Beaumond! Beau. Willmore! Is it with thee I must tug for
Empire? For I lay claim to all this World of Beauty. [Takes La Nuche,
looking with scorn on Willmore. La Nu. Heavens, how got this Ruffian
in? Will. Hold, hold, dear Harry, lay no Hands on her till thou can'st
make thy Claim good. Beau. She's mine, by Bargain mine, and that's
sufficient. Will. In Law perhaps, it may for ought I know, but 'tis
not so in Love: but thou'rt my Friend, and I'll therefore give thee
fair Play- if thou canst win her take her: But a Sword and a Mistress
are not to be lost, if a Man can keep 'em. Beau. I cannot blame thee,
thou but acts thy self- But thou fair Hypocrite, to whom I gave my
Heart, And this exception made of all Mankind, Why would'st thou, as
in Malice to my Love, Give it the only Wound that cou'd destroy it?
Will. Nay, if thou didst forbid her loving me, I have her sure. Beau.
I yield him many Charms; he's nobly born, Has Wit, Youth, Courage, all
that takes the Heart, And only wants what pleases Women's Vanity,
Estate, the only good that I can boast: And that I sacrifice to buy
thy Smiles. La Nu. See, Sir- here's a much fairer Chapman- you may be
gone- [To Will. Will. Faith, and so there is, Child, for me, I carry
all about me, and that by Heaven is thine: I'll settle all upon thee,
but my Sword, and that will buy us Bread.
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