_Ser._ This is a Trick, and put upon ye grosly By one _Lugier_; the Lord is Monsieur _de-Gard_, Sir; An honest Gentleman, and a neighbour here; Their ends you understand better than I, sure. _Mir._ Now I know him. Know him now plain. _Ser._ I have discharg'd my colours; so God b'y ye, sir. [_Exit._ _Mir._ What a purblinde Puppy was I; now I remember him. All the whole cast on's face, though 'twere umber'd, And mask'd with patches: what a dunder-whelp To let him domineer thus: how he strutted, And what a load of Lord he clapt upon him! Would I had him here again, I would so bounce him, I would so thank his Lordship for his lewd plot: Do they think to carry it away, with a great band made of bird-pots, And a pair of pin-buttockt breeches? Ha! 'Tis he again. He comes, he comes, he comes; have at him. _Enter_ de-Gard, Oriana, _&c._ _Sings._ My _Savoy_ Lord, why dost thou frown on me? And will that favour never sweeter be? Wilt thou I say, for ever play the fool? _de-Gard_ be wise, and _Savoy_ go to School. My Lord _de-Gard_, I thank ye for your Antick; My Lady bright, that will be sometimes Frantick; You worthy Train, that wait upon this Pair, 'Send you more wit, and they a bouncing Baire And so I take my humble leave of your honours. [_Exit._ _de-Ga._ We are discover'd, there's no remedy _Lilia Biancha_'s man upon my life, In stubbornness, because _Lugier_ corrected him. (A shameless slaves plague on him for a Rascal.) _Ori._ I was in a perfect hope; the bane on't is now, He will make mirth on mirth, to persecute us. _de-Ga._ We must be patient; I am vext to the proof too, I'le try once more; then if I fail: Here's one speaks. _Ori._ Let me be lost, and scorn'd first. _de-Ga._ Well, we'll consider, Away, and let me shift; I shall be hooted else. [_Exeunt._ _Actus Quartus. Scena Prima._ _Enter_ Lugier, Lilia, _Servants_. _Lug._ Faint not; but do as I direct ye, trust me; Believe me too, for what I have told ye, Lady, As true as you are _Lilia_, is Authentick; I know it; I have found it; 'tis a poor courage Flies off for one repulse; these Travellers Shall find before we have done, a home-spun wit, A plain _French_ understanding may cope with 'em; They have had the better yet, thank your sweet Squire, here; And let 'em brag: you would be reveng'd? _Lil._ Yes surely. _Lug._ And married too? _Lil._ I think so. _Lug._ Then be Counsel'd, You know how to proceed: I have other Irons Heating as well as yours: and I will strike Three blows with one Stone home, be rul'd, and happie; And so I leave ye. Now is the time. _Lil._ I am ready, If he do come to do me.