Your fighting made me mistake: for who
the Pox wou'd have look'd for Nicholas Fetherfool in the person of a
Hero? Feth. Fight, 'Sbud, a Million of Money wou'd have provok'd a
Bully; besides, I took you for the damn'd Rogue my Rival. Blunt. Just
as I had finish'd my Serenade, and had put up my Pipes to be gone, out
stalk'd me your two-handed Lady, with a Man at her Girdle like a bunch
of Keys, whom I taking for nothing less than some one who had some
foul design upon the Gentlewoman, like a true Knight-Errant, did my
best to rescue her. Feth. Yes, yes, I feel you did, a Pox of your
heavy hand. Blunt. So whilst we two were lovingly cuffing each other,
comes the Rival, I suppose, and carries off the Prize. Feth. Who must
be Seignior Lucifer himself, he cou'd never have vanisht with that
Celerity else with such a Carriage- But come, all we have to do is to
raise the Mountebank and the Guardian, pursue the Rogues, have 'em
hang'd by Law, for a Rape, and Theft, and then we stand fair again.
Blunt. Faith, you may, if you please, but Fortune has provided
otherwise for me. [Aside.] [Ex. Blu. and Feth. Enter Beaumond and
Ariadne. Beau. Sure none lives here, or Thieves are broken in, the
Doors are all left open. Aria. Pray Heaven this Stranger prove but
honest now. [Aside. Beau. Now, my dear Creature, every thing conspires
to make us happy, let us not defer it.
Pages:
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230