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Enter DUKE, GUZMAN, Pedro, and PEREZ. Duke. Welcome to town. Are ye all fit ? Gu. To point, sir.

Duke. Where are the horses?

Pedro. Where they were appointed.

Duke. Be private all, and whatsoever fortune Offer itself, let us stand sure.

Perez Fear not;

Ere you shall be endanger'd, or deluded,

We'll make a black night on't.

Duke. No more, I know it;

You know your quarters.

Guz. Will you go alone, sir?

Ha! you little sugar-sop! 'tis a sweet baby;
"Twere barbarous to leave it: ten to one 'twoll
Worse sin than his who got it. Well, I'll take d
And keep it as they keep death's-head, in rings,
To cry memento to me," No more peeping!"
Now all the danger is to qualify
The good old gentlewoman, at whose house i
For she will fall upon me with a catechism
Of four hours long. Come, good wonder,
Will waken the rude watch else.
Let you and I be jogging; your starv'd trebe
All that be
Curious night-walkers, may they find my fee!

SCENE IV.-A Street.

Don F. Sure, he's gone home. I have beaten al
the purlieus,
But cannot bolt him: if he be a bobbing-What's

1 Con. I am ready,

And through a world of dangers am flown to you;
Be full of haste and care, we are undone else.
Where are your people? Which way most w

For heaven's sake, stay not here, sir!

Don F. What may this prove?

1 Con. Alas! I am mistaken, lost, undone,

For ever perish'd! Sir, for heaven's sake tell me,
Are you a gentleman?

Don F. I am.

1 Con. Of this place?

Don F. No; born in Spain.

1 Con. As ever you lov'd honour,

As ever your desires may gain their ends,
Do a poor wretched woman but this benefit,
For I am forc'd to trust you.

Don F. You have charm'd me;
Humanity and honour bid me help you

Duke. Ye shall not be far from me; the least noise And if I fail your trust

Shall bring you to my rescue.

Pedro. We are counsell'd.


Enter DON JOHN, with a Child, crying.
Don J. Was ever man so paid for being curious;
Ever so bobb'd for searching out adventures,
As I am! Did the devil lead me? Must I needs be

Into men's houses, where I had no business,
And make myself a mischief?

What have I got by this now?

A piece of pap and caudle-work-a child:
This comes of peeping!

What a figure do I make now! good white bread,
Let's have no bawling wi' ye. 'Sdeath! have I
Known wenches thus long, all the ways of wenches,
Their snares and subtleties,

And am I now bumfiddled with a bastard?
Well, Don John,

You'll be wiser one day, when you have paid dearly
For a collection of these butter prints.
'Twould not grieve me to keep this gingerbread,
Were it of my own baking; but to beggar

Myself in caudles, nurses, coral, bells, and babies,
For other men's iniquities!
What shall I do with it now?

Should I be caught here dandling this pap-spoon,
I shall be sung in ballads;
No eyes are near-I'll drop it,


For the next curious coxcomb. How it smiles upon

1 Con. The time's too dangerous
To stay your protestations: I believe you,
Alas! I must believe you. From this place,
Good, noble sir, remove me instantly;
And, for a time, where nothing but yourself,
And honest conversation, may come near me;
In some secure place settle me. What I am,
And why thus boldly I commit my credit
Into a stranger's hand, the fear and dangers
That force me to this wild course, at more leisure,
I shall reveal unto you.

Don F. Come, be hearty;

He must strike through my life that takes you from





Petr. He will sure come: are ye all well armed!
Anto. Never fear us :

Here's that will make them dance without a fidille.
Petr. We are to look for no weak foes, my friends,
Nor unadvis'd ones.

Anto. Best gamesters make the best play;
We shall fight close, and home, too.
San. Antonio,

You are a thought too bloody.

And penny almanacks allow the opening
Anto. Why, ale physicians



Of veins this month. Why do you talk of bloody?
What come we for, to fall to cuffs for apples?
What, would you make the cause a cudgel-quarrel?
On what terms stands this man? Is not his honour
Open'd t' his hand, and pick'd out like an oyster ?
His credit like a quart-pot knock'd together,
Able to hold no liquor? Clear out this point.
Petr. Speak soft, gentle cousin.

Ant. I'll speak truly.

What should man do, allied to these disgraces,
Lick o'er his enemy, sit down, and dance him?
Cry, "That's my fine boy, thou shalt do so no more,

Petr. Here are no such cold pities.
Anto. By St. Jaques,

[Andrew, They shall not find me one! Here's old tough A special.friend of mine, and he but hold, [for, I'll strike them such a hornpipe! Knocks I come 2. And the best blood I'll light on: I profess it

Not to scare costermongers. If I lose my own,
My audit's cast, and farewell five-and-fifty.

Petr. Let's talk no longer, place yourself with

As I direct you; and when time calls us,
As ye are friends, so shew yourselves.

Anto. So be it.

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Land. Bring hither, as I say, to make my name Stink in my neighbours' nostrils, your devices, Your brats, got out of allicant and broken oaths; Your linsey-wolsey work, your fileh'd iniquities! You're deceived in me, sir, I am none Of those receivers.

Don J. Have I not sworn unto you, 'Tis none of mine, and shew'd you how I found it? Land. You found an easy fool that let you get it. Don J. Will you hear me? [your ends, Land. Oaths! what care you for oaths to gain When you are high and pamper'd? What saint knows you?

Or what religion, but your wicked passions?
I'm sick to see this dealing.

Don J. Heaven forbid, mother!

Land. Nay, I am very sick.

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Don J. Who waits there?

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Peter. [Within.] Sir?

Don J. Bring a bottle of canary wine.

Lind. Exceeding sick, heaven help me!
Don J. Haste you, sirrah!

I must e'en make her drunk. [Aside.] Nay, gentle mother

Land. Now fie upon you! was it for this purpose You fetch'd your evening walks for your devotions, For this pretended holiness? No weather, Not before day, could hold you from the matins. Were these your bo-peep prayers? Still sicker, sicker}

Enter PETER, with a bottle of wine

Don J. There is no talking to her till I have drench'd her: [Aside. Give me here, mother, take a good round draught. It will purge spleen from your spirits: deeper, mo


Land. Ay, ay, son, you imagine this will mend all. Don J. All, i'faith! mother.

Land. I confess, the wine

Will do its part.

Don J. I'll pledge you.

Land. But, son John

[once more.

Don J. I know your meaning, mother; touch it Alas! you look not well. Take a round draught, And then we'll talk at large.

Land. A civil gentleman!

A stranger: one the town holds a good regard of. [Aside. Don J. Now we grow kind and maudlin. Aside. Land. One that should weigh his fair name! [Aside.] Oh! a stitch!

Don J. There's nothing better for a stitch, good mother:

Make no spare of it as you love your health;
Mince not the matter.

Land. As I said, a gentleman lodge in my house! Now heaven's my comfort, signior!

Don J. And the wine, good mother. I look'd for this.


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Where's the infant ?

Come, let's see your workmanship.

Don J. It is none of mine, mother, but I'll fetch it Here it is, and a lusty one.

Land. Oh! heaven bless thee! As I live, Your own eyes, signior; and the nether lip As like you as you had spit it.

Don J. I am glad on't.

Land. Bless me! what things are these?
Don J. I thought my labour

Was not all lost; 'tis gold, and these are jewels,
Both rich and right, I hope.

Land. Well, well, son John,

Here I am with you now, when, as they say,
Your pleasure comes with profit.

Don J. All this time, good mother,

The child wants looking to, wants meat and nurses.
Land. Now blessing o' thy heart! it shall have all,,
And instantly: I'll seek a nurse myself, son.
'Tis a sweet child! Ah! my young Spaniard!
Take you no further care, sir.

Don J. Yes, of these jewels,

I must, by your good leave, mother; these are mine:
The gold for bringing up of't, I freely render
To your charge: for the rest, I'll find a master
But where's Don Fred' rick, mother?

Land. Ten to one,

About the like adventure; he told me
He was to find you out.

Don J. Why should he stay thus ?
There may be some ill chance in't; sleep I will net,
Before I have found him,

Well, my dear mother, let the child be look'd to

And look you to be rewarded About it Straight, good mother.

Land, No more words, nor no more children, Good son, as you love me: this may do well: This shall do well: eh! you little, sweet cherub! [Erit with the Child. Don J. Away! So, so; I thought the wine would do its daty:

She'll kill the child with kindness: t'other glass,
And she had ravish'd me. There is no way
Of bringing women of her age to reason,
But by this: girls of fifteen are caught
Fifty ways; they bite as fast as you throw in;
But with the old cold 'tis a diff'rent dealing,
*Tis wine must warm them to their sense of feeling.


SCENE L-A Chamber.

Enter Don FREDERICK, and ANTHONY with a candle.

Don F. Give me the candle; so, go you out that


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Let me come to him.

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My friend may be engag'd. Fie! gentlemen, This is unmanly odds. [DUKE falls.] Press upon A fall'n enemy! it is cowardly:

Thus will I protect him.

(Bestrides the DUEL

Anto. I'll stop your mouth, sir.

Don J. Nay, then, have at thee freely. There's a plum to satisfy your longing.

Petr. He's fallen; I hope I have sped him. Where's Antonio?

Anto. I must have one thrust more, sir.
Don J. Come up to me.

Anto. A mischief confound your fingers! He's given me my quietus est; I felt him In my small guts; I'm sure he's feez'd me: This comes of siding with you.

Petr. I hear more rescue coming.

Anto. Let's turn back, then;

{Trampling within

My skull's uncloven yet, let me but kill somebody. Petr. Away, for heaven's sake, with him!

{ They hurry ANTONIO of. Enter the DUKE's Party.

Don J. Help, gentlemen! How is it?
Duke. Well, sir,

Only a little stagger'd.

Duke's Party. Let's pursue them.

Duke. No; not a man, I charge you.

My thanks to you, brave sir, whose timely valeur And manly courtesy came to my rescue.

Don J. You had foul play offer'd you, and shame

befall him

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Will little profit you; I am a stranger;

Nor where to find the place again; but, Frederick,

My country, Spain; my name, Don John; a gen- 'Tis no poor one,


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Duke. No, believe me, sir; pray, use mine,

For 'twill be hard to find your own now.

Don J. Indeed, I cannot.

That's my best comfort, for't has brought about it Enough to make it, man.

Don F. Where is't? Don J. At home.

Don F. A saving voyage; but what will you say, signior,

To him that, searching out your serious worship,
Has met a stranger fortune?

Don J. How, good Frederick?

A little squeaking girl to this boy would hit it.
Don F. No, mine's a nobler venture; what do
you think, sir,

Of a distress'd lady, one whose beauty
Would oversell all Italy?

Don J. Where is she?

Don F. A woman of that rare behaviour,
So qualified, as love and admiration

Dwell round about her; of that perfect spirit-
Don J. Ay, marry, sir?

Don F. That admirable carriage,

That sweetness in discourse: young as the morning,

Duke. Indeed, you shall: I can command another. Her blushes staining his.

I do beseech you, honour me.

Don J. Well, sir, then I will;

And so I'll take my leave.

Duke. Within these few days

I hope I shall be happy in your knowledge,

Till when, you live in my remembrance.

[Exit with his party.

Don J. And you in mine. This is some noble fellow !

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I'll tell thee, Frederick: but before I tell thee,
Settle thy understanding.

Don F. 'Tis prepar'd, sir

Don J. Why, then, mark what shall follow:
This night, Frederick, this wicked night-
Don F. I thought no less.

Don J. This blind night!

What dost thou think I have got?

Don F. What such wanton fellows ought to get. Don J. Would 'twere no worse! you talk of revelations,

I have got a revelation will reveal me

An arrant coxcomb whilst I live.

Don F. What is't?

Thou hast lost nothing?

Don J. No, I have got, I tell thee.

Don F. What hast thou got?

Don J. One of the infantry-a child.
Don F. How!

Don J. A chopping child, man.

Don F. 'Give you joy, sir!

Don J. I'll give it you, sir, if it is joy. Frederick, This town's abominable, that's the truth on't. Don F. I still told you, John,

Your wenching must come home; I counsell'd you; But where no grace is

Don J. 'Tis none of mine, man.

Don F. Answer the parish so.
Don J. Cheated, in troth!

Peeping into a house, by whom I know not,

NO. 21.

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Don F. Pray, go forward.


Don J. A gentleman I found engag'd amongst
It seems, of noble breeding, I'm sure, brave mettle,
As I return'd to look you; I set into him,
And without hurt (I thank heaven!) rescu'd him.
Ecce signum.
[Shewing the hat.

Don F. What the devil's that, John?
Don J. Only the laurel I gain'd in the scuffle.
Don F. Bravo! then all my work is done.
And now, to satisfy you, there is a woman-
Oh! John, there is a woman-

Don J. Oh! Frederick, where is she? Don F. And one of no less worth than I assure And, which is more, fall'n under my protection. Don J. I'm glad of that; forward, sweet Frede



[too, sir.

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