sing block, upon whom my lord lays all his cloaths and fashions, ere he vouchsafes them his own person; you shall see him in the morning in the galley-foist, at noon in the bullion, in the evening in Querpo, and all night in—

Malot. A bawdy-house.

Pont. If my lord deny, they deny; if he affirm, they affirm: They skip into my lord's cast skins some twice a year; and thus they live to eat, eat to live, and live to praise my lord. Malot. Good sir, tell me one thing. Pont. What's that?

Malot. Dare these men ever fight on any cause? Pont. Oh, no, 'twould spoil their cloaths, and put their bands out of order.

Nor. jun. Must you hear the news: Your father has resigned his presidentship to my lord

father

my

Malot. And lord Charalois undone for ever.
Pont. Troth, 'tis pity, sir!

A braver hope of so assured a father
Did never comfort France.

Lilad. A good dumb mourner.
Aymer. A silent black.

Nov. jun. Oh, fie upon him, how he wears his cloaths!

As if he had come this Christmas from St Omers, To see his friends, and returned after twelf-tide. Lilad. His colonel looks finely like a drover. Not. jun. That had a winter lain perdue in

the rain.

Aymer. What, he that wears a clout about his neck?

His cuffs in his pocket, and his heart in his mouth?
Nov. jun. Now, out upon him!
Beaumel. Servant, tie my hand.
How your lips blush, in scorn that they should
Tribute to hands, when lips are in the way!
Nov. jun. I thus recant; yet now your hand
looks white,

Because your lips robbed it of such a right.
Monsieur Aymer, I prithee sing the song
Devoted to my mistress.

SONG.

pay

[Music.

A dialogue between a man and a woman. Man. Set, Phabus! set; a fairer sun doth rise From the bright radiance of my mistress' eyes Than ever thou begat'st: I dare not look; Each hair a golden line, each word a hook, The more I strive, the more still I am took. Wom. Fair servant! come; the day these eyes do lend

To warm thy blood, thou dost so vainly spend,
Come strangle breath.

Man. What note so sweet as this

That calls the spirits to a further bliss? Wom. Yet this out-savours wine, and this perfume, Man. Let's die, I languish, I consume. After the song, enter ROCHFORT and BEAUMONT. Beaum. Romont will come, sir, straight.

A wholesome remedy for these maiden fits,
A goodly oak whereon to twist my vine,
Till her fair branches grow up to the stars.
Be near at hand, success crown my intent,
My business fills my little tine so full,
I cannot stand to talk: I know thy duty
Is handmaid to my will, especially
When it presents nothing but good and fit.
Beaumel. Sir, I am yours.-Oh! if my fears
prove true,

Fate hath wronged love, and will destroy me too. [Exit Beaumelle.

Enter ROMONT and Keeper.

Rom. Sent you for me, sir?

And bears as rich caparaisons. I know
This elephant carries on his back not only
Towers, castles, but the ponderous republic,
And never stoops for it; with his strong breathed
trunk

Snuffs other's titles, lordships, offices,
Wealth, bribes, and lives, under his ravenous jaws:
What's this unto my freedom? I dare die;
And therefore ask this camel, if these blessings
(For so they would be understood by a man)
But mollify one rudeness in his nature,
Sweeten the eager relish of the law,

At whose great helm he sits. Helps he the poor
In a just business? Nay, does he not cross
Every deserved soldier and scholar,

As if, when nature made him, she had made
The general antipathy of all virtue?
How savagely and blasphemously he spake

Touching the general, the brave general, dead!
I must weep when I think on't.

Roch. Sir!

He was immortal-though I vow I grieve,
And see no reason why the vicious,
Virtuous, valiant, and unworthy men,
Should die alike.

Roch. They do not.
Char. In the manner

Of dying, sir, they do not, but all die,
And therein differ not: But I have done.
I spied the lively picture of my father,
Passing your gallery, and that cast this water
Into mine eyes: See-foolish that I am,
To let it do so.

Roch. Sweet and gentle Nature!
How silken is this well comparatively
To other men; I have a suit to you, sir,
Char. Take it; 'tis granted.
Roch. What?

Char. Nothing, my lord.

Roch. Nothing is quickly granted.
Char. Faith, my lord!

That nothing granted is even all I have,

you see,

And
prize
a virtue better than my life:
For though I be not learned, I ever loved
That holy mother of all issues good,
Whose white hand for a scepter holds a file,
To polish roughest customs, and in you
She has her right: See! I am calm as sleep;
But when I think of the gross injuries,
The godless wrong done to my general dead,
I rave indeed, and could eat this Novall;
A soulless dromedary!

Roch. Oh! be temperate;

Sir, though I would persuade, I'll not constrain; Each man's opinion freely is his own, Concerning any thing, or any body;

Be it right or wrong, 'tis at the judge's peril.

Enter BEAUMONT.

Beaum. These men, sir, wait without; my lord is come too.

Roch. Pay them those sums upon the table; take

Their full releases :-Stay-I want a witness :
Let me intreat you, colonel, to walk in,
And stand but by to see this money paid;
It does concern you and your friend; it was
The better cause you were sent for, though said
otherwise.

The deed shall make this my request more plain. Rom. I shall obey your pleasure, sir, though ignorant

To what it tends. [Exeunt Romont and Servant. Enter CHARALOIS.

Roch. Worthiest sir,

You are most welcome: Fie, no more of this: You have out-wept a woman, noble Charalois! No man but has or must bury a father.

Char. Grave sir! I buried sorrow for his death In the grave with him. I did never think

Roch. Sir, have you any suit to me? I'll grant You something, anything.

Char. Nay, surely, I, that can

Give nothing, will but sue for that again.
No man will grant me anything I sue for.
But begging nothing, every man will give it.

Roch. Sir, the love I bore your father, and the
worth

I see in you, so much resembling his,
Made me thus send for you. And tender here
[Draws a curtain,
Whatever you will take, gold, jewels, both,
All, to supply your wants, and free yourself.
Where heavenly virtue in high-blooded veins
Is lodged, and can agree, men should kneel down,
Adore, and sacrifice all that they have;
And well they may, it is so seldom seen.
Put off your wonder, and here freely take,
Or send your servants: Nor, sir, shall you use
In aught of this a poor man's fee, or bribe
Unjustly taken of the rich, but what's
Directly gotten, and yet by the law.

Char. How ill, sir, it becomes those hairs to
mock!

Roch. Mock thunder strike me then.
Char. You do amaze me.

But you shall wonder too; I will not take
One single piece of this great heap. Why should I
Borrow, that have not means to pay; nay, am
A very bankrupt, even in flattering hope
Of ever raising any. All my begging
Is Romont's liberty.

Enter ROMONT, BEAUMONT, and Creditors,
loaded with money.

Roch. Here is your friend,
Enfranchised ere you spake. I give him you:
And, Charalois, I give you to your friend,
As free a man as he: Your father's debts
Are taken off.

This is my only child: What she appears,
Your lordship well may see: for education, Beau-
melle

Follows not any: For her mind, I know it
To be far fairer than her shape, and hope
It will continue so: If now her birth
Be not too mean for Charalois, take her,
This virgin, by the hand, and call her wife,
Endowed with all my fortunes: Bless me so,
Requite me thus, and make me happier,
In joining my poor empty name to yours,
Than if my 'state were multiplied tenfold.

Char. Is this the payment, sir, that you expect?

Why, you precipitate me more in debt,
That nothing but my life can ever pay.
This beauty being your daughter (in which yours
I must conceive necessity of her virtue)
Without all dowry is a prince's aim.
Then, as she is, for poor and worthless me
How much too worthy! Waken me, Romont,
That I may know I dreamed, and find this va-
nished.

Rom. Sure I sleep not.

Roch. Your sentence-life or death.

Char. Fair Beaumelle, can you love me? Beaumel. Yes, my lord.

Thus seal it in the sight of Heaven and men.
Your fingers tie my heart-strings with this touch,
In true-love knots, which nought but death shall
loose.

And let these tears (an emblem of our loves)
Like crystal rivers individually

Flow into one another; make one source,
Which never man distinguish, less divide!
Breath marry breath, and kisses mingle souls;
Two hearts and bodies here incorporate;
And, though with little wooing I have won,
My future life shall be a wooing time,
And every day new as the bridal one.
Oh, sir! I groan under your courtesies,
More than my father's bones under his wrongs.
You, Curtius-like, have thrown into the gulf
Of this his country's foul ingratitude,
Your life and fortunes, to redeem their shames.
Roch. No more, my glory! come, let's in, and
hasten

This celebration.

Romont, Malotin, Pontalier, and BeaumontAll fair bliss upon it.

[Exeunt Rochfort, Charalois, Romont, Beaumont, and Malotin.

Nov. jun. Mistress!

Beaum. Oh servant, virtue strengthen me! Thy presence blows round my affection's vane: You will undo me if you speak again.

[Exit Beaumelle. Lilad. Aym. Here will be sport for you. This works. [Exeunt Liladam and Aymer. Nov. jun. Peace! peace!

Pont. One word, my lord Novall!

Nov. jun. What, thou would'st money-there. Pont. No, I'll none, I'll not be bought a slave, A pandar, or a parasite, for all

Your father's worth; though you have saved my life,

Rescued me often from my wants, I must not
Wink at your follies that will ruin you.
You know my blunt way, and my love to truth:
Forsake the pursuit of this lady's honour,
Now you do see her made another man's,
And such a man's! so good, so popular;
Or

you will pluck a thousand mischiefs on you. The benefits you've done me are not lost, Nor cast away; they are pursed here in my heart;

But let me pay you, sir, a fairer way

LADAM, and AYMER.-All salute.

Char. You need not question me if I can you.

You are the fairest virgin in Dijon,

And Rochfort is your father.

Nov. jun. What's this change?

Rock. You met my wishes, gentlemen.

Rom. What make

These dogs in doublets here?

Beaumel. A visitation, sir.

Char. Then thus, fair Beaumelle! I write my faith,

Nov. jun. Ha, ha, ha! what are my courses

unto thee?