I confess thou mayst be tired all over, all but thy Tongue, and that can never be weary. The Street where we are now, is that which I have sought.  Tod. 
What will you do here, go see Don Ferdinand when 'tis past Midnight?  D. John. 
Yes, and this very night I'll visit Isabel.  Tod. 
'Tis ill to have an empty stomach, but worse to have an empty head.  D. John. 
Todelet, I know you are hungry, but hunger makes you fit for watching, I'll not stir out of this street till I see my Mistress.  Tod. 
Remember 'tis past One, a season when Don Ferdinand's Gates are always shut: we have ridden this morning from Burgos. I know no kind of Lovers but Owls would have chosen the night for a journey.  D. John. 
To love nothing but sleep and eating is to be a Beast in the habit of a Servingman.  Tod. 
How I hate raillery?  D. John. 
And I eating and sleep, in comparison of this Picture of Isabel.  Tod. 
You are one of those who are filled with wildfire at sight of a cold Picture; and if Master Painter, has luckily drawn a Snout of Ivory and a Mouth of Coral, which perhaps does enclose an ill Tongue and worse Teeth, than he makes you mad of a Mistress; Will a Picture reveal whether her crooked body be armed with a Coat of Mail, or whether she be some Skeleton whose Beauties lie at night upon her dressing-cloth? you'll not be much pitied if men find you ill provided of a Woman, since you'll be gulled with one before you have seen her.  D. John. 
Thou art as froward at this time o'th' night as a waked Child.  Tod. 
Would any Man keep patience about him when he must run in the dark from Street to Street, and grope out his way like a blind Man without a Dog? or stand so long under a Balcone (lifting himself upon one leg to stare higher about him) till he shift his feet as often as a Stork?  D. John. 
Todelet!  Tod. 
Don John.!  Don John. 
My Picture was rarely drawn: and sure it could not choose but please my Mistress.  Tod. 
I know the contrary.  D. John. 
What sayest thou?  Tod. 
I tell you it has rather displeased her.  D. John. 
How the Devil canst thou know that!  Tod. 
Alas, I know it too well.  D. John. 
Ha! tell me how?  Tod. 
Good Sir, have patience! instead of your Picture she received mine.  D. John. 
Traitor, 'tis well thou dost not use to speak truth, for else I should search for thy life in the very bottom of thy Bowels.  Tod. 
You may, Sir, and begin as my Throat: But in piercing my body, I pray spare my Doublet for I made it new at Burgos.  D. Joh. 
Pox of your Raillery, Tell me what thou hast done?  Tod. 
Sir, put your anger up first.  D. John. 
I never had so much cause to let it out, But speak, and let not Fear fright Truth from thee.  Tod. 
Sir, when we left Flanders—  D. John. 
Well proceed.  Tod. 
You having your Brother killed, and a Sister carried away by stealth (not knowing where, nor how, nor wherefore, nor by whom) you road so fast that you left all your judgement a great way behind you.  D. John. 
To what purpose, Villain, dost thou open these two wounds? proceed apace to thy Picture.  Tod. 
Sir, I go as fast as I can; but your anger interrupts me so, that I'm fain sometimes to go back to recover my Tongue, though I have nothing within me but what is much to the purpose.  D. John. 
Why dost thou not render it in few words?  Tod. 
I cannot, Sir, for I always speak things in order, but for your Picture which I had e'en forgot—  D. John. 
Was ever Man so tired with the tedious length of nothing?  Tod. 
We were but newly returned to Castille when Don Ferdinand de Rochas proposed his Daughter to you in Marriage: her Picture was made a Present to you, and the offer of Twenty thousand Crowns in portion, and then you (t'inchant her with your own Picture as much as you were charmed by hers) made haste to send her it: and so, as the Proverb says, put an old Cat to an old Rat. It was a Lover's stratagem, and villainously subtle. But Heaven (not always a Friend to Lovers) ordained a success in spite of expectation.  D. John. 
Art thou about the History of the World; and wilt thou not finish it till the World ends?  Tod. 
Yes, Sir, but I must refresh my memory, for it is almost weary.  D. John. 
I would thy Tongue were so too.  Tod. 
You remember that your Painter (in thankfulness for the great reward you gave him) would after he had drawn your Picture, take a little pains about mine.  D. John. 
I know that: but proceed.  Tod. 
Then you likewise know it cost me nothing, Well, that Flemmings a brave man. None of your Jan Van Lievens, nor your Elshamers, nor your Brauwers, nor your Joes Van Winghens ever drew like him. Then give him but a Rummer, over a Pickled Herring, and he will drink so kindly, as if he had the Heart of a Whale.  D. John. 
Wilt thou never conclude? hast thou sold, burnt, eat, or drank my Picture? Have I it yet, or was it sent to Isabel? speak and be quick!  Tod. 
If you have not patience to stay awhile rather than hear ill news, but will needs ride Post to overtake the Devil, I will leave Flanders and go the nearest way to the purpose.  D. John. 
Still wilt thou be tedious?  Tod. 
Nay, Sir, since you love unwelcome brevity, know when I was to send away the last Packet, I would (being a little curious) compare the workmanship of my Picture with yours. I set them opposite to one another, turning my Eyes often from this to that, and being called for in haste by the Post-Boy, I put my little Picture in the Packet instead of yours!  D. John. 
How? yours instead of mine?  Tod. 
Sir, your Picture had the happy laziness to stay here; but mine was destined to ride Post with the Devil to your Mistress.  D. John. 
Canst thou live, or I either, after I have heard this?  Tod. 
Good Sir, make use of patience as I did. Time, which wears out sorrows as well as joys, has since th' unhappy accident given me a few quiet nights, and I have ceased to grieve for fear of being sick.  D. John. 
Dog! what will she say of thy horn-face, and of thy Badgers Nose?  Tod. 
Alas, Sir, she will not think you very handsome, I mean in my Picture; but if we were both our own Painters we should not want Beauty.  Enter Stephano. D. John. 
Peace, there comes one who perhaps knows Don Ferdinand's house, Go, ask him.  Tod. 
But Sir—  D. John. 
Well, speak low.  Tod. 
Perhaps he●l expect a reward if he tells us. In Madrid you must hold out your Money if you do but ask what's a clock?  D. John. 
Unlucky Rogue, would he would cudgel thee.  Tod. 
He has not leisure to do it; he seems in haste.  Steph. 
Who goes there?  Tod. 
Not to displease you, Sir, where dwells Don Ferdinand?  Steph. 
This is his house.  Tod. 
Are we in the right already? for this bout my Master has reason, the Father-in-law is found; and the Son-in-law-elect has nothing to do but to knock.  Steph. 
I begin to find myself a Fool for having showed them where my Master is secretly entered, and whence I expect he'll presently come forth; I must find some expedient.  Tod. 
Does he dwell here?  Steph. 
Yes, but he is sick, and does not love noise, what are you?  Tod. 
We, Sir, are Nightwalkers; or rather men of Norway, a Norhern-Countrey where he is cursed, who does not sleep continually, for my part I never sleep; and that's my Master, Sir, the greatest waker in the World.  Steph. 
Or rather the greatest Robber. He shall give me satisfaction for what he lately took from me; I know him well enough, and you were with him.  Tod. 
You are very choleric, and I think somewhat mad. If I were so too, you would have little safety but in flying. Sir, as sober as I am, I can scarce keep my hand from my hilt.  To D. John. 
Sir! Sir! advance a little, I begin to grow soft, and were it not dark, I should appear somewhat pale too.  D. John to Steph. 
Approach Sir, come on towards me. I'll make you civil.  Steph. 
How! Don of the dark? are you so brisk? but I shall take the pains to drive you a mile hence: for though you are Two (would I were rid of 'em) if you dare follow me as fast as I'll lead the way, ye shall come to a better place for fight.  D. John. 
Say you so, Sir? I'll follow you, stay! I hear a noise. It seems to be above us.  Tod. 
Pox on this choleric Cur! if his barking had not frighted me, I had, perhaps, without any danger, broke his very bones: but whence the Devil comes that other Devil? Don Lewis descends from the Balcone.  D. Lewis. 
Stephano!  Tod. 
They are going.  D. John. 
Sure that's his Man whom he calls: he who gets way before us.  D. Lewis. 
Either I am much cozened, or I am watched. But the noise of a quarrel will fright Isabel. In care of her I must neglect my honour. Let's steal away, since it must be so.  Exeunt D. Lewis, Stephano. D. John to Tod. 
Stay, or thou art dead. Stay but one thrust.  Tod. 
My Master has metal, but I'm no Touchstone to try it on.  D. John. 
Give me thy name, or I'll take thy life.  Tod. 
I am Don Todelet of Segovia.  D. John. 
Three curses on thee, and a thousand on him that leapt from the Balcone. What's become of him.  Tod. 
He flew through the dark like Lightning, and I like a furious Fool, followed him like Thunder, till the invisible Rogue threaded a Lane as narrow as a Needle's Eye. Well, I'm the Hercules whom you always expose against Two. You are a little prompt, but, by your leave, Master; is it the Custom of Madrid to scape thus out of a Window?  D. John. 
Didst thou perfectly discern him?  Tod. 
Yes.  D. John. 
I am amazed.  Tod. 
And I, if it were possible, am quite confounded.  D. John. 
I must not here take up a quarrel at the first bound.  Tod. 
Methinks your mind is a little troubled.  D. John. 
It is; and I have much cause, but let's consult upon't.  Tod. 
That's well said; I never found myself so much inclined to reasoning, and, if you please, let's consult sound.  D. John. 
I was born at Burgos; left poor, but of a long race exempted even as far as myself, from all disgraces.  Tod. 
Very well.  D. John. 
At my return from the War to Burgos, I found myself attacked with two different Evils. I had a Brother murdered and was robbed of a Sister; though she was bred with all the cares of honour. And this makes me exceeding choleric.  Tod. 
That's ill, very ill, exceeding ill.  D. John. 
D. Ferdinand chose me for a Husband to Isabel; and she has received thy Picture instead of mine.  Tod. 
That's not very ill.  D. John. 
We treated of this bus●ness in secret; and I took horse for Madrid, where I now arrive late at night.  Tod. 
That's a little ill.  D. John. 
Without seeking out a Lodging my love leads me directly hither.  Tod. 
That's a little too soon.  D. John. 
I met before Don Ferdinand's House a Servingman who thrusts me, by design, upon an Almain-quarrel.  Tod. 
That's very true, but somewhat unwillingly, like a Coward as he is.  D. John. 
Perhaps 'twas for fear of scandal; for he did not approach us like a Coward.  Tod. 
How did the unlucky Thief come then?  D. John. 
He came on like the Lover of Isabel.  Tod. 
That's very ill.  D. John. 
'Tis that which will wound my head more than his sword.  Tod. 
Let's fall to reasoning again.  D. John. 
Ah! no more reasoning, when reason grows superfluous. But prithee mark the counsel which Love suggests to me. My hope lies in thee. To morrow, my dear Todelet, thou must pass for my Master, and I for the Man. Thy Picture is to work Miracles. What ail'st thou? dost thou shake thy ears?  Tod. 
These kind of disguises smell too much of the Cudgel. I'd rather proceed to reasoning again. For what will the world say? Don John is grown the Man, and Todelet the Master, and by ill fortune too; for perhaps, at last, your Mistress may love me, and I her.  D. John. 
Fear not that; for then the mischief will be mine: but I, being Tod'let, may get acquainted with my Rivals man. I'll be a Lover from the Kitchen to the Garret; and my Presents shall open the Locks of every bosom: whilst thou (eating like a Shanker, and drinking like a Hole) shalt shine in gold Chains like the King of Peru, without having any share of my sorrows.  Tod. 
I begin to like the Invention.  D. John. 
Thou shalt be feasted and crammed at Don Ferdinand's; whilst I am choked with my jealousies.  Tod. 
But may I not (to represent Don John the better) give your shoulders now and then a taste of the Cudgel?  D. John. 
Yes, when we are alone, without Witnesses.  Tod. 
Well, Vermechulli shall my  please,  
Served in with Bisques, Ragous', and Intermets'.  
Wait close upon Don Todelet, thy Master;  
And thou mayst be my Carver, or my Taster.  
If thou dost fetch me Girls, and watch, and trudge well,  
Thou shalt have food, if not, thou shalt have Cudgel.  Exeunt.  

ACT. II.  Enter Isabel, Betteris. Isabel. 
BEttris, make up your Packet, without thinking to reconcile me by long rattle; I'll have no more of you.  Bett. 
Truly, Mistress, I'm ignorant of the cause of your anger.  Isab. 
You know it not?  Bett. 
If I do, may I never be haunted again by men of Honour.  Isab. 
'Tis no matter, I dismiss you.  Bett. 
Well my conscience is clear. If I have ever failed to serve you may I burst like a boy'ld Pudding for want of pricking. But let Flatterers go fine while Truth must be shut out o'dores and walk naked.  Isab. 
Yes, Dame Betteris, you are innocent: You have not opened my Balcone to night, nor have walked  to make less noise?  Bett. 
Alas! is that it? I left your laced linen drying on a Line, and went into the Garden for fear some body should steal it.  Isab. 
Yes, and you discoursed with my Linen: My ears deceived me, I did not hear you talk.  Bett. 
Perhaps I was at prayers.  Isab. 
What, so loud?  Bett. 
Yes, that heaven might hear me.  Isab. 
And 'twas no man, but my linen, that leapt down from my Balcone.  Bett. 
Pray do not believe it.  Isab. 
I saw it, Bettris.  Bett. 
Ah, my dear Mistress, it is true. But Don Lewis—  Isab. 
O Heaven! how that name hurts me? was it Don Lewis?  Bett. 
Yes, Madam, your fair Cousin.  Isab. 
My fair Cousin! Thou black wretch! for what design had he admittance?  Bett. 
If 'tis a great sin to be charitable you have cause to be angry. But if you will but hear me speak—  Isab. 
You may speak long enough before I believe you.  Bett. 
'Twas last night when that delicate Don Lewis came to see you, and because it reigned I let him into the Hall; and, much against my will; for I am tender of scandal: but the poor man, being impatient, went up; and presently after I heard your Father Don Ferdinand spit aloud (for he always coughs when he spits) and will be heard far enough. I'll warrant him as sound as any man of Madrid.  Isab. 
Well, proceed to the ill purpose.  Bett. 
At this noise Don Lewis saved himself in your Balcone, which he found half open, and I locked him in till you arrived with the old man; with whom you discoursed too long, and made Don Lewis impatient again.  Isab. 
Troth we were very uncivil to him.  Bett. 
I stayed till you were a bed; and then (being in my nature always inclined to charitable deeds) I went to free him from his imprisonment.  Isab. 
Good heart!  Bett. 
He said he must needs speak with you one moment, but I warrant you, I was sharp enough; and told him plainly that your Curtains were drawn.  Isab. 
That was severe indeed.  Bett. 
I saw tears fall from his eyes, and at the same time felt a few Pistols drop into my hand. He conjured me with such sweet words; calling me, my Heart, my dear Bettris, and then put on my finger a Diamond-Ring; which did so vex me that I was ready to fly in's face.  Isab. 
That had been too cruel.  Bett. 
Nay, 〈◊〉 but that his sufferings wrought me again into pity; for truly I cannot hate the man. But in your interest I know no body.  Isab. 
I thank you, good Mistress Bettris.  Bett. 
But when he saw I was so much in earnest that my face was all fire—  Isab. 
He saw the flushing of your anger though it were dark; but indeed all kind of fire is most visible at night.  Bett. 
He leapt from the Balcone into the Street; where I heard them cry, kill! kill! and this is the notable cause of your putting me away.  Isab. 
Well, you'll forgive me if I must needs be too blame.  Bett. 
I built my happiness upon your Marriage. But if my zeal to serve you were known to Don John (who they say is come to Town) I should hope for as ill success as I have now.  Isab. 
How? Don John, too? the man I fear and most abhor. After my rage against Don Lewis do you think to assuage me with the mention of Don John? Far you well, Maid of Honour, let me see you no more.  Bett. 
Let the Devil take Don Lewis who is the cause of this.  Exit Isabel. Enter D. Ferdinand at the other Do●e. Ferd. 
What's the matter Bettris, are you weeping?  Bett. 
Your Daughter, Sir, has dismissed me from her service, and for nothing, Sir, but for wishing her  opinion of Don John, because he deserves it, and you desire it.  D. Ferd. 
That's a small cause for your dismission; but I'll endeavour to reconcile you. Bid your Mistress come hither. Exit Bettris. They have often little quarrels; sometimes for a Curl disordered, or a black-Patch misplaced; and more often they differ in expounding of Dreams: but this is no time for expulsion of servants. If Don John D' Alverad come, (who is expected to night) I'll throw away my Staff, which is my Third Leg, and with my other Two lead 'em a Dance.  Enter Isabel. Isab. 
Sir, you are perhaps, contriving my Marriage with Don John; but I hope you'll ordain me a death less cruel.  D. Ferd. 
Minion, you are for some unexperienced Gallant, that never travailed but Northward, and that was to observe the variety of Flaxen Hair, and to bring home Periwigs for Presents at Court; who spends the morning in tiring good men with the repetition of ill Verses, and in the afternoon lies stretched out at length, in his open Gilt Coach, like the Image of Laziness drawn in Triumph through the City.— The Baggage laughs when I would have her weep.  Isab. 
Sir, you have reason to be angry; but I've as much cause to laugh when I behold this Picture of a Suitor so deformed that he seems ridiculous.  D. Ferd. 
You judge of a Man by his Picture; let me see it.— How the Devil have I baited my Hook at Court, that I have been six Months a fishing for this Codshead? yet many have told me that D. John d' Alverad was a person highly esteemed.  Isab. 
If he had been tolerably handsome your command might be obeyed,  D. Ferd. 
Well, however you shall promise me to use him civilly, and I'll then find a remedy for your grief. Enter Lucilla, veiled. But here comes a Lady that will not show herself, I wonder who let her in, and would not first ask, whether we would be visible? Madam, without seeing your face, or enquiring your name, you may freely command me.  Lucilla. 
Don Ferdinand, I expect no less from your civil reputation. I come to you for refuge, and beseech you without any witness I may tell you my misfortunes.  Ferd. 
You may Daughter retire. Exit Isabella.  Lucilla. 
I would I could so express my griefs that you might find some excuse for my faults. But if you could number my tears perhaps you would confess that my eyes have been sufficiently punished by my Crimes.  Ferd. 
This Stranger has no ill behaviour.  Lucill. 
Sir, let me embrace your knees, and not rise from mine till I obtain that succour which I hope you will afford me.  Ferd. 
This stile is somewhat Romantic. My foolish Daughter never read Romances, but, for my part, I esteem Amadis and all such ancient and discreet Records of Love and Honour. Madam you seem not a person to whom a Gentleman should refuse any thing.  Lucill. 
Sir, I must then give you the trouble of knowing my Race, and of hearing my misfortunes. My Race you will easily know, for my dead Father often told me, that he had made a friendship wi●h you at Rome, and that you are a person both obliging and brave.  Ferd. 
I own him much for that Character, and shall be ready to pay the debt to you.  Lucill. 
Sir, Burgos is the Town where I received my first being, and unfortunately the flames of Love. My Mother died at my birth, and my Father deceased soon after her when he perceived the misfortune of my love. His name was Diego d' Alverad. He bred me with great care and bounty, and he had much hope of my Infancy; but alas! it was a false hope. My Two Brothers were no less cherished by him, and I as much by them; with whom I happily lived. But oh, how love did change my destiny!  Ferd. 
A thousand curses take that Devil Love, it imbroyles us all.  Lucill. 
A Stranger who came to see the Triumphs at Burgos did in those Turnements appear to have no equal. We first saw one another in an Assembly; I was courted by him, and did endure his Courtship, or rather I was charmed by him. He pretended to love me; and I loved him, but now, Sir, let my tears speak for me.  Ferd. 
Sure all Lovers were born in April: they never mention Sunshine without a shower after it. This may teach me to marry my Daughter to some Gentleman whom she does not love. But, Madam, pray proceed.  Lucill. 
The rest is fatal, Sir, and full of shame. Alas my fault deprived me of a Brother, and my afflicted Father soon died after him. My passion had so overmastered my reason, that I still adored my unfaithful Lover, whose return to Burgos I did two years vainly expect, and at last found that I was cruelly forsaken: and then I forsook my Kindred, and, cursing fatal Love, am hither guided by madness to seek that false man whom more than justly I ought to hate.  Ferd. 
Is not this sufficient to teach Parents to marry their Daughters without any least mention of love. Madam, how the Devil could you be cozened with love?  Lucill. 
Alas, Sir, he told me he would be faithful. But Women should never believe that beauty can sufficiently oblige the hearts of men, especially if men be so handsome as to prevail on women.  Ferd. 
I am glad Don John's Picture renders him ugly.  Lucill. 
Oh Don Ferdinand! I am a fearful example for having too much believed a cruel Tiger, who triumphs over me, disguising his name as falsely as his faith: a name which no man seems to know, yet I am certain he lurks hereabouts. To you I address myself as my last remedy, and I demand your aid to find him out. I know the quality you bear about this place may apprehend him, and force him to do me reason.  Ferd. 
I shall be one of Cupid's Baylies, and watch to arrest a man for debts of love.  Lucill. 
I'll not allege my Father nor his memory, but by your own glory will conjure you, and not oblige you by any phrase of flattery.  Ferd. 
Madam, to be short, I am your humble servant; and such I have been ever to your Father, who did me the honour to call me Brother. Dispose of all my power; my Daughter shall endeavour to assuage your griefs.  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
Your Nephew, Sir, desires your ear for something of importance.  Ferd. to Lucill. 
Madam, my return shall be sudden. Bettris lead her to my apartment, and admit my Nephew presently.  Exeunt Lucilla, Bettris. 
The chance is odd that this Lady proves the Sister of my elected Son-in-Law. I must present her to him if he will see her. My Nephew and I will join our powers to seek her Lover, and to do her Justice. Enter D. Lewis.  
O dear Don Lewis, my brave Nephew, what brings you hither, how may I serve you?  D. Lewis. 
Sir, a friend of mine has lately advertised me of a quarrel coming towards me, and I am come for your advice, who are a perfect Judge of Combats of Honour.  Ferd. 
If you can employ no other whom you love more than me, nor that loves you more than I do, I'm at your service. What is that Paper in your hand?  D. Lewis. 
I'll read it to you.  Ferd. 
Do, for I have lost my spectacles.  D. Lewis 
reads.  
The younger Brother of him whom you killed upon some love-accompts, departs from this place to day to go where you are. I know not perfectly the occasion, but am certain that to give you notice of it is not ill done by your Servant Don Pedro Ossorio.  Ferd. 
Where did you encounter him who is slain?  D. Lewis. 
In Burgos.  Ferd. 
Was he a Cavalier?  D. Lewis. 
Yes, and my great Friend.  Ferd. 
In single Combat?  D. Lewis. 
No, by mistake, in the darkness of the night.  Ferd. 
Tell me the manner of it.  D. Lewis. 
You remember the Triumphs at Burgos for the first Infante. A Friend of mine invited me thither to show me the common valour of our Nation in the Joco de Toros. The night after the Triumph he led me to see the Ladies at a Ball, where I was conquered by a Beauty, and she by me; but this great happiness soon turned into a great misfortune.  Ferd. 
Well, Sir, proceed:  D. Lewis. 
I was allowed the honour the next day to give her a visit, lov d her sincerely, and being one night together I heard an attempt to break open the door. I saw her tremble and drew my sword for her safety. She took the Candle and blew it out. The door was opened, and I was attacked, and in the encounter, not having the use of my Eyes, there sell at my Feet one mortally wounded; the darkness made my escape easy. But in the morning I was overwhelmed with grief, being informed that the person slain was Brother to my Mistress, and the same intimate Friend, who invited me to Burgos.  Ferd. 
These are the effects of love, and yet my foolish Daughter will needs be in love before she marry.  D. Lewis. 
My escape from Burgos was easy, because I was not known in public. You see the intelligence which is given me, and of what use your counsel may be in the affair. A Gentleman is in search of me, who is led hither by revenge. It were loss of honour to avoid him, and it were cruelty to kill him. But some body knocks at your Gate. Knocking within.  Ferd. 
And rudely too. Who dares be thus insolent?  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
O, Sir, give me a hundred Crowns for my good news.  Ferd. 
Pray stay till they are told out, and give me the news first.  Bett. 
Where is my Mistress? Her Suitor is below all over powdered, and perfumed. He seems a merry and innocent man, for he laughs at every thing as if he had no more cares than a Capuchin.  Lewis. 
Sir, it seems you have a design to marry my Cousin, and secretly.  Ferd. 
Yes.  D. Lewis aside. 
How am I wounded with this news!  Ferd. 
Bid my Daughter come down. Make haste.  Bett. 
You need not doubt my speed when I'm to bring Lovers together. Exit.  D. Lewis. 
How shall I bear this persecution?  Ferd. aside. 
I shall have use of all my understanding to get clear from the perplexity of my divided interest. My Nephew has killed the Brother of him who is to marry my Daughter.  Enter Isabel. Lewis. 
I shall grow mad.  Ferd. 
Come Isabel, we must prepare to meet your Suitor.  Isab. 
Or rather to meet death. Exeunt.  Enter Sancho, Todelet, in Don John's Habit; Don John in Todelets Habit. D. John. 
I told you my Master's name.  Sancho. 
You did.  D. John 
And does your Master know that he is here?  Sancho. 
He doth.  D. John. 
Sure Don Ferdinand's detained by some important business.  Sancho. 
He is.  D. John. 
I hope when that's dispatched, Don John shall have the honour to kiss his hands.  Sancho. 
He shall.  D. John. 
This Laconic Fool makes brevity ridiculous.  Todelet. 
An Ass for brevity sake should have cropped Ears and a bobbed Tail.  D. John. 
My Master is arrived upon design of Alliance with yours, and I hope we, who are their Servants, may become a kin to one another by friendship.  Sancho. 
'Tis fit.  D. John. 
Your hand—  Sancho. 
Take it—  D. John. 
Your name?  Sancho. 
Sancho.  D. John. 
'Tis well.  Sancho. 
Your name?  D. John. 
Todelet.  Sancho. 
Good. They embrace.  Tod. 
Friend, you are a man of brevity. I would your Master were so too. Shall I not see him?  Sancho. 
You shall.  Tod. 
But (by your favour) in what quantity of time?  Sancho. 
A trice.  Tod. 
I'm satisfiyed: but have not yet satisfied for your diligence— I'm sorry 'tis the fashion for Gallants to carry no money about 'em. Feels in his Pockets and finds no money.  Sancho. 
That's ill.  Tod. 
But my Trunks are coming.  Sancho. 
That's good.  Tod. 
If my Sumpter proves lame I shall borrow of your Master rather than be in debt to his man.  D. John. 
He means to represent me first by showing his bounty.  Tod. 
I grow impatient, and must be diverted. Friend, what is there here to see?  Sanch. 
The House.  Tod. 
I use to spend my time in things of more importance. Todelet.  D. John. 
Sir.  Tod. 
Inquire if his Master be learned.  Sancho. 
He's so so.  Tod. 
Let's visit his Library. Yet, now I think on't, I have had my head twice cracked with reaching down great Books from high Shelves. Well, 'tis strange how since my childhood I ever loved huge great Books, and could read in 'em as easily as if they were but little.  D. John. 
This is to show he is a man of learning.  Tod. 
Next to great Books I love intolerable long Letters in short hand. If I had one here, you should see me begin at Loving kind Friend, and in a moment, end at Yours as his own.  D. John. 
This shows him a man of business and of dispatch too.  Tod. 
This (I take it) is your Ante-chamber. The Floor is smooth, but somewhat bare: my Rooms at home are all matted.  D. John. 
How like a dull Rogue he boasts of his rich furniture.  Sancho. 
We use no Mats.  Tod. 
Why Friend?  Sancho. 
For fear—  Tod. 
Of what?  Sancho. 
Of Fleas.  Tod. 
Alas, poor things! they do no harm, we never use to kill 'em.  D. John. 
Now he shows himself a man of mercy.  Sancho. 
In this Country—  Tod. 
Well, speak your mind.  Sancho. 
Fleas use—  Tod. 
What?  Sancho. 
To by't.  Tod. 
We have abundance of 'em, but not a man of mine does ever feel 'em.  Sancho. 
That's strange.  Tod. 
My Family feeds well, and then they sleep so sound that Puneses cannot wake 'em. Lord, how I love to hear my servants snore after dinner.  D. John. 
Now he shows his Hospitality.  Sancho to D. John. 
We shall all grow fat when your Master keeps house here: yet you, methinks, are somewhat lean.  D. John. 
I thought this fellows Tongue had been wound up like a Clock to regular stops, but now it struck above Twelve words. Sir I may trust you, who are hereafter to be my faithful Friend. The chief reason why I am not fat is, most especially, because I am in love with Three of our Neighbours Maids.  Sancho. 
Three?  D. John. 
I confess I am unfortunate in it.  Sancho. 
You are.  D. John. 
My Grandmother was a Poetess, and a great observer of love, and was wont to put her thoughts into Verse, which were very pithy.  Sancho. 
And short.  D. John. 
She wrote according to her own Cyze, for she was a very short Woman. Shall I repeat?  Sancho. 
Pronounce.  D. John. 
A Ruddy Sanguine Man.  
Grows quickly pale and wan,  
And is by Love undone  
Even when he loves but one.  
But I am much mistaken  
If Two will not make  
As lean as a Rake  
A Lover fat as Bacon.  Enter D. Ferd. D. Lewis, Isabel, Bettris. D. Ferd. 
Don John, first for your Father's sake, then for your own I must embrace; nay let me bind you close to my heart.  Tod. 
Sir, you may clasp me as hard as you please, for I'll assure you I am very sound both Spring and Fall.  D. Ferd aside. 
Sound? that's an odd assurance from a Son in Law.  
Sir, you are welcome.  Tod. 
I knew that before, Sir; which may give y●u a small taste of my understanding; pray speak only things that are necessary; for I love few words.  D. Ferd. 
This Son in Law will prove wise.  Isabella draws Todelets Picture and looks on it aside. Isab. 
The Painter has done him no wrong.  D. John aside. 
Her Beauty exceeds all that any Pencil can describe.  D. John looks on Isabella's Picture aside. Tod. 
My Father in Law looks as gravely as an Owl at Noon perched over a Church-Porch.  D. Ferd. 
I fear my Son in Law is not very eloquent, he speaks in private between the Teeth.  Isab. aside. 
Was ever deformity copied with more exact proportion to the Original.  Tod. to Isab. 
I can see you through my Fingers and know you at first sight by the Picture you sent me.  Bett. 
He's one of those subtle Spies who peeps through the Keyhole when the door is open.  Tod. to Isabella. 
You think me a very desperate man.  Isab. 
Why so, Sir?  Tod. 
For coming near so bright a Sun as you a●e without a Parasol, Umbrellia, or a Bondgrace.  Isab. 
You intent to be very witty, Sir.  Tod. 
I tell you again, my bright Sun, not one among a thousand would venture his complexion so near you as I do. But what care I for being tanned▪  Bett. 
'T, but flaying the old skin, and when your cheeks are raw the crimson will appear presently.  Tod. 
That Damsel is too pert. Dear Chuck of my Cheeks, you should keep these Paraqueetoes in a Cage. How many of 'em have you? 'Slight, I think I'm left alone Todelet! where are all my People? Todelet?  D. John. 
Sir.  Tod. 
My heart beats too much at sight of my Mistress. If I faint with love be sure to hold me up.  D. John. 
I shall, Sir.  Tod. 
Lady, you say nothing: but I'm glad you are silent, for if you should show as much w●t as you do beauty, I were a dead man. Todelet.  D. John. 
Sir.  Tod. 
To drive away the sorrows of love I prithee break a Jest or two, or tell my Mistress some of mine to cure her melancholy.  Isab. 
My Father has made a rare choice. This extraordinary Fool is only fit for Christmas.  Tod. 
Don Ferdinand, do you always serve for a Screen to your Daughter?  D. John aside. 
Unlucky Rogue! what Devil taught thee to ask that?  D. Lewis. 
That question is not very civil.  Tod. 
Those that are angry may show their teeth; but let them be sure that they be sharp.  D. Lewis. 
Sir, no man will doubt yours.  Tod. 
Those who dare doubt mine may meet me— at dinner; and after dinner may walk a turn in the Field. It may be wholesome for some, but for others it may prove dangerous.  Isab. 
He grows angry.  Tod. 
May not a man see a snip of her face? I pray, Lady of my lips, blink on me a little with one eye. Don Ferdinand, let some body bring her near me; or at least show me her Hand, or her Arm, or a little of her Leg.  D. John. 
This course Villain has been bred in a Bu●cher-Row.  Ferd. 
My Daughter had reason. My Son in Law is a Coxcomb.  Tod. 
Lord, how nice they are of their Brides in this Country! any where else I might e'er this have had a dozen kisses.  Ferd. 
How I am vexed at his want of breeding!  Tod. 
Father in Law you must pardon me. I am a little boisterous, but I am very loving. My dainty Duckling may I know what gust you take in having the honour to see me?  D. Lewis. 
That's civilly asked.  Ferd. 
O impertinent Son in Law.  Tod. 
They laugh. I shall be loath to marry in so foolish a Kindred as have no more wit than to laugh at me. Don Ferdinand, pray call for a Chair: you are ill served; but I will vouchsafe to reach one myself.  D. Ferd. aside. 
I say again my Son in law is a very Coxcomb. Bettris reach a Chair.  Tod. 
Sweet Syrup of my Soul, pray tell me, do you wear Chopines? in truth if you do not, you are of a reasonable good stature, and worthy of me.  D. Lewis. 
An excellent good Compliment.  Tod. 
That young man is given to prating. Tell me, my bright Sun, do you shine on him?  Isab. 
He is my Cousin .  Ferd. 
I pronounce the third time that my Son-in law is a Coxcomb.  D. John. 
This Cousin  revives my jealousy.  Tod. 
Lady, have you never an Ear-picker about you; there's something tickles me within, and I broke mine with picking my teeth. What all laughing again? Lady, you laugh scurvily! you laugh like a Munky that has stolen cherries; he, he, he, he!  D. Lewis to Isabel. 
Cousin you do not satisfy the Gentleman, he asked you e'en now how you did relish the honour of seeing him.  Isab. 
I must confess I never saw his Equal both in body and mind.  Tod. 
Madam, every one says as much of me. But the twenty thousand Crowns, are they ready? Let's dispatch the Marriage.  D. Lewis. 
How, D. John? you are mercenary.  Tod. 
Those who believe it are very desperate. But would I could meet 'em in Alverad.  D. Lewis. 
In Alverad! Had you not a Brother, Sir?  Tod. 
Yes, whom a base Murderer killed in the dark.  D. John. 
If Don John could find the Murderer he would eat his heart; but the Coward hides himself.  D. Lewis. 
This Groom is very impudent. But, Friend, I have been told—  D. John. 
What have you been told, Sir?  D. Lewis. 
That it was merely by mischance.  D. John. 
He lied that told you so; it was treachery.  D. Lewis. to Isabel. 
Do you observe his sauciness?  Isabel. 
Methinks his anger has something graceful in it.  D. Lewis. 
Then you allow his insolence?  Isabel. 
He shows no meanness in his courage.  D. Lewis to D. John. 
I shall find you.  D. John. 
You may, for I shall never avoid you.  Isabel. 
O pity hid thine eyes! how canst thou see such Gallantry in such a low condition?  D. Lewis. 
Were't not in this place, I should make you silent.  Tod. 
My man is almost as valiant as myself, but a little rash.  D. Lewis. 
Uncle, shall I endure this from that Groom?  D. Ferd. 
I charge you be discreet. Her's a fair beginning of a marriage.  Tod. 
My dear Dumpling let 'em quarrel; and let us talk and be witty and sell Bargains.  D. Ferd. 
Sir, you ha' not yet seen the House.  
Bettris make haste, open the Gallery. Nephew, I conjure you to make use of your discretion. Come Gentlemen, what do you stay for?  Tod. 
I love the downright familiarity of Alverad, and hate Compliment.  D. Ferd. 
That's for saving of time.  Tod. 
We often (out of heartiness and haste) salute Ladies with our hats on.  D. Ferd. 
Do you so, Sir?  Tod. 
Yes, and take 'em by the hand without the tedious Ceremony of pulling off our Gloves.  D. Ferd. 
'Tis true, time is a precious thing and aught to be saved. Son-in-law it becomes you. Exeunt Omnes.  Enter Betteris, Stephano. Bett. 
Retire to the Garret over that Chamber where I must hid your Master, and there you must lie close.  Steph. 
I should lie closer if you were with me.  Bett. 
Certainly you men are very cold Creatures: you are always wishing for something to keep you warm.  Steph. 
Ah Bettris, a Garret without a Chimney is a cold habitation. But if you were near me—  Bett. 
I ●now but one Hoop in the world can bind us close together.  Steph. 
What do you mean?  Bett. 
A Wedding-Ring.  Steph. 
That's a strong Hoop indeed, and will hold out long. I have no Land nor House; and though there are many Houses in Town, yet those Tenants never get much furniture who begin with a Cradle. I am not rich enough to marry.  Bett. 
That's ill news, but I will tell you better.  Steph. 
I prithee do.  Bett. 
At night when the Masters are a-bed the Men shall have a Sack-Posset.  Steph. 
And shall they be very merry with the Maids?  Bett. 
Yes, unless the Men be in love, for then, alas, they'll do nothing but sigh.  Steph. 
What Lady is that whom your Mistress does conceal?  Bett. 
I know her not. Sancho does manage that design; her Maid is his Sweetheart.  Steph. 
Shall she be with us?  Bett. 
He has invited her.  
You wish my Company and inquire after her. None but a cold Bedfellow would have two Warming-pans'.  Enter Sancho D. John, Laura. D. John. 
Signior Sancho, there is nothing more Medc'nal against the Consumption of Love than a Sack-Posset. But shall I be at it?  Sancho. 
You shall.  D. John. 
I am much obliged to you for the Invitation.  Sancho. 
You are.  D. John. 
I hope I may have leave to seal an acquaintance on this fair Gentlewoman's hand?  Sancho. 
You may. D. John salutes Laura.  Laura. 
You are pleased to make use of your authority.  Sancho. 
I am.  Laura. 
I Pray give me leave to salute Mistress Betteris.  Sancho. 
Do.  Steph. 
The favour ought to go round. I hope I shall not be a stranger to your Mistress.  Sancho. 
No. Stephano salutes Laura.  D. John. 
Your authority extends so far as to make me likewise known to Mistress Betteris.  Sancho. 
It doth. D. John salutes Betteris.  Bett. 
Well, we shall be all happy when our Lords and Ladies are asleep. There is nothing so sweet as Midnight and Sack-Posset. Is there Signior Sancho?  Sancho. 
Yes.  Bett. 
What can be sweeter in this bitter World?  Sancho. 
Buss and Posset.  Isabel within. 
Bettris.  Bett. 
My Lady calls me. Let every one hasten to their appointed stations.  Steph. 
The next time when our Masters go to bed early we must be contented to sit up late.  Bett. 
Alas! we Servants are miserable. We must be fain to watch when they sleep.  D. John. 
Pray let us meet cheerfully, and with short ceremonies.  Sancho. 
And long spoons. Exeunt all several ways but Don John.  D. John. 
I have more light to lead my jealousy.  
And now must seek the man to whom Revenge  
Is yet indebted for my Brother's Blood;  
Then where my vain, imprudent Sister lives,  
And where her perjured Friend. Well, it grows strong  
In my belief that Isabella's Cousin  
Is he whom I discerned in the Balcone;  
Oh Isabella! be wise as thou art fair;  
Turn not my love to dangerous despair.   

ACT. III.  Enter Don Lewis, Stephano. D. Lewis. 
URge me no more; the lot is cast.  Steph. 
In troth Don John is much beholding to you. You have forsaken his Sister, killed his Brother, and now pretend to his Wife.  D. Lewis. 
My hope relies on my perseverance, and on Betteris, and on thee; on my Uncle, on Isabel, and on myself: I rely much too on the rudeness of Don John's behaviour, but most of all on the civility of my Goddess Fortune.  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
O, Sir, is it you?  Steph. 
None but a Maid, who loves to meet men in the dark would ask that question with her eyes open.  Bett. 
You are still drawing the Fool's weapon: I pray put up your Tongue. I come not to you, but to your Master.  D. Lewis. 
Dear Bettris, tell me a little of the Son-in-law.  Bett. 
Would y●u have but a little when much may be spoken? He dined, and did eat till his doublet grew so narrow that 'twas dangerous to sit near him; for his buttons flew about like a volley of shot, and after dinner he retired to a dirty Entry, where he slept on a Bench and snored in consort, like three fat Carriers in one Bed. But I'll tell you what passed besides.  D. Lewis. 
My poor Bettris!  Bett. 
My poor D. Lewis!  D. Lewis. 
My fortune I expect from thee.  Bett. 
And I mine from you: but you have yet proceeded no further than promise: yet that's sufficient to one who abhors interest.  D. Lewis. 
I prithee ask my Man if I have not left my Gold under my Bolster; and whether I am not to morrow to receive four hundred Ducats?  Bett. 
Well, well! he●r me in few words. Don Ferdinand your Uncle has chaffed himself into a Fevor: he would fain be disengaged. Your dear Isabel is more vexed than he. Now is the time or never: you must endeavour to see her, and give her as many promises as those m●ke who intent to keep none. Writ her Poetical Letters, and be sure not to leave out her Lilies nor her Roses: you must weep, sigh, and pull off your Periwig, that you may tear your own hair: tell her you'll cut your own throat, or at least that you know an easy way to hang yourself.  D. Lewis. 
Concerning that, Betteris, you may safely pass your word for me.  Bett. 
If the insolence of passion will not prevail you must resume your modesty, whine civility, and only wish yourself dead; and be not amazed when she grows impatient. What, you smile at this good counsel?  D. Lewis. 
No, but it seems a little new.  Bett. 
The practise of it is as ancient as the Love-Tricks in Troy. But I have stayed too long. Beshrew my heart for my kindness to you. Go, Sir, steal through the Garden door. Farewell, Sir, and I pray give your Man leave to shift your Trenchers before they are empty. He looks leaner than Lent.  Steph. 
Farewell false money.  Bett. 
Remember that I clipped your beard by Moonshine with the Gard'ners' great Shears when you lay a sleep like a dead Perdu in the Arbour. O, y'are a proper Watchman to attend Lovers.  Steph. 
My Beard Mistress Marmalade.  Bett. 
Yes, when my Ladies little Dog smelled you out, by the broken meat in your Pocket.  Steph. 
Well, I'll marry thee for a Month, that I may get authority to swadle thee for having no Portion .. Exeunt.  Enter Ferdinand, Isabel. Ferd. 
I'll rather die of naked poverty than break my word.  Isab. 
Dear Father!  Ferd. 
You are a Fool, and all that you can hope, is that I may defer your Marriage a few days. But was ever any business so encumbered? My Son-in law is offended, and my Nephew being the cause of it, I ought to be so too. Shall I abandon one and join with the other? I own myself to one by blood, and to the other by honour.  Isab. 
It seems, Sir, 'twas Don Lewis that killed his Brother.  Ferd. 
Yes, and to increase the perplexity, the Sister of Don John implores me against him: how can I, in honour, refuse to assist her? and to day my Nephew tells me, he has need of my advice against a man whom he has doubly offended, and that man must be my Son-in-law. Head hold out one day, and split not during this storm of business. Farewell, I'll go taste my Son-in-Law. Exit.  Isab. 
And I'll go weep. O Heaven! to what a Brute am I condemned? Was not my aversion a sufficient torment without giving me a new affliction by another passion? Was't not enough to be unhappy by the address of the Master, but I must love his Man? Ah, my stars hate me too much, when they make me love one whom I dare not name to my own ear. Must I adore him who never can be mine, and at the same time abhor the Person for whom I am decreed? A third Evil is joined to t'other two. Don Lewis, whom I hate, loves me. At once I hate, and fear, and am in love. O who can deliver me from this entangled destiny?  Enter Don Lewis. D. Lewis. 
'Tis I, O charming Isabel! that will deliver you, and disengage you f●om Don John: for since Don Lewis, whom you have despised, is now admitted to your favour, your breath contains my Rival's destiny. Proscribe him with one word, and, with this sword I am his Executioner.  Isab. 
Oh heavens! dare you propose a mischief of this bloody shape? Be gone, unhappy Wretch: thou art unworthy of that pity, which, to the injury of Justice, thy name and blood being mine, makes me afford thee. How canst thou love me if thou thinkest me capable even but to hear thy black design? Fly, fly to Burgos with thy perfidiousness, and there go act thy Tragedies. Go and deceive the Sister of the Brother thou hast slain.  D. Lewis. 
Ha! if ever—  Isab. 
Peace, peace, thou blackest of ill-spirits, or I will fill the House with exclamations.  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
Pray speak low; Don Ferdinand and the Son-in-law are upon the stairs, they may hear you. How shall we shift Don Lewis away, for Don John's man is in the next Chamber. I would he would show his extraordinary discretion and good mien some where else.  Isab. 
What shall we do?  D. Lewis. 
If I durst appear—  Isab. 
Keep your expedients, for your own use; 'tis I that am concerned now.  D. Lewis. 
If his angry Man—  Isab. 
Hold, Sir, he seems not one whose anger may be tamed with threatening. Bettris!  Bett. 
Madam, I tremble a●l over. What think you if I awhile conceal Don Lewis in your Chamber?  Isab. 
Dispose of him any where, provided he be far from my sight.  Belt. 
Madam, be froward than a while; and raise your voice, and call me bold, and impudent.  Isab. 
I understand you. Exeunt Don Lewis, Bettris. Isabel speaks loud.  
You say Don John is not handsome.  
What, he displeases you? you'll mend his making, I like him as he is.  
I would my Father heard you. Y'are insolent, be gone!  Enter D. Ferdinand, Tod. and D. John. Ferd. 
We hear you Daughter. You are angry.  Isab. 
'Tis only for a trifle which my Maid has lost.  Tod. 
Humph. This will not pass; for, though I'm stuffed in the head, yet I can blow my Nose as well as another to smell things out. No, no, I see I may make love long enough before you smicker at me. You may even keep your Portion, I shall find my Land in the old Place.  Isab. 
How, Sir, will you be gone?  Tod. 
When two or three have sufficiently forsworn themselves to you, than you'll tuck up your Petticoats and follow me to Alverad.  D. John. 
This dull Rogue, for fear he should not be unlucky enough to do me mischief, makes it up with inundations of folly.  Ferd. 
Son-in-law, methinks your behaviour is a little out of fashion, and, in plain terms, you want wisdom.  Tod. 
Father-in-law, this is but a trick of mine to try her love. I'll sound her heart though it lies as deep as her belly.  Ferd. 
Nay they are politic in your Province. But if my Daughter be thoroughly angered—  Tod. 
These are a kind of witty frumps of mine like selling of Bargains; I'll come off well enough. Let's walk into the Gallery.  D. Ferd. 
For fear this extraordinary Brute should find out his Sister, I'll leave him in the hands of his Mistress. Stay here a while, Sir, with my Daughter●. I must part from you one moment upon a pressing occasion. Exit. D. Ferd.  Tod. 
My dainty Dears your Father being gone, and here being none but Friends left, you may swear to me in private how much you love me. I'll say nothing to any body. I can keep decrets; for when I'm asked what a clock 'tis, I never tell for fear men should take me for a blab.  Isab. 
Sir, I'll deal freely with you. I was never in love till to day: I had formerly an aversion to it, disdain was all my passion. Believe me, Sir, the flame of love is only known to me since your arrival. But since my love can meet none equal to it, should it rejoice when it encounters yours? No, Sir, to the contrary; I'm in extreme pain to see you love me, and that I must likewise love.  Tod. 
Humph! if I had not a great deal of wit● I should hardly understand you.  Isab. 
Your passion equals not the price of mine,  
Though what is with you, and to you belongs.  
Is e'en all that which I do most adore,  
Yet in you is all that which I abhor.  Tod. 
Ha! what belongs to me, and is with me, you adore, and what is in me, you abhor. Lady to such dark say as these, the ancient Philosophers of Alverad make answer in a subtle question; which is, Riddle my Riddle what's this?  Isab. 
Sir, I must justify my meaning to you,  
You doubt my flame, but, Sir, I say again  
I lo●e that which is yours, and love it much.  
In seeing it I altogether see  
The object of my love, and then I burn and tremble,  
Burn with desire, and tremble with my fear.  
Y●u cause at once my joy and sorrow too,  
What evil can there be more strange and rare?  
Which when I hid I then almost declare.  
If I, to ease my pain, my mind reveal  
I danger bring to that which I would heal.  D. John. 
She has wit prevailing as her beauty, but 'tis mystical.  Tod. 
If men swear they are bewitched when they are in love, than I, being in love, may say you are a Witch, especial●y because you speak things as hard to be understood as Charms.  D. John 
O Love, why art thou born with the disease of jealousy. All curses meet upon Don Lewis.  Tod. 
You, my Serving man, come nearer and make love for me, and afterwards we'll do it by turns.  D. John. 
But Sir—  Tod. 
How Coxcomb! perhaps you would give me counsel. Am not I your Master? does any man know so much as you the love I bear her, and who then can better tell her of it? That's fine i'faith; belike I want understanding to direct what's fit to be done.  D. John. 
Madam, I must obey since I am commanded.  Tod. 
The Fellow is afraid! Madam, he wants a little breeding, yet I have been a Pattern to him above seven years.  Isab. 
Sure he has been an ill observer then.  Tod. 
Sirrah, I say advance! and court her handsomely, whilst I go to the Gate, and consult with the Porter how to scatter a little Gold amongst the Servants to show my bounty and make Friends.  Isab. 
How shall I then get Don Lewis out: curse on this Fool. Sir you must needs stay: for if th'Original be gone you'll have an ill account of the Copy: 'tis a hard thing to draw Love well.  Tod. 
If she should be now really in love with me, D. John courts her in whispers. than I were in a fine case. My Master wants no Cudgels; and I should be the most beaten Bridegroom that ever meddled with more than his match. Let me consider. Ha, Master Valet de Chambre. Have I put you there to do nothing. You talk in her ear, Sirrah, either speak out, or keep farther off.  D. John. 
Sir, I'm ashamed to speak loud, your Worship will but laugh at me.  Tod. 
No doubt of that. But I've a mind to laugh, for to say truth  
I am afraid of sighing. She's damnable handsome! aside.  D. John to Isabel aside. 
When Love's afraid, do not that fear despise;  
Flame trembles most when it doth highest rise;  
And yet my love may justly be disdained,  
Since you believe it from a Lover feigned.  
I am not here that which I ought to be,  
I serve, yet from all bonds but yours am free.  
Though Player-like I feign my Master's part,  
Yet real jealousy afflicts my heart.  
For whilst his feigned Rival I appear,  
I then another real Rival fear.  Isab. 
This language has more mystery than mine.  Tod. 
A real Rival. That's I, or Don Lewis. A pox o'these intoxicating Riddles; can any man stand still when charms make his head turn round? I'll hear no more of 'em. Avaunt Todelet! thou art a foolish Conjurer! Presto, be gone!  D. John. 
Is your Worship in earnest?  Tod. 
I've a thought in my head worth the weight of it in gold. Ha! now I have lost it. Sweet Nosegay of my Nose, when I remember you I always forget myself: or else 'tis that Baggage, Bettris, which transports me; for, to say truth, she runs in my mind too. My Servingman be gone.  D. John. 
I must obey you Sir.  Tod. 
you'd fain stay to sing loath to departed. Why when I say!—  D. John goes and stands close at the door. 
I will be left alone with my Mistress.  Isab. 
How, Sir, alone? What will the Servants say?  Tod. 
what can they say when I think fit to be private?  Isab. 
I'm sure Bettris will take notice of it.  Tod. 
That's true, for Bettris likes me so well, that if she see us making love it may cost her half her life. But that's all one, I love you only.  Isab. 
Yes and Bettris also.  Tod. 
Faith Lady I am free of making my best parts known. What, I have made you jealous of me? That's another of my Politic Love-tricks. I'm grown so subtle that the Devil will be afraid of me But let him shun me then: for take one time with another, he does me more hurt than good.  Isab. 
But, Sir, what mean you? why must we be alone?  Tod. 
to show my confidence: for let 'em say what they will, I dare trust myself with you. I have not seen the Balconee yet. Let's go take the Air.  Isab. 
There is no wind stirring.  D. John. 
What new fi●k of folly has entered into the Rascal's head? I must observe him.  Tod. 
Come along sweet heart.  Isab. 
You shall excuse me, Sir. I'll not stir from hence.  Tod. 
How, not stir? my Dear, you must know I'm very choleric—  Isab. 
What drawn by force? y'are insolent.  He offers to reach her hand. Tod. 
My Duck you are squeamish. Lord, what difference there is in People? you see I am not so—  Isab. 
Rude wretch forbear! were't not for that patience which is ordained me by my Father, I'd tear your eyes out with these hands.  Tod. 
With those hands? you'd please me more, if you would let me kiss 'em.  Isab. 
Sir, you are mad, and would make me so too. Is this the brutish Courtship of your Province? Exit.  D. John. 
O Villain! you would presume to kiss her hand.  D. John surprises him. Tod. 
'Tis a strange thing! to see how men may be mistaken.  
'Twas she, Sir, would presume to kiss mine.  D. John. 
Slave! you are in jest then, and you think I'm so too.  
I'll make you repent your impudence— D. John strikes him.  Tod. 
Sir, why Master, Pray Sir?  D. John. 
Pattern of Rogues! thou Gallows climber!  D. John kicks him. Tod. 
Nay pray, Sir, do not punish behind; all that I said to her, was face to face.  Enter Isabel. Isab. 
'Tis anger, and grows loud. Pray heaven they have not found the mischievous Don Lewis.  D. John. 
Dog! you may be glad that my respect to her presence stops my fury.  Tod. 
Now she's here, If I should strike him he dares not discover himself. Todelet assaults D. Jo●n.  
Ill teach you to speak ill of Isabel. Is she but reasonable handsome? Ha!—  Isab. 
Ah do not strike him Sir. Be not cruel to your Servant.  Tod. speaks low and fast to Don John. Tod. 
Sir, I must counterfeit your person to the life, you use to kick too. I have a great mind to give you a t●ste of my foot, that I may resemble you thoroughly.  D. John. 
Be less in earnest when you sergeant, or I'll cut your throat.  Isab. 
Rude man! what has he done to you?  Tod. 
These are choleric heats which pass away, Lady. If I should kick him I could not hurt him; he's all oak behind, mere Wanscote-board. We who have tender toes are ill provided for tough Bumms. D. John speaks softly to him again.  D. John. 
Sirrah! were not she here—  Tod. 
He sits too much on bare Benches and Joynt-stools. I must buy Cushions for him to make him softer.  Isab. 
But how has he deserved this usage?  Tod. 
He said your beauty could not kill a man a mile off.  Isab. 
Was that all, Sir? If he hates me, alas! he knows not yet he is ingrateful.  D. John. 
I can no longer defer it. I must discover myself—  Tod. 
Sirrah, begon. Expect nothing from me but a Cudgel to measure your bones. Lady, may I not strip him naked, and keep his clothes now I turn him away?  Isab. 
O no, Sir, If I have any credit with you, turn him not away.  D. John aside. 
Did ever Rogue use his Master thus, or Master so foolishly trust the discretion of his Man?  Tod. 
My Lily white Lamb! you are too merciful. I cannot stay near you upon such cowardly terms. I'll into the Garden a while. We men of metal use to walk a turn to cool our courage. Exit.  Isab. aside. 
I blush, and know not what to say. Is love  
A crime when it usurps a Monarch's power  
In giving dignity to that which it esteems?  
You were e'er while another person and to Don John.  
Did represent Don John; and then I spoke  
Some words which you might misinterpret to  
Be Love. But, you are now poor Todelet,  
And aught to alter your opinion of  
My passion since your person's changed.  D. John. 
Madam, if I had reason to believe  
That you esteemed Don John, I should grow weary of  
My being as I am, and represent again  
The person that I was.  Isab. 
Sure you esteem him much, since you can take  
Such pleasure in assuming of his Love.  D. John. 
Next my desire of Heaven I wish Don John.  
Made happy by your love with Hymen's rites.  Isab. 
I'll leave you till you learn to ask of heaven.  
A better destiny for me, that so I may  
Be taught to make an equal wish for you.  D. John. 
Her love does still grow darker, yet I see,  
By too much light my cause of Jealousy. Exit.  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
Don John, your Country-Lover, is gone into the Town to learn civility. He needs not stay long, for he may be taught it in the street by every Mule he meets.  Isab. 
Did you see him go out?  Bett. 
Madam, he is not found about the House; and I may now release Don Lewis from his confinement.  Isab. 
Be sure you do it presently; and then make haste to find me in the Garden. Exit.  Bett. 
I saw just now the weeping Lady. She's unluckily broke lose too. I would we were well rid of these foolish Lovers. Sure common understanding has left the World. Young people cannot meet privately but they must needs fall in love. Exit.  Enter Lucilla veiled. Lucill. 
'Tis strange Don Ferdinand should use me thus. Is this protection when he straight abandons me? He told me, he would return in a moment; and then (as if grown weary of civility, and of lending me his Chamber for shelter) he went perhaps to divert himself in the Town. I heard just now a noise like the confusion of a quarrel. This is an ill sign of my secure retreat. I must proceed in order to my safety; and yet I ought t'advertise them before I go. Sure this is Isabella's Chamber; the Door is open; I'll in, and take my leave of her. Enter D. Lewis  
Ha! I discern a man, and I can't avoid him.  D. Lewis. 
I hope my friend Bettris (whom I have bound to me w●th the strings of my Purse) does mean to make this Chamber my Lodging. O dear Isabel! whither would you run so fast?  He spies Lucilla veiled. 
How, will you not vouchsafe to hear me? Alas! allow me but one word. You have reproached my love as ctiminal; thinking some other Beauty has possessed my heart. Have I not sworn, that she who does pretend to it had but the promises of my pity? and since I saw her at Burgos, I never did retain her in my thought?  Lucill. 
O heavens! I have not patience to hear more. She opens her Veil. False man! behold her now: For I am she who too much has loved thee, and whom thou never lov'dst. She, whose fatal and unexperienced heart too soon believed thy many Oaths. She, who does hate thee now, and will proclaim thy perjuries. She, whom thou called'st thy Soul and Queen, is now without a Brother, without her honour, and is less provided for than Birds blown off to Sea by Tempests.  D. Lewis. 
Hear me but speak!  Lucill. 
No Traitor, no. Thy former perjuries have stopped my ears so much that I can hear no more. Help ho! help!  D. Lewis. 
Ah, Madam, give me then leave to swear, and you shall soon be satisfied.  Lucill. 
Soul without faith! Canst thou again expect belief? Help ho! help!  Enter Don John. D. John. 
This grief is loud, and 'tis a woman's voice.  Lucill. 
O heavens! whom do I see?  D. John. 
Ha! Is not that my Sister?  Lucilla aside. 
I call for help, and Heaven has sent destruction in a Brother.  D. John aside. 
My eyes cannot mistake. She is my Sister;  
And th'other is the object of my jealousy.  
I have enough of anger for 'em both.  D. Lewis. 
He carries mischief in his Eyes, but seems  
In doubt, on which of us he should direct it first.  D. John aside. 
I am too certain of my Sister's crime,  
But have not such sufficient proofs as may  
Allow my jealousy just leave to be  
Revenged on him; I'll then begin with her. O thou  
Unhappy, wicked woman!—  Lucill. 
If I am wicked think me then  
More fit to have some time for prayer.  D. Lewis. 
Hold! hold! I'll undertake her quarrel,  
Though with that voice which brought thee hither she  
Was calling for revenge on me. But tell  
Me by what title thou pretendest to have  
Authority to punish her?  D. John. 
I ought to do it.  D. Lewis. 
That's insolence. A●t thou not a Servant?  
D. John's my Master, and his honour's mine.  Lucilla aside. 
My ruin was prepared by some design.  
Else wherefore should my Brother hid himself  
In this disguise?  D. Lewis. 
Shall I endure to be affronted twice by him  
Who serves my equal?— Lucilla endeavours to go out.  D. John. 
Ha! Are you going? stay! who brought you to  
This House? and wherefore did you call for help?  Lucilla. 
You shall know all. I entered in this Chamber to see Isabel, where I found this man; but cannot tell for what intent he there did hid himself. I than cried out at the surprise, and tremble still—  D. John. 
Enough! My jealousy is apt to credit his offence.  
I'll shut the Door— Goes backward and shuts the Dore.  Lucilla. 
My fear will kill me to prevent your cruelty.  D. John. 
Don Lewis I shall give you cause to show your valour—  D. Lewis. 
I think it honoured when 'tis used in her defence, but it deserves a nobler trial than your hand can make—  Lucill. 
Oh fatal hour! how many deaths shall I endure?  
My perjured Lover is yet kind when he  
Does strive to rescue me. a noise of knocking within.  D. Lewis. 
The People of the House will force the Dore.  D. John. 
No matter, Sir. Let us dispatch—  D. Ferd. within. 
Let's force our passage, and break through.  Lucilla. 
I'm counselled both by fear and love to open it.  D. John speaks low to Lucilla. 
Stir not to let them in; for if by thee I am discovered—  Enter Don Ferdinand and Isabel. Lucilla. 
Ah! Don Ferdinand! call all your Servants to your aid.  D. Ferd. 
Proceed not in your fury, for by death  
I swear, that he who does not sheathe his sword,  
Engages me against him. Oh what strange  
Unlucky wonders meet to day t'amaze  
And ruin me? Nephew, who put you here?  
Ah! Lucilla, who discovered you? And you, speaks to D. John.  
What Devil urges you? who since you came into  
My House have spent no minute but in quarrels.  D. Lewis. 
Hear me, and you shall straight know all.  D. John. 
No, let me speak! for I can better tell  
It, Sir, than he. But I must first demand  
If Lucilla did not in your House conceal herself?  
And likewise if Don Lewis be not your near Kinsman?  D. Ferd. 
The one and th'other too is true.  D. John. 
And is't not reason that a Servant, Sir,  
Should own an interest in his Master's honour?  D. Ferd. 
That cannot be denied.  D. John. 
Then, Sir, observe if I am wronged.  
I entered here, urged by Lucilla's cries.  
She found (as I believe, by accident)  
Don Lewis in this Chamber where your Daughter lodges.  
I in Lucilla saw the signs of a surprise.  
'Tis evident to reason that he was hidden here all day;  
For I have so observed all passage to the street  
That it was hard for him to scape my Eyes.  D. Lewis aside. 
This reasoning does appear too much refined,  
For one of his course quality.  D. John. 
My Master (who is to marry Isabel,  
And is Brother to Lucilla) must be offended  
For his Mistress or his Sister: and it  
Is likely he is wronged in both. My duty  
Therefore is to finish my Revenge upon Don Lewis:  D. Lewis. 
You are a man of rare dispatch, who are  
So sure to finish that which is not yet begun.—  D. Ferd. 
Don Lewis, stay! Art thou mad? Stay Todelet! I prithee hold! This is the most perplexed encounter that I ever saw.  Isab. 
He certainly is jealous for his Master.  
Ah Todelet! let me entreat you to retire.  D. John. 
Madam, for your sake I will prescribe the means how To defer this quarrel; which is, that each engage his promise to me. You, Don Ferdinand, to render Lucilla in her Brother's power when he requires it. And you, Don Lewis, to make a trial of your valour with Don John when he invites you to the Field.  D. Lewis. 
I cannot without some torment, make promises of honour to one of thy low condition.  D. John. 
Don John, Sir, is no more a man than I am.  
But if he fails to call you suddenly  
T'accompt, than you shall know whether I'm now,  
Or may be made hereafter, fit to entertain your sword.  D. Ferd. 
Enough we promise that which you desire  
Nay, Nephew, you are wont to yield to my Authority.  D. Lewis. 
Well, Sir; your pleasure is my Law; and here I give my promise.  D. John. 
And I mine, that Don John shall justify this quarrel.  D. Lewis. 
Nothing does then remain but that I seek  
Your Master out to morrow.  D. John. 
Your journey, Sir, will not be fare to find him.  D. Ferd. 
I'll be the foremost in the search.  D. John. 
You'll give me leave to follow you.  D. Ferd. 
That will be needful, and without delay.  Isab. 
This man is brave and loyal where he serves.  
All is perplexed. O Love lend me thy Clue  
To lead me safe through this dark Labyrinth.  Lucilla. 
Don Lewis now, does, after cruelty,  
Show some remorse in my defence; and I  
Am apt to think him penitent. But death  
Will soon a period give to Love and Fear.  D. Ferd. 
To morrow early is th'appointed time to seek D. John.  
Night now has drawn her Curtains close. Let me  
Conduct you to your several Beds, where sleep  
May quench that fire which makes your anger rash.  D. John. 
My precious rogue stole out to shun a quarrel.  
His fear does ever make him sick, and I  
Shall find him drunk, for that's his constant cure. Exeunt.  Enter Stephano, Sancho. A Table spread with Linen, Trenchers and Spoons are set out, and five Chairs. Steph. 
This Room standing in the Garden, at distance from the House, seems built for our purpose. Our happy hour is near. Dear Signior Sancho, shall we be merry?  Sancho. 
As Maids?  Steph. 
Is there any Creature, except Man, that has the wit to be merry at Midnight?  Sancho. 
The Owl.  Steph. 
Y'are in the right. But what shall we have to make us rejoice besides a Sack-Posset?  Sancho. 
Fiddles.  Steph. 
Your words are seldom many, but always pithy. Hark! there's something stirring behind the Hanging.  Sancho. 
A Rat.  Steph. 
If it be a Rat, than it has shoes on, for it treads hard, I rather fear 'tis the old Rat catcher your Master, that has caught us here in a Trap. Who's there?  Tod within speaks low. 
A Friend.  Steph. 
'Tis a Man's voice, but he speaks so low, that he seems more afraid than we are. Who is it?  Tod. within. 
'Tis I.  Steph. 
That were some answer to the question, if we knew him that made it.  Tod. within. 
Who are you?  Steph. 
To testify that our being here is not for any harm you may know that we—  Sancho. 
Are we.  Steph. 
Well said Signior Sancho; that's a valuable return of intelligence from us for what he gave of himself.  Tod. 
Nay, if you name Signior Sancho. Enter Todelet.  
Don John may appear.  Steph. aside to Sancho. 
Our sport is prevented. We may e'en hang up our Fiddles and ourselves by 'em. Who sent him hither?  Sancho. 
The Devil.  Steph. 
Pray, Sir, what occasion brought you behind the Hanging?  Tod. 
I was led thither by Conscience.  Steph. 
Conscience is a good Guide, Sir.  Tod. 
Don Ferdinand's house is so full of quarrels as makes it very wearisome to one that has been already too much tired in the Field with wicked entertainments of honour.  Steph. 
Sir, you show both your valour and your reason.  Tod. 
My Man Todelet is honest: but the Cuttlers' of Toledo are not able to make swords enough to furnish his Duels.  Steph. 
Say you so, Sir?  Tod. 
If the old Roarer, Satan, were young again, my Man were fit to serve him.  Steph. aside to Sancho. 
The Man of blood which he mentions is your Guest to night, Signior Sancho, but not fit to be treated with a tame Sack-Posset. What shall we provide for him?  Sancho. 
Raw Puddings.  Tod. 
Friends, to deal entirely with you, I stole hither to hid myself partly out of Conscience, but more out of discretion: for 'tis not fit a Gentleman of my Possessions, and near marriage, should upon every peevish humour of his Servant venture his Estate and Body—  Sancho. 
Politic.  Steph. 
But, Sir, Your Man is coming hither. We expect him in a moment.  Tod. 
I'll not see him till his foolish quarrels are ended.  Steph. 
Then, Sir, you must please to retire again behind the Hanging.  Tod. 
Agreed. My Friends, no words where I am.  Steph. 
Fie, no, Sir. But we shall stay here long. I hope you can have patience.  Tod. 
Lord Friends, you do not yet understand my disposition, for 'tis my patience which makes me steal from quarrels.  Steph. 
You must be as little heard as seen. I hope you are not troubled with a Cold, nor apt to fall asleep?  Tod. 
What mean you?  Steph. 
Why, Sir, I would not have you cough.  Sancho. 
Nor snore.  Tod. 
Friends, I say again you know me not thoroughly. Tell not me of snoring: I dare snore with any man in Spain, and (hap what hap may) I'll venture again behind the Hanging to hid myself.  Steph. 
Nay, Sir, we know you are valiant.  Sancho. 
And wise. Exit Todelet.  Enter Betteris, Laura. Bett. 
Sancho, our entertainment is provided, are your stomaches ready?  Sancho. 
They are.  Laura. 
Then help to bring it to the Table. Enter Don John.  Sancho. 
In state. Exit and brings in a great Basin with a Posset.  Bett. 
Signior Todelet you make good your promise, for yo● come in the very nick.  Sancho. 
In Posset time.  Enter two young Women who assist in the Dance. D. John. 
Who are these?  Bett. 
Two young married Neighbours that longed for Sack-Posset.  D. John. 
Are your Ladies asleep!  Bett. 
They went to bed as early as Brides, and I hope will lie as long as Bridegrooms.  D. John. 
Then the Maids may be as merry as the Men.  Steph. 
And encounter a whole Pail of Posset.  Enter Todelet. Tod. 
I'll meet as many quarrels as there be Drunkards in Dutchland rather than miss a Sack-Posset.  D. John. 
Ha! how comes he here?  Bett. 
Beshrew your heart Signior Don John for starting forth so suddenly. 'Tis well we we●e all awake.  Laura. 
If we had not been used to meet men in the dark it might have frighted us.  Tod. 
Ladies, without sans ceremony, I'll sit down first.  Sancho. 
And I.  D. John whispers Todelet. 
Villain be gone to my Chamber; you'll still discover your course breeding.  Tod. 
Prithee forbear thy good manners to thy Master, sit down, sit down; I say sit down. There are seasons when Masters may be familiar with their Men.  D. John whispers Todelet. 
Sirrah, I'll cut your throat.  Tod. whispers D John. 
I had rather you should cut my throat than cousin my belly.  D. John. 
Villain, hast thou the impudence to stay?  Tod. 
Lord what ado here is with civilities out of season: once more I charge thee to sit down, and I give thee leave to be familiar.  D. John. 
Rogue! to morrow will come.  Todelet. 
Still over-mannerly! Ladies pray take your spoons. This Coxcomb my Man is so troublesome with his untimely respects.  D. John. 
You will not stir then?  Tod. 
Prithee put thy hat on. Ladies, when I am at home and a little in drink, I often sit with my servants.  D. John. 
Ladies and Gentlemen, having my Masters leave I will presume on yours.  Sancho. 
You may.  Tod. 
I suppose the Posset is very hot, but Coragio is the word. 'Tis but the spoiling of a few good teeth. I'll venture at it.  Sancho. 
And I.  Tod. 
Hold, I will first taste— 'Tis as hot as if they had strewed it with parched Pepper instead of Cinnamon. He sputters as if his mouth were burnt.  Sancho. 
Stay! stay!  Bett. 
Why Signior Sancho?  Sancho. 
Stir it— They all stir and then eat together.  Tod. 
Ladies you eat too fast.  D. John rises and whispers Todelet again. D. John. 
Dog! Show more civility, and do not disgrace the person whom you sergeant.  Tod. 
I tell thee 'twill not make me sick. I have been used to abundance of Posset. This good natured Fool takes such care of my health.  Bett. 
Signior Todelet pray sit down again and take care of your own health; Possets are very wholesome.  Laura. 
Pray do, Sir, The Cinnamon is good against wind.  Steph. 
Mistress Bettris, here's to your good health, and to yours Mistress Laura.  Sancho. 
To both. Sancho slabbers his Beard.  Tod 
Signior Sancho, that sponge your Beard, soaks up too much of the Posset.  Sancho. 
It doth.  Tod. 
I only civility suppose it doth.  Sancho. 
All stay—  He takes a huge knife out of his Pocket, scrapes the Posset off from his Beard and then eats it. Tod. 
Who will pledge the Founder's health?  D. John. 
Let it come. I am your Man.  Tod. 
You are so; but a very saucy one: you use to talk and give counsel over your liquor.  D. John. 
Your Noble Worship may say your pleasure. I know you love men that ply their Posset.  Tod. 
I am for men of few words. Let such a one answer to Masaquedit. Here's the Founder's health.  Sancho. 
Tope.  D. John. 
Signior Sancho, you made a promise of Fiddles. I pray forbear your spoon while that you may call for 'em.  Sancho 
I shall.  Laura. 
Servant I pray do.  Tod. 
Signior Sancho, let us have fair play. Did you invite your Beard to half the Posset?  Sancho. 
Few words are best.  Steph. 
In what sense Signior Sancho?  Sancho. 
In Posset.  D. John. 
Come, Sir, dispatch; for brevity is as convenient in Posset as it is in Speech. I'll give you a Song if you will call for Music.  Sancho. 
Firk your Fiddles.  

The SONG in Recitativo and in Parts.  D. John. 
THe Bread is all baked,  
The Embers are raked;  
'Tis Midnight now by Chanticlears first crowing.  
Let's kindly carouse  
Whilst ' top of the House  
The Cats fall out in the heat of their wooing.  
Time, whilst the Hourglass does run out,  
This flowing Glass shall go about.  
Stay, stay, the Nurse is waked, the Child does cry,  
No Song so ancient is as Lulla-by.  
The Cradle's rocked, the Child is hushed again,  
Then hay for the Maids, and ho for the Men.  
Now every one advance his Glass;  
Then all at once together clash,  
Experienced Lovers know  
This clashing does but show,  
That as in Music so in Love must be  
Some discord to make up a harmony.  
Sing; sing! When Crickets sing why should not we?  
The Crickets were merry before us;  
They sung us thanks e'er we made them a fire.  
They taught us to sing in a Chorus:  
The Chimney is their Church, the Ov'n their Quire.  
Once more the Cock cries Cock-a-doodle-dooe.  
The Owl cries o'er the Barn, to-whit-to-whooe!  
Benighted Travellers now lose their way  
Whom Will-of-the-wisp bewitches:  
About and about he leads them astray  
Through Boggs, through Hedges and Ditches.  
Hark! hark! the Cloister Bell is rung!  
Alas! the Midnight Dirge is sung.  
Let 'em ring,  
Let 'em sing,  
Whilst we spend the Night in love and in laughter.  
When Night is gone  
O then too soon.  
The discords, and cares of the Day come after.  
Come Boys! a health, a health, a double health  
To those who scape from care by shunning wealth.  
Dispatch it away  
Before it be day.  
'Twill quickly grow early when it is late:  
A health to thee,  
To him, to me,  
To all who Beauty love and Business hate.   Tod. 
Well, my Man were an incomparable Varlet if he would forbear to give me counsel in whispers. Todelet.  D. John. 
Sir.  Tod. 
Led 'em a Dance. I'll have a Dance.  D. John. 
My feet are at your service, Sir.  Whispers Todelet. 
As you shall feel to morrow by a score of kicks which I reserve for you.  Tod. 
Hark, he's giving me counsel again. I say lead 'em a Dance.  The DANCE. Which being ended a Bell rings within. Bett. 
My Ladies little Dog has waked her. Alas! now the sweet of the Night is coming we must all part.  D. John. whispers Tod. 
Sirrah, follow me to my Chamber.  Exeunt all several ways but Todelet. Tod. 
Not to night good Signior Don John.  
I'll sooner follow a D●um that beats for Volunteers to the North of Norway. The back door of the Garden is only bolted within. I'll steal forth, and to morrow when sleep has made him tamer I'll return.  
I'll rather feed with Fiends on Brimstone-Broth  
Than eat Sack Posset with a man of wrath. Exit.   

ACT. FOUR  Enter Laura, Stephano. Laura. 
YOu are very inquisitive.  Steph. 
And you are very secret.  Laura. 
Do you intent me that as commendation?  Steph. 
Yes, and yet I do not thank you for it.  Laura. 
You may take your praise back again, for I will not be commended for keeping that secret which I do not know.  Steph. 
Can you be ignorant of the Lady whom you serve?  Laura. 
I told you I had not served her above three days. But still you are inquisitive and why I pray?  Steph. 
The endeavour of knowing things shows diligence of the Mind, and you should praise me for it.  Laura. 
Those may praise Spies who employ 'em.  Steph. 
You take me then for a Spy?  Laura. 
So impertinent a Spy that I wonder you do not walk with a dark Lantern when the Sun shines.  Steph. 
What to seek chaste women as Diogenes sought honest men. Come, I confess you have wit.  Laura. 
I thank you, Sir.  Steph. 
I would you would thank me for being in love with your beauty.  Laura. 
Love! Is that Fooles-Bauble in fashion still?  Steph. 
'Tis the only fashion which never changes.  Laura. 
Mistress Bettris will hardly believe you.  Steph. 
No, she believes in nothing but Marriage.  Latra. 
O, cry you mercy, for indeed Marriage is grown as dangerous as love is foolish.  Enter Sancho. Steph. 
I'll retire to make that Coxcomb jealous. Exit Steph.  Sancho. 
How! hah!  Laura. 
O Signior Sancho, 'tis well you are come.  Sancho. 
Too well.  Laura. 
Your Friend Stephano would fain be your Rival, but you are the man for whom I mean to sigh.  Sancho. 
Yes, much!  Laura. 
I'll lay my life you are jealous.  Sancho. 
Who, I?  Laura. 
Pray come from behind your Beard and show your bare face if you are angry.  Sancho. 
I am.  Laura. 
If you are, I can endure it.  Sancho. 
You can?  Laura. 
Yes.  Sanc. 
Who cares?  Laura. 
You do.  Sancho. 
Not this— Makes a sign of disdain with his thumb at his teeth.  Laura. 
'Tis well.  Sancho. 
'Tis ill.  Laura. 
'Tis not.  Sancho. 
You lie.  Laura. 
hay day!  Sancho. 
hay too!  Laura. 
Farewell.—  Sancho. 
Go.— Exit Sancho,  Enter Stephano, Bettris. Steph. 
How now Mistress Laura?  Laura, 
This Steward, though he be exceeding dull, is very sharp at repartees.  Bett. 
Why, what has he said?  Laura. 
He gave me the .  Steph. 
'Tis impossible.  Lau. 
If he did not I'm an E'vnuch.  Steph. 
None but a E'vnuch would have done't.  Laura. 
Don Ferdinand has been gallant in his youth: he shall repair my honour.  
I'll tell him how often this Tarquin-Steward would have kissed me by force.  Steph. 
Kiss you! fie, that's a paw-word.  Bett. 
No, no, he's a cleanly man, and would only have brushed your lips with his Beard.  Laura. 
May be so, for they grow somewhat dusty for want of use.  Bett. 
Don Ferdinand shall not wake his sleeping sword in this quarrel; t●ust me for your revenge.  Laura. 
Why, what will you do?  Bett. 
I'll render Sancho up to your correction, and he shall be then as blind as Cupid.  Steph. 
But how?  Bett. 
He shall feel our persecution and not see it.  Laura. 
You have some design, but 'tis very dark.  Bett. 
You know the Ladies and our Masters are lately much retired with thoughtful entanglements of love and anger: which will give me opportunity to invite solemn Sancho this Evening to our Room of Revels in the Garden.  Laura. 
Well, what then?  Bett. 
You likewise know, he passionately loves a Sack-Posset.  Steph. 
Most longingly.  Bett. 
Then you apprehend my Bait; but instead of that for his entertainment he shall entertain us with sport sufficiently ridiculous, though it be more out of fashion than himself or a Morris.  Laura. 
I long to see it but—  Bett. 
No more questions. Let's presently go in and consult.  Exeunt. Enter Isabel, Lucilla. Isabel. 
You must not think of your escape from hence.  Lucilla. 
Whilst you are civil you are cruel too.  
Fair Isabel, let me take my leave.  Isab. 
My Father is not easily deceived;  
Whilst you attempt it you deceive yourself.  
Your reconcilement with your Brother may  
Seem difficult at first, but if you doubt  
My Father's skill to govern him, you must  
Depend on Heaven, and then you must have faith;  
Which out of Temples we call Courage.  Lucilla. 
Nothing but death can quench my Brother's wrath,  
Pray free yourself from the unfortunate;  
These Tears agree not with your Nuptial joys;  
And let me tell you (what you soon will find)  
Don John is nothing less than what he seems.  Isab. 
I saw him in the Garden but just now, and my Maid  
Walking towards him. Go hid yourself.  
Pass through the Gallery up the Tartas-stairs into my Closet, where  
I will meet you straight. I will awhile conceal myself in some close  
Arbour to observe him and Bettris together. Exeunt.  Enter Don Lewis, Stephano. D. Lewis. 
Some heavenly power contrives these accidents; they have a secret Method in them, and more than Fortune makes me still unhappy.  Steph. 
I am amazed that you by chance should court her whom you forsook, and meet the Mistress here from whom you fled so many Miles.  D. Lewis. 
Hast thou discoursed with her Maid?  Steph. 
Yes, but she is newly come into her service, and is either a stranger to her Lady's designs, or else so secret that no man but a Husband can see her bosom bare.  D. Lewis. 
Heaven takes Lucilla's part against me, for I have done her wrong.  Steph. 
O, have you so? you Lovers are very diligent Spies and bold, but very incredulous; you always are scouting abroad, yet never see or believe mischief till you feel it.  D. Lewis. 
I think she loves me and with true passion.  Steph. 
But you love another, and that's a rare remedy for her disease.  D. Lewis. 
I am perplexed beyond the help of reason. I know there are Laws against irregular Love, but Nature never made 'em. I would thou wert valiant.  Steph. 
So would not I. I'm content to have no holes in my skin rather than pay a Surgeon to sow 'em up.  D. Lewis. 
Well, however I would thou hadst courage.  Steph. 
Then I should be an Ass in spite of my understanding, and fight for Fame, the Fool's Mistress.  D. Lewis. 
Don John's man is saucily insolent, and his condition is below the revenge of my sword; but if thou hadst courage to undertake him—  Steph. 
Sir, I never questioned my own courage, and I wish no man may, for I, and others too may be mistaken.  D. Lewis. 
I am going now where I shall meet D. Ferdinand, who will bring me an account of Don John.  Steph. 
Sir, I told you my infirmity when you first received me under your Roof. I'll serve you faithfully, but I must obey the King, who does enjoin peace amongst his Subjects.  D. Lewis. 
Well, though thou hast no courage, yet I am satisfied with thy diligence. I stole hither chief to make thee increase thy acquaintance with Laura, Lucilla's Maid: and whatsoever shall succeed upon this engagement of my honour, be sure to endeavour that she may give good impressions of me to her Mistress.  Steph. 
This, Sir, is a work of peace, and I dare go through with it; but as for matters of strife if you would take my advice—  D. Lewis. 
No more words. I'll take no counsel from men that are afraid.  Steph. 
Well, Sir, Fortune be your Friend. But I humbly conceive that men of discretion seldom depend upon her courtesy.  Exeunt several ways. Enter Jodelet and Bettris. Bett. 
I will assure you, Sir, you have been sought, and for my part, I was so concerned in your absence that I offered to employ the Town-Cryer.  Jod. 
It had been to no purpose, for that public voice cannot be heard. Alas, he's grown hoarse with crying for lost Maidenheads.  Bett. 
Sir, you are sometimes merry, but always wise.  Jod. 
Alas! not I! yet it seems I am of some importance, since I have been so much sought. But who were the searchers?  Bett. 
Your Father-in-law, and Don Lewis. Your Ma● too was so sad, as if he had not only lost his Master, but his wages.  Jod. 
I own him nothing but a Cudgel for being so saucy as to miss me without my order. May not a Master steal out to seek a Mistress unless he ask leave of his Man?  Bett. 
But where were you, Sir.  Jod. 
I was invited by a Friend to a dish of stewed Tripes with Garlic. What Key is that?  Bett. 
It belongs to your Camber. Don Ferdinand has appointed you another lodging near the Garden.  Jod. 
I had rather it had been near the Kitchin. I esteem his Cook above his Gardener. The steam of Beef to me, who am not overcurious, is better than the odour of violets. But why am I removed?  Bett. 
The old Gentleman is afraid of scandal. And, to say truth, it might do some harm to you (I mean to your modest reputation) if, before the Marriage Night, you should be lodged too near his Daughter.  Jod. 
Nay, let her look to that; I care not what People say, when I am innocent. But, dear Bettris, thou dost not know how much I love thee.  Bett. 
How should I know it? you take me to be old; I'm none of those who pretend to knowledge.  Tod. 
I ever loved one of thy complexion; ever: and since I saw thee first I have been as hot as any Pepper.  Bett. 
Why truly Sir (though I blush when I say it) I ever loved all the Don john's in the world; and when you first came hither my foolish heart— but I'll say no more.  Jod. 
Nay we must be secret: for if the least notice be taken of it, I shall straight have flushings in my face; and blush like a rose.  Bett. 
I'm sure you make me hid mine. I pray stand farther off.  Tod. 
Poor little Fool. Well, innocence is a strange thing; it makes us strange to one another, but a little of that which ancient People call wickedness will make us familiar. I prithee show me the way down to my Chamber.  Bett. sighing. 
hay down a down! in troth y'are an odd man. You make me sigh e'en when I sing. Here take the Key: I'll be gone.  Jod. 
Pretty Thief! I could find in my heart to weep when I think thou wilt be hanged for stealing men's hearts. Dear slut— I am Maudlin-kind, would I had one of thy Hoods to cover my face; I shall be so ashamed if I'm seen thus whining for thee. But 'tis no matter; go, lead the way to my Chamber. I'll sneak after thee.  Bett. 
You must follow me apace then; for I'm a very light Huswife. She runs away.  Jod. 
The Bunting is flown. Now I could e'en weep indeed. I must for very shame overtake her. Isabel starts from the door and surprises him.  Isab. 
Stay, Don John! what, are you coursing my Maid?  Jod. 
We are only at children's play. Are you so old that you have forgot it? 'Tis hide-and-seek, and when Maids run away, than the Boys make haste to catch 'em.  Isab. 
Is't nothing else? But however, I did not think you had been so wanton.  Jod. 
The tricks of youth are left when we grow old.  Isab. 
But you'll beget an ill opinion of your Chastity; and give me cause to doubt your affection.  Jod. 
Our future Spouse, you may go spin! Madam-Nature is a greater Lady than you, and I was always her humble servant; and those who speak against it may stop their mouths with a Fig.  Isab. 
It seems you are displeased. I'll leave you, Sir.  Jod. 
Most wise Lady, and also most beautiful, you cannot do better.  Isab. 
I'll take your opinion. Far you well, Sir. Exit.  Jod. 
Humph! Are you so proud because of your portion: this is only her want of breeding. Methinks I counterfeit a Don John rarely; for Husbands of quality must be sometime discontented with their Wives, and often pleased with their Maids.  Enter Don Ferdinand. D. Ferd. 
Don John, I am glad (after some affection and care in seeking you) that you are not lost.  Jod. 
Most careful Sir, I also am glad, and for the seekers' sake, because the loss would be his. I think that was spoken again like a Don John. But what are your commands?  Ferd. 
Have you heard nothing of your Man Jodelet? nothing from any of his acquaintance?  Jod. 
I use not to converse with my Man's Companions.  Ferd. 
But something, Sir, will be proposed to you, which in a season before Marriage, may be, perhaps, a little unpleasant.  Jod. 
How? what is it?  Ferd. 
You must absolutely; but, Sir, excuse me, for I speak with some regret.—  Jod. 
What, must I, Sir? Pray speak the worst, and let it out for your own ease, if you are troubled with keeping it in.  Ferd. 
You are invited to the Field; and it imports you much.  Jod. 
Is that all? A turn or Two in the Field is wholesome after a full stomach.  Ferd. 
But, Sir, it is to fight.  Jod. 
That may import me much indeed. I do not like the phrase of being invited to the Field to be killed. Men are very simple when they go into a Grave to take the Air.  Ferd. 
It is the fashion, Sir, and men of honour have allowed it.  Jod. 
The fashion? But, Sir, if, without resistance, I am contented to go peaceably into the Field, why should any man who meets me there be angry? especially when, perhaps, his being pleased would at that time better agree with my disposition?  Ferd. 
I know not what you mean.  Jod. 
I am sorry for't: I held you to be an old Gentleman of a long understanding: but to speak plainly, why should a man take the pains to walk a mile to meet another who is of a different humour?  Ferd. 
Have you been bred to ask that question?  Jod. 
Don Ferdinand, you seem sometimes not very wise. I doubt that in your youth  been inclined to this foolish way of invitations to the Field, and have been hurt in the head. I say your reason at present is not exceeding sound.  Ferd. 
Come, Courage Don John; and first let me know, why you infer I am not wise?  Jod. 
Because you come to tell me of a quarrel which I knew not, nor perhaps did not desire to know.  Ferd. 
Sir, in this I have done my duty, and you'll do well t'acquit yourself of yours, without being served by the valour of another. To day you ought t'encounter him who killed your Brother. And I am sorry, Sir, to tell you, that he killed him in the night.  Jod. 
Hay! was it at night?  Ferd. 
I, Sir, at night.  Jod. 
Then for my part, let the Devil fight with his own match; for if he be able to kill a man without seeing him, he will be sure to kill me when he sees me.  Ferd. 
This sounds strangely.  Jod. 
Besides, Sir, this dangerous Enemy fights by advantage, for having found the way how to kill one of my kindred, he knows by that, the fashion how to kill me.  Ferd. 
Sir, you ought to consider—  Jod. 
Sir, I have well considered it, and must tell you, as a great secret, that all the family of the Alverads do ever fight one and the same way.  Ferd. 
Don John! do you think that you have courage?  Jod. 
A plague on it; I have but too much. Alas, 'tis not for that, Sir, do not ask me whether I have courage, but rather tell me where he lives? Is't far from hence? Must I stay for him? or do you know his Lodging? Or may I inquire it out? and, in the mean time, tell me but his name.  Ferd. 
It is Don Lewis de Rochas.  Jod. 
A pox on him. I knew he would scape my hand. Don Lewis de Rochas? why that's your Nephew. Sir, you must know I reverence all men of your name.  Ferd. 
I partly thank you, Sir.  Jod. 
Any man of the Family of the Rochas is so considerable to me that I will lay my head at his feet. And particularly, as for Don Lewis, if you please, I am very well pleased to love him.  Ferd. 
But, Sir, I have not told you all; for he has done a second injury, which should more provoke you to revenge. Your Sister has too much reason to complain of him.  Jod. 
Sir, as for my Sister, truly he may be ashamed to wrong her; but I have made a vow, and the Ladies must pardon me for it—  Ferd. 
What was your vow?  Jod. 
Never to draw my sword in a Woman's quarrel.  Ferd. 
Sir, I am much deceived if you are not a Coward.  Jod. 
Ah Father-in-law! if that could possibly be, yet your discretion should not meddle in nice things, which (by the care I ought to take) should never concern you.  Ferd. 
But you shall know that it concerns me much.  Jod. 
Bless me! what a strange Father-in-law would you be? Has the Devil sent you hither to tempt me? not only to homicide, but also to kill my new alliance, your Nephew; nay and before consummation, which, for aught I know, may likewise kill your Daughter.  Ferd. 
I would thou wert valiant but one minute, that, without loss of my honour, I might kill thee before thou growest a Coward again.  Jod. 
O fie, Don Ferdinand, I have found your disposition; you would fain be too cruel; but I'm resolved to be merciful; and will not tell you how valiant I am.  Ferd. 
But I am now resolved to tell you, that your man has given his word to fight for you.  Jod. 
His word? The jealous Coxcomb needs not keep it; for I did never doubt his courage.  Ferd. 
Is that all?  Jod. 
Why then, Sir, if he will needs fight for me, let him know I shall not be jealous that my own valour is less than his.  Ferd. 
And yet you will not fight, either for your Brother or your Sister.  Jod. 
A man must be in humour when he fights, and let me die like a Dog (which I would not say falsely to get the whole world) if, to my remembrance, I ever had a less disposition to fight than now. Mistake me not, I speak but according to my remembrance.  Ferd. 
Well, I thought you valiant, but I am cozened.  Jod. 
Sir, I confess I have taken too much pleasure in deceiving the world, for I have cozened many who thought me valiant, and many who thought me a Coward.  Ferd. 
You have given yourself a rare recreation.  Jod. 
But, Sir, let's leave the pleasant part of our discourse, and be a little serious.  Ferd. 
Do so, but with as much brevity as you can.  Jod. 
I pray tell me, Sir, Suppose that with a Sahagun, or with a Rapier of Toledo, I were pierced like a Cullender, or suppose that with a Syrian Scemiter, or a Backsword-blade of Houndslough, I were minced into a Py; how would my Brother, or my Sister be the better for it?  Fer●. 
Well, for your Father's sake my ancient Friend, I'll leave you whole, without being either pierced or minced.  Jod. 
For his sake, Sir, I will with patience endure your courtesy.  Ferd. 
You shall do well in doing so; but for my own sake, you must, instead of my Daughter, seek another Wife in Madrid.  Jod. 
What, you would have a Cid to your Son-in-law, that should kill you first, then marry Chimena?  Ferd. 
Expect nothing from me but scorn and hatred. O incomparable Coward!  Jod. 
I am (O Don Ferdinand!) despite of your cruelty, and of your black Teeth, your most humble and most faithful Servant; and I am as much, or more, to the Lady Isabel.  Ferd. 
I am not yours; and when you are out of my house (which must be suddenly, and without noise) I shall do myself the dishonour to force you to another kind of account.  Enter D. John. D. John. 
Don Ferdinand! I pray, Sir, what puts you into choler?  Ferd. 
My ill choice of a cursed Son-in-law.  Jod. 
Don Ferdinand, I'll be gone, that you may speak better of a Friend behind his back. Exit.  Ferd. 
Let him go Jodelet. He disavows you in all, and has told me plainly, he was not of opinion that he ought to take notice of injuries; and that he was never inclined to revenge. Nay he has almost professed that he has lost his courage.  D. John aside. 
'Tis strange that he took no more care to keep it having so little.  Ferd. 
Pray call him back to save his honour. Tell him what he ought to do, being doubly affronted by Don Lewis. Dear Jodelet, show the friendship of a Servant by persuading a Master to courage.  D. John. 
Sir, I am sure he has a kind of Country-courage.  Ferd. 
What do you mean?  D. John. 
I mean, he's very obstinate, and will seldom yield to persuasion.  Ferd. 
I'm sorry for his Father's sake; especially since I have proceeded so far towards an alliance. If I were doubly injured as he is, I should not behave myself like him. His enemy stays for me at the end of the Street: I'll go to him.  Enter Jodelet. D. John. 
Do, Sir, for my Master is come back, though I fear I shall find him too haughty to be counselled into courage.  Exit Ferdinand. Jod. 
Is he gone, Sir?  D. John. 
Yes, but tell me Jodelet, what new affront have we to revenge?  Jod. 
I am the Son of a Sow if he has not removed my patience so far from me that I can hardly reach it again: yet I'm as unwilling to be angry as another. Sir you must disguise yourself no longer. These false habits may grow to be Fools Coats, and Don Lewis will turn all into laughter. But you did challenge him for me?  D. John. 
Yes, and without telling him that I was Don John. And in troth I did suspect that the young Gallant had courted Isabel. In short I found him hidden in her Chamber; and (but for an accident which I must conceal from thee) we should have met in the Field.  Jod. 
That is to say, you had invited him to take the Air in a Grave.  D. John. 
I have deferred the business till I see one thing more evident, which is yet but the subject of my suspicion: for, perhaps, I may find it but a false-Game which Bettris plays to get money.  Jod. 
That Baggage carries her Purse in her Bosom; and according to the Northern Proverb) is as liquorish at a Penny as at a Posset.  D. John. 
I have some reasons to believe that Isabel is very ignorant of the Artefice.  Jod. 
Sir, there may be more in't than you suspect. I'm loath to say it, but (if I could speak without making any words) I would tell you that I think Don Lewis offends you in private.  D. John. 
Ah, say no more: I guess too much. All my past misfortunes and the present concur against me: but I have some comfort yet, for no body takes notice of it.  Tod. 
None know it (for aught I know) unless it be the People.  D. John. 
Thou makest me mad. I will consider nothing but revenge.  
Is Don Ferdinand our Friend or Enemy?  Jod. 
Don Lewis is of his blood; but for the honour of yours, he does th●t which no man ever did for another. He would have Don Lewis give you satisfaction, and Don Lewis stays for me near this house● who still believes me to be Don John.  D. John. 
I must kill him: but men of action are often parted in the street. The war which Honour makes in streets does quickly end in peace, and I grow doubtful where to fight.  Jod. 
'Tis great pity there is not some Amphitheatre; built at the public charge of Butchers, for the honourable exercise of cutting men's throats.  D. John. 
Revenge is often interrupted in the Field, because now even all peculiar Fields are turned to common Roads about this populous Town. If I could find some House, though 'tis against the fashion used in Duels—  Jod. 
Stay, Sir. I'll fit you with a place. I have the Key of a low Apartment where we are to lodge. There you may conveniently be revenged, almost in the sight of your Mistress, and yet neither she nor her Father can see it.  D. John. 
Thou hast made an excellent choice my dear Jodelet.  Jod. 
My dear Don John.  D. John. 
Go and appoint him a meeting in the Evening.  Jod. 
But rather, Sir, do you go. 'Tis now high time that men should know who you are. How can you think to continue your fury and pass for Jodelet? Go, go, Sir, discover yourself, and fight sound. Revenge is a hearty food for those who have a stomach to't.  D. John. 
How Jodelet? because for a mere provocation of jealousy, for a simple suspicion, I have disguised my Name, wilt thou therefore have me discover myself before the injury be evident? No, thou shalt remain Don John a while, and invite him to the low Chamber, to measure Weapons there, and to consult about contriving the privacy of the Duel.  Jod 
Then you command me to be still Don John?  D. John. 
I do rather conjure thee.  Jod. 
Well I obey you, Sir. But if by chance (as men are often impatient) he should draw his sword before he enters this House, what shall Jodelet do? who has no inclination to war, and is, perhaps, contented to sojourn in this foolish world.  D. John. 
Make signs to him far off. He's prompt, and will not fail to follow thee till he comes where I will stay to kill him.  Jod. 
There's another scruple, which lies in the very bottom of my Bowels.  D. John. 
What's that?  Jod. 
He may be short sighted, and thinking my sword drawn, may run at me.  D. John. 
Fie, fie! thy imagination is too subtle. He has an Eye like an Eagle and will distinguish, at a miles distance, any little Fly from a Flea. Thou shalt because him far off, then lead him to me.  Jod. 
These appointments are somewhat hard. But, Sir, pray be sure that you likewise take heed of mistakes. men's eyes are often dazzled with choler. If I (without thinking of you) should enter before Don Lewis; and you (without thinking of me) should run a tilt at my Belly—  D. John. 
Thou hast a Jesuitical way of making impossible scruples.  Jod. 
Nay, Sir, I know if I am wounded, you  
Will cry, in troth, poor Jodelet, I'm sorry;  
Excuse a foolish chance! Then I, good soul,  
Shall quickly be contented and soon whole.  Exeunt several ways.  

ACT. V.  Enter Isabel, Lucilla, Bettris. A Candle on the Table. Isab. 
MAdam Bettris, what do you here?  Bett. 
I am preparing a warm Chamber for your benumbed Lover; and, I beseech you, from whence come you, and Madam Lucilla.  Isab. 
We have been sighing in a shade.  Lucilla. 
Madam, I must tell you again, if fortune should bring the whole Sex of Men before you, and give you leave to make your own election, you could not choose a more worthy Husband than Don John; and when you know him better, you will confess my belief is guided by reason.  Isab. 
And I must needs declare (since your opinion is so confident against mine) that one of us is very ignorant.  Lucilla. 
You make me wonder, Madam; but if all wonder did not proceed from ignorance, I should not quickly yield in this debate.  Isab. 
Alas you are his Sister; and that may well excuse your partiality, you may allow me liberty to tell you this because we have contracted a friendship.  Bett. 
Were I my Mistress, if there were no more men in the world, I would marry Don John, because I would have children, and because all children are not like the Father.  Lucilla. 
Bettris, I cannot be angry when you please to be merry.  Bett. 
Madam, what ever your griefs be, I wonder you are not merry too, for Don John makes all the world laugh.  Isab. 
Bettris, you are too rude.  Bett. 
Madam, you are too grave. If I were to be Bride; like you, I would not carry myself like a Nun.  Isabel aside. 
I am unhappy above the help of Fortune; ordained to be possessed of what I hate, and by unnatural custom I am made ashamed of what I love.  Bett. 
Madam, let us hasten up stairs, some Noise within like a Key turning a Lock. aside. body opens the Door and will surprise us. 'Tis Laura, who (as I appointed) makes a noise about the Lock to fright these Lovesick Ladies and make them retire to take their Medicine of sighs. Madam, I hear't again.  Isab. 
You are scared.  Bett. 
If you had been as often privately in love as I have been, you'd soon be afraid at the opening of a Dore.  Exeunt Isabel, Lucilla. 
So, let them feed on sorrows of Love; which is commonly at Court the ill second Course at the promising Feasts of Lovers, whilst we, poor Wenches, are contented with Country sports. Exit.  Enter Sancho, Stephano, and Laura, with a Scarf in her hand, another Spaniard and two young Women. Laura. 
The , Signior Sancho, is hard of digestion; but, having first swallowed the gilded Pill of Love, it prepares the stomach for any thing.  Steph. 
And I have said so much, to cure your jealousy, as would make an old Italian trust his Wife with a young Painter, and leave her with him to draw her naked.  Sancho. 
Not naked.  Steph. 
You shall, besides the materials of our last Collation, have an innundation of Olio, where you may bathe your knuckles till you cure 'em of the Gout.  Laura. 
But we must enable our appetites with exercise. We have appointed a Dance for Blind-man-Buff, in which you shall be hoodwinked, and appear all over, Cupid the second.  Sancho. 
Bating Beard.  Laura. 
Come, Gentle Love, let me blind you; and then—  Sancho. 
Collation.  Steph. 
'Tis prepared within.  Sancho. 
Mighty Olios?  Steph. 
A Sea of Olio, and in it Hams of Baijon lying at Hull with Sailes furled up of Cabbidge-leaves.  Sancho. 
Then Bisks.  Laura. 
Embroidered with Pistachoes.  Sancho. 
And Mussels?  Steph. 
Broiled; and then (to make you corpulent) roasted Chestnuts stewed in Gravy.  Sancho. 
And Chittering.  Steph. 
I, I, to fill up Chinks.  Sancho. 
And Ragous'?  Steph. 
Strewed over with Saltpetre and Jamaica-Pepper, to make you thirst for whole Flagons of Scargos and Ravidavio; and you shall be a very—  Sancho. 
Drunken Cupid.  Laura. 
Pray Love be humble and stoop a little—  Sancho. 
I yield. Laura hoodwinks Sancho with a Scarf.  Enter Bettris. Bett. 
We have now both place and opportunity for mirth. The Ladies are retired, Don Ferdinand's abroad, the three Strangers are severally dispersed, and gone, I think, in the quest of wand'ring Love.  Laura. 
We have a stayed old Cupid here who wears his Quiver in his Pocket, full of Toothpicks instead of Arrows, in expectation of a Feast.  Bett. 
What, blinded already? Come then, let's begin.  They put themselves into several Stations and Sancho in the middle. Steph. 
Now we have blinded so your sight  
That even at Noon the Rays of light  
Are lost as if your Eyes were out,  
we'll turn you once and twice about.  
About, about; about again;  
Twice for the Maids, once for the men.  Bett. 
Here stands a Maid, and there a Man.  Omnes. 
We all are near; catch whom you can.  Steph. 
We closed your eyes lest you should see;  
And so your Ears shall useless be.  
For now, as in the calm of sleep,  
All shall commanded silence keep;  
Lest any Man, or any Maid,  
Be by distinguished voice betrayed.  Bett. 
Here stands a Maid and there a Man.  Omnes. 
We'll all start fair, Catch whom you can.  They Dance, in which the men kick Sancho by turns, and he at several times says the following words. Sancho. 


That's a Man—  
That's no Maid—  
That's a Horse—  
Courage brave Bum—    The Dance being ended a Bell rings. Bett. 
My Lady rings. She wants me. Let's away.  Sancho. 
Where's Collation? He pulls down his scarf.  Laura. 
Signior Sancho, I took the  from you, and now you must accept of one from me. I promised you a Collation, but there is none. You must e'en fast and pray for better manners.  Bett. 
We did this to save you a labour: for when no Crumbs can fall upon your Beard you need not brush it.  Sancho. 
I could eat—  Laura. 
What?  Sancho. 
Thee. Exeunt Sancho one way, and the rest at the other Dore.  Enter Don John. D. John. 
I hear 'em coming. I'll leave the Door open, take away the Key, and conceal myself in the Alcove.  Enter Jodelet, Don Lewis. Jod. 
Now where's the evil Spirit my Master? Ha! vanished! he's gone, quite gone! This Don Lewis is as famous as Cain for matters of killing, and, which is worse to me then no help, he shuts the Dore. Well, since I'm penned in I would I were but as valiant as an imprisoned Cat, that I might fly at his face. 'Tis very inconvenient to be a Man without Manhood, O that Traitor, my Master!  D. Lewis. 
Now, Sir, we are enclosed, and may fight without interruption.  Jod. aside. 
I would he were hanged that is not here to part us.  D. Lewis. 
You mutter, Sir, you may express your anger with your Sword.  Jod, 
Who I, Sir? I scorn to mutter any thing against any man who will give me any reasonable satisfaction.  D. Lewis. 
I was bravely invited and am ready to do you reason.  Jod. 
Sir, I shall always report you are not only a very reasonable man, but are also willing to consider—  D. Lewis. 
What mean you by consider?  Jod. 
That's well asked, Sir and I am apt to answer your questions, if you will spend a little time in discourse.  D. Lewis. 
Is this a time to be spent in words?  Jod. 
Nay, Sir, I see you are hasty; but, perhaps, I may have patience to hear you out.  D. Lewis. 
To hear me out? Do you take me for a Talker when I come to be in action?  Jod. aside. 
This 'tis to meet with brute Beasts that are not capable of discourse. I'm quite forsaken. My Master has, certainly, no kind of conscience—  D. Lewis. 
What the Devil do you seek?  Jodelet looks up and down. Jod. aside. 
Two things, which I fear I shall not find, my valour and my Master.  D. Lewis. 
This is a mystery! still you are muttering, but what look you for?  Jod. 
I hope you are alone.  D. Lewis. 
How, Sir, do you bring me hither to ask that?  Jod. 
Lord you are so choleric that one cannot speak to you: may not a man ask a question for your good?  D. Lewis. 
I have attended to see your sword out; and Honour taught me that patience: but now I'll trust you with no more time— He draws.  Jod. 
Bless me! what a long spit he draws? I have been a raw fellow at fight, and now am like to be roasted.  D. L●wis. 
Come, Sir. Are you ready? for I scorn to take advantage.  Jod. 
In t●oth I see you are a man of honour, and I could find in my heart to consider a while how I may requite your courtesy.  D. Lewis. 
Courtesy? I disdain to receive it from you. Prepare yourself—  Jod. 
Stay, stay a little, Sir!  
Let me advise you as a Friend to lay aside your passion when you fight, for in good faith you are too hasty.  D. Lewis. 
Is this behaviour equal to your former heat? Methinks y●u grow cold. Your courage is an Ague, for it comes in fits. But I shall cure it.  Jod. aside. 
Heaven I thank thee hearty! for I spy my Master. Ah, Sir! come out! do you want courage?  Speaks softly to Don John behind him. D. John. 
Retire as thou art fight that thou mayst amuse him.  D. Lewis. 
Quick, Sir, draw; for I have told you that I scorn to take advantage.  Jod. 
Nay an'you grow so angry, Sir, than I say again, stay! for I scorn all advantages as much as you do. He takes up the Candle.  D. Lewis. 
If you have any odds I cannot see't.  Jod 
Lord! how your passion blinds you? do you think I'm so base as to fight with Rapier and Candle against single Rapier?  D. Lewis. 
Lay down the light then.  Jod. 
Honour is a Fool in the Field when it wants stratagem.  D. Lewis. 
I think he is mad; for still he mutters and looks back. D. John, I suspect the temper of your brain, as much as I doubt the c urage of your heart; you seem to have a great quantity of the Coward, but more of the Fool.  Jod. 
Not so much of the Fool as you suppose, Sir—  He puts out the Candle. D. Lewis. 
What art thou all Coward, and coverst thyself in darkness?  Jod. 
Did not you kill my Brother in the dark?  D Lewis. 
If that will more incense thee, know, I did.  Jod. aside. 
Then try your Cat's eyes once ag●n. He retires.  D. Lewis. 
Say you so, Sir?  Jod. aside. 
The Devil's in the Dice if you throw twice in and in, without any light.  D. Lewis. 
Where are you, Sir?  Jod .. aside. 
What a fool were I if I should tell him?  D. Lewis. 
You are bashful, and would not have your courage seen.  Jod. aside. 
I'm a little valiant when I spy no naked Weapon. Now good speed to one push at hazard— He steps aside, thrusts at great distance at first, & at last hits D. Lewis, then retires to the Alcove. I think that touched something. I hope I have not run my sword through one of the Caesar's eyes in the Hanging—  D. Lewis. 
The Wretch has drawn my blood. I feel it, for it wets my hand. But now by this, more than before, he does deserve to be my Enemy.  D. Ferd. within. 
I'm certain that's my Nephew's voice. If I can feel no Key in the Lock, than mine will give me entrance.  D. John. 
Go forth from the Alcove or I'll strangle thee.  D. Ferdinand opens the Door, and enters with a Light. D. Ferd. 
Ha! what's the business here my Friends?  Jodelet steps out of the Alcove. D. Ferd. lays hold on D. Lewis. Jod. 
I'm taking satisfaction for my injuries.  D. Lewis. 
I have lost blood, and will be straight revenged.  D. Ferd, 
Is't by Stoccado, or Stramason?  Jod. 
A thousand Satan's take all good luck. I shall pay sound for having the honour to give the first wound.  D. Ferd. 
Let me see, Nephew? your hand is hu●t.  D. Lewis. 
'Tis but a slight prick.  Jod. 
Would I had two in my right hand that I might get an excuse to let my sword fall.  D. Ferd. 
Now my dear friends, fight freely! I come not here to make peace. The one (who suffers by a deep and double injury) is by promise to be my Son-in-law. The other is my Nephew, who must be satisfied for loss of blood. I'll look on each with the same eyes which in my youth did love to see the exercise of honour. Fight, and fight bravely; but first let me place the light conveniently for both.  D. Lewis. 
Your counsel will be quickly followed, Sir, by men who know your courage.  Jod. 
Rare counsel indeed, which exhorts us to a Duel. This old man is hearty wicked, and may be held the very Father of the Hectors.  D. Lewis. 
My anger makes me insolent and cruel. And that I now may dare you to do more than you durst do till darkness hide your fear, know, I've deceived your Sister, and have killed your Brother.  D. John enters from the Alcove. D. John. 
Since I am thus confirmed, Honour has leave of conscience to be bloody in revenge— Stay Sir!  Jod. aside. 
O, are you come? In true Tragedies let every man act his own part.  D. John. 
You do not know Don John, Behold him here. You did deceive my S●ster, and have killed my Brother; and are now, against yourself, th'audacious witness of such double wickedness as Justice cannot hear but with a double sense of anger and of shame. I wish you had more than a single life to answer both.  D. Ferd. 
But is the Man become the Master?  D. Lewis. 
Make haste to let me know, which of the two is more worthy than the other to be my Enemy: which is Don John?  D. John. 
That name is mine.  D. Lewis. 
Then what is he?  Jod. 
I'm no Don John, I dare assure you, Sir; but yet am so well bred, that I can give way to my Betters in all quarrels.  D. John. 
Under a Servants name I have endured my injuries whilst I had got no more than a suspicion of th'offenders person to authorize my revenge; but since you proudly have declared you did those injuries, you cannot think that I should longer bear them. My thers blood incites me to revenge.  D. Lewis. 
The cry of blood may cease when the revenge of it is near.  D. John. 
Know my revenge is heightened by that black dishonour which has stained my Sister's beauty, to whom you have ignobly shown a want of such compassion as does use t'accompany true courage.  D. Lewis. 
Are you the true Don John, renowned for valour, and yet strive, with softening pity, to allay that courage against which your honour does contest?  D. John. 
You ought to think my vengeance for my Brother's death allows not words to respite deeds: but, by degrees, I am proceeding to the reason of this short delay.  D. Lewis. 
This is such temper as I never knew.  D. John. 
That I may make my Sister feel my justice more than cruelty, let me be now obliged even by an Enemy, with so much truth as men of noble Race can never want.  D. Lewis. 
What would you ask?  D. John. 
Whether your many vows (broken as fast as sworn) did not seduce my Sister from her Father's house to seek you in disguise? and whether in those vows you did not make a sacred Contract of immediate Marriage?  D. Ferd. 
This Son-in law is as prudent as he is valiant; though I did pronounce the other Son-in-law a Coxcomb.  Jod. 
That's I But patience, for I've already shed blood enough.  D. Lewis. 
Though when our swords are drawn 'tis then no season for confession, yet, in a just compassion, for her sake, I will declare a blushing truth. Your Sister owes her affliction to my repeated vows of Marriage.  D. Ferd. 
I swear— by the honour of all Mustachios, and of all the Beards in Spain, my Nephew is a Traitor.  Jod. 
Bless me! what a horrid Oath was that? no choler shall transport me to swear by more Beards than my own.  D. Ferd. 
Hadst thou a heart so cruel as to overcome a Virgin by thy vows, and then forsake her for her faith? Son-in-law I'm wholly now of your side, and will renounce my blood in him; who does deserve to have it shed not by a single hand of Honour, but by confederacy of common force.  Jod. 
Now for the French mode of fight! D. Ferdinand goes to D. John's side. I fear I shall, by a trick of honour, be made a Second to the wrong side.  D. Lewis. 
Stay, Uncle! shall the virtue of Confession make you my Enemy!  D. Ferd. 
Yes, where Divines are not the Duelists—  D. John. 
Hold, Don Ferdinand. My honour will not suffer me to share in such advantages.  D. Lewis. 
That's spoken like a true Don John.  D. Ferd. 
Then I alone will fight with him.—  D. John. 
My honour will less yield that you, Sir, should deprive me of my Enemy, Sir, I beseech you, hold!  D. Ferd. 
Then take him to yourself; though such who Traitors are to Virgins deserve their punishment from every hand.  D. John to D. Lewis. 
I have another question now, to which a civil Foe will give reply; and 'tis to cure my greatest pain, my jealousy; so great a torment as I could not wish to my most fatal Enemy, no, not to you.  D. Lewis. 
Sir, now you teach me to be civil. Proceed to tell me your disease if you will hasten to the remedy.  D. John. 
Know, I am jealous.  D. Lewis. 
Of whom.  D. John. 
Of you.  D. Lewis. 
Of me.  D. John. 
I saw you leap from the Balconee of this House.  D. Lewis. 
Did you see it?  D. John. 
Yes, I saw it, and, since that, found you concealed in Isabella's Chamber.  D. Ferd. aside. 
Ha! Can I have patience to hear more?  D. Lewis. 
If I in this shall new confession add to what I spoke before, you cannot think 'tis from th'effect of fear, for honour does oblige me to't. If I have been your Rival than my l●ve did wrong your Sister rather than injure you because I did not know Don John: and Honour now does join with Truth to make me call on Heaven to assist me wh●n I Isabel vindicate; who with disdain refused all love but what her Father should prefer.  D. Ferd. aside. 
That is some motive for my patience.  D. Lewis. 
I further must declare that Bettris, to promote th'address I made for Marriage, did, unknown to her Lady, hid me then in the Balc●nee, and after that concealed me in her Lady's Chamber; for which she was in hazard of her service.  D. Ferd. aside. 
I remember my Daughter would have dismissed her Service; which gives my patience another comfort.  D. John. 
All my disease of jealousy ends here, and I'll continue still to be a civil Enemy, for I will thank you for my cure.  
But now—  D. Ferd. 
Stay, stay Don John! The next Demand belongs to me. Why did you make your visit here in a disguise?  D. John. 
Sir, it is fit you should be satisfied. I changed my habit when I saw him scape from the Balconee, supposing in another shape, my jealousy might sooner be informed.  D. Ferd. 
I hear enough. My honour now makes me forsake your cause, and leads me to the other side. You are my Enemy.  He goes to the side of D. Lewis. D. John. 
'Tis my misfortune then and not my choice.  D. Ferd. 
You came into my House not as a Lover but a Spy; and with a stratagem (course, and below my dignity) advanced your man to woo my Daughter. Prepare yourself for my revenge—  D. Lewis. 
Pray hold, Sir! hold! you punish me too much in taking from my Sword that Enemy who first made me his choice.  D. John. 
Don Ferdinand, you never can so much provoke me as to raise my anger 'gainst the Father of the Mistress whom I love.  D. Ferd. 
You loved with too much insolence, and doubtfully, when you designed your Man to court her in your shape.  D. John. 
I may, without dishonour, crave for that your pardon: and when you shall resent my change of shape, you then forget Love's ancient Histories; for my disguise is not the first that love has worn. But I conjure you by my Father's friendship, to forgive the foolish Arts of Jealousy.  D. Ferd. 
Well, for his sake, I am appeased, and bury your offence; but 'tis on this condition that I may now restrain your Combat till I treat with each for both.  D. John. 
To this I yield.  D. Lewis. 
To show that you have taught me temper I consent by your example.  Jod. 
My Master taught Don Lewis discretion and I taught it him. 'Twas ever said of Don Jodelet, that he did much incline to peace.  D. Ferd. 
You, by your sword, Don John, have leisure to receive  
Such satisfaction as your honour does require  
For all my Nephew's broken faith, which now  
Afflicts your Sister, but he can never bring her back to her fair Fame  
Unless he marry her; and I presume I need not now persuade  
What Justice and Religion does enjoin.  D. Lewis to D. John 
I doubly am prepared. First, I will meet your Sister in the Temple to perform my former vows; and then I will return and meet you here, or in the Field, to pay the debt I own you for your Brother's blood.  D. Ferd. 
D. John, none yet did ever celebrate the sacred Rites of Hymen with a Tragedy; and I'm obliged to tell you that my Nephew often has lamented your unhappy Brother's death, who in the dark was wounded by mistake, and I have heard my Nephew vow that he did wear your Brother in his bosom as his dearest Friend.  D. Lewis. 
This truth which you affirm does more, perhaps, become your Tongue than mine whilst I continue in this posture 'gainst an Enemy.  D. John. 
The season now is fit to tell, why I have here  
Made some delay of my revenge. My Brother is alive.  D. Lewis. 
Alive? Heaven is propitious in this wonder!  D. Ferd. 
I am alike surprised with wonder and with joy!  D. John. 
Much blood my Brother lost by that unlucky wound you gave him, which some hours deprived him of the chiefest signs of life; but, being to a Surgeon's house removed, he was by his great Art, in a few days, made hopeful of his Cure. I did conceal the good success even from my servants, and in Madrid divulged that he was dead.  D. Ferd. 
What could you mean by making that report?  D. John. 
I thought, Don Lewis, that the rumour of his death would make it harder for you to escape the rigorous Law in order to my Sister's injuries, who then forsook my Father's House in your pursuit.  D. Ferd. 
My dear Don John, since you perceive your Brother only wounded by mistake, and that wound cured: Don Lewis and your Sister ready to be joined by Hymen's hand, and I prepared to make my Isabella yours; let me behold a knot of Friendship tied between two Enemies. Come both, and cheerfully embrace.  D. John. 
Don Lewis, all offences past shall vanish like the dreams of Infancy.  D. Lewis. 
And all that we hereafter to each D. John and D. Lewis embrace. other do, shall last like the examplar deeds of men renowned.  Jod. 
Peace is proclaimed. I'll rest contented with honour gotten in the dark, and sheathe my Sword as Gamesters put up false Dice, to hid 'em after they have won money.  Enter Isabel, Bettris. D. Ferd. 
Come Isabel, you shall now, and with your own consent, be given to Don John.  Isab. 
with my consent? Are there such Miracles when Lucilla says all faith is lost; or else at least, that men have none.  D. Ferd. 
Behold the true Don John.  Isab. to Ferd. 
Though I'm not worthy of your favour, Sir,  
Yet use me not with scorn.  D. Ferd. 
You may perceive my joy, and cannot think it counterfeit.  
You shall know more before I lead you to the Priest.  Isab. 
This is a Miracle which I am willing to believe.  D. Ferd. 
Give me your hand, which must be mine no more, for it is now your Nuptial Pledge.  D. John. 
Give me your pardon, Madam, 'ere I take your hand,  
Pardon the cause for which I did assume  
My Servants shape; but I am now the true Don John.  Isab. aside. 
Prophetic Love! thou taught'st me to believe it e'er he said it.  D. Ferd. 
Bettris, I will not chide you now. This day permits no anger.  Bett. 
Indeed I ever thought this was the true Don John.  
Though, in the dark, I twice mistook another for him:  
Which made me hid Don Lewis; first in the Balconee,  
Then in my Lady's Chamber.  D. Ferd. 
Go, go, make haste; and call the Lady Lucilla.  Exit Bettris. Jod. 
Truly she was mistaken, Sir. Her eyes are much decayed with watching late to prevent th'unlucky meeting of Lovers.  D. John. 
Come, Sister, you shall weep no more. Enter Lucilla and Bettris. Don Lewis is your best Physician and can cure your grief. He is my Present to you; take him, and forgive him.  D. Lewis. 
Can you forgive me, Madam? The Priest will do it when he joins our hands.  Lucilla. 
He is ordained to be th'example still of what  
We are to do; and I shall quickly follow it.  
This is a sudden change; I will not now examine how it comes, nor chide you when you tell it me.  Jod. 
Bettris, you have a great mind to take my hand too.  Bett. 
Troth you must wash it first: for when your Gloves were off I still suspected that you were no more than an uncertain Don, called Jodelet.  D. Lewis. 
Don Jodelet, I have a small mark of your favour, which I wear on my right hand: but I intent not to requite it till you are Don John again.  Jod. 
Sir, you may defer your requital as long as you please, you know I'm one of those who scorn to be too hasty in calling for satisfaction when men are any thing willing to give it.  D. Ferd. 
The Clouds which hovered o'er my Roof to day  
Are all dispelled. Make me your guide. I'll lead  
You first to Church, and then prepare for Feasts.  Enter Laura, Sancho, Stephano. Laura. 
Why should we stay listening here any longer? We have heard 'em talk of strange changes, and of wonders more fortunate than we could wish.  Steph. 
Don Ferdinand spoke of Feasts: we cannot have a better Cue for our entrance. We may safely step in, Signior Sancho.  Sancho. 
We may.  D. Ferd. 
Come happy Lovers, follow me.  Jod. 
Pray stay a while. For matters may not pass  
So smoothly as you think. Madam, you have  
Of mine a little Picture which you please  
To pin upon the Curtain of your Bed:  
You keep the Picture, yet are well content  
To lose th'Original. That's fine i'faith  
Sweet Lady, Humph! but 'twill not do. Restore  
It to me or be sure you never walk  
Abroad alone after the Sun is set.  
Don Jodelet is such a furious Spark  
As will have satisfaction in the Dark.  Exeunt Omnes.   

The Epilogue. In a BALLAD, sung by Two.  

1.  
Ladies, who fine as Fi'pences are,  
You Men with bright Rose-noble Hair,  
Both all and some, for we now except none  
O thrust out your Ears and lift to our mean.  
Attend and eke hearken out of pure pity  
To tidings doleful, yea in a sad ditty.  
The Players grow poor and down they must fall,  
Though some say they get the devil and all.  
Alack, and alas! our hearts are e'en broken:  
But because in all Plays  
You still look for new ways  
We mean now to sing what ought to be spoken.   

2.  
Since now those Poets get the Vogue  
Who still, with a bold Epilogue,  
Dare rattle Spectators and cry 'em down,  
As you do their Plays, we'll tell you your own.  
First, loving kind friends, who come from the City,  
You never think any Play can be witty  
But that in which Courtiers shrewdly are jeered.  
Out on it, and fie! was e'er the like heard?  
Why would you have us to bob and to gibe 'em,  
When the wiser complain  
That in private, for gain,  
You are the men who endeavour to bribe 'em.   

3.  
Some Gallants, though nameless, come here  
Expecting our Poets should jeer  
The City for Custards and for the Show  
When Pageants through rain do pass to and fro.  
Those very old frumps, perhaps, would be pretty;  
But, Gallants, we have not the dulness to fit ye.  
They grow too stolen, and the Reader who looks  
Upon the sad Notes of many Shop-books  
Will think that the Cits have seldom undone ye.  
Rather you, every year,  
Spoil their Shows and their Cheer,  
For they want your Wit, and you have their Money.   

4.  
Now up wi' Boots, and have at all!  
Even you whom we Towngallants call;  
Who with your round Eeathers make a great show;  
We mean you did wear such three years ago;  
Come then, and stand fair, that now we may hit ye,  
Because even like Turks without any pity,  
You visit our Plays, and merit the Stocks  
For paying Half-Crowns of Brass to our Box.  
Nay, often you swear, when places are shown ye,  
That your hearing is thick,  
And so, by a Love-trick,  
You pass through our Scenes up to the Balcone.   

5.  
And some (a duce take 'em!) pretend  
They come but to speak with a friend;  
Then wickedly rob us of a whole Play  
By stealing five times an Act in a day.  
O little England! speak, is it not pity,  
That Gallants even here, and in thy chief City,  
Should under great Perukes have heads so small,  
As they must steal wit, or have none at all?  
Others are bolder and never cry, shall I?  
For they make our Guards quail,  
And 'twixt Curtain and Rail,  
Oft Combing their hair, they walk in Fop-Ally.   

6.  
Gallants relent and eke repent,  
For your so foul nay, bad intent  
Of paying us Brass instead of true Coin;  
And, for amends we only enjoin,  
That every Man, to declare conscience in ye,  
Shall whisper a Friend, and borrow a Guinny;  
Which in our Box you may carelessly throw,  
And pay him who lends it to morrow to mow.  
And now to conclude, 'tis fit to acquaint ye  
That though this Epilogue  
Does not flatter and cog  
Yet a new Ballad may pass for a dainty.   
FINIS.