Enter Belv. and Fred. who
join with the English. Ang. Hold; will you ruin me?- Biskey,
Sebastian, part them. [The Spaniards are beaten off. Moret. Oh Madam,
we're undone, a pox upon that rude Fellow, he's set on to ruin us: we
shall never see good days, till all these fighting poor Rogues are
sent to the Gallies. Enter Belvile, Blunt and Willmore, with his shirt
bloody. Blunt. 'Sheartlikins, beat me at this Sport, and I'll ne er
wear Sword more. Belv. The Devil's in thee for a mad Fellow, thou art
always one at an unlucky Adventure.- Come, let's be gone whilst we're
safe, and remember these are Spaniards, a sort of People that know how
to revenge an Affront. Fred. You bleed; I hope you are not wounded.
[To Will Will. Not much:- a plague upon your Dons, if they fight no
better they'll ne'er recover Flanders.- What the Devil was't to them
that I took down the Picture? Blunt. Took it! 'Sheartlikins, we'll
have the great one too; 'tis ours by Conquest.- Prithee, help me up,
and I'll pull it down.- Ang. Stay, Sir, and e'er you affront me
further, let me know how you durst commit this Outrage- To you I
speak, Sir, for you appear like a Gentleman. Will. To me, Madam?-
Gentlemen, your Servant. [Belv. stays him. Belv. Is the Devil in thee?
Do'st know the danger of entring the house of an incens'd Curtezan?
Will.
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