_Fred._ I won't then any longer disturb your meditation, but e'en go home like a dull rogue as I am, and without love enough to any woman, or hatred enough to any man, to keep me awake, fall fast asleep--I was going to wish you rest, but you are above all that. If it should rain, I'd advise you not to forget it does, but go into the Piazza. [_Exit._ _Love._ 'Tis very well, I'm deservedly laughed at. But the door opens--Bookwit's footman! [LATINE _crosses the stage._] The master, I suppose, is there too. I'll watch for his coming out----The morning approaches too slowly. He shall not sleep to-night except it be for ever----Oh, revenge! Oh, jealousy! _Enter_ YOUNG BOOKWIT, _with bottle and glass, singing._[71] _Y. Book._ Since the day of poor man, That little, little span, Though long it can't last, For the future and past Is spent with remorse and despair. With such a full glass Let that of life pass, 'Tis made up of trouble, A storm though a bubble, There's no bliss but forgetting your care. I wonder what's become of poor Latine. I wish he had a bumper of this----[_Drinks._ _Love._ I have no patience to observe his insolent jollity; how immoderately joyful my misery has made him!--Bookwit! _Y. Book._ Lovemore! _Love._ What, sir! are you diverting the thought of to-morrow morning's business with midnight riot? Or is it an assignation keeps you out of bed thus late? _Y. Book._ An hour or two till morning is not much in either of our lives; therefore I must tell you now, sir, I am ready for your message. _Love._ That conscious light and stars are witnesses of---- _Y. Book._ I want no witnesses. I have a sword, as you bid me meet you. [_They draw and fight._ _Love._ You've done my business. [_Falls._ _Y. Book._ Then I've done what you desired me. But this is no place for me. [_Exit._ _Enter_ CONSTABLE _and_ WATCHMEN. _Const._ Where, where was this clashing of swords? So-ho! So-ho! You, sir, what, are you dead? Speak, friend; what are you afraid of? If you are dead, the law can't take hold of you. _Watch._ I beg your pardon, Mr. Constable, he ought by the law to be carried to the Round-house for being dead at this time of night. _Const._ Then away with him, you three----And you, gentlemen, follow me to find out who killed him. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ SIMON. _Sim._ What's the matter, good gentlemen, what's the matter? Oh, me! Mr. Lovemore killed! Oh, me! My mind gives me that it must be about our young lady. _Watch._ Does it so, sir? Then you must stay with us. [_Some hold_ SIMON, _whilst others carry_ LOVEMORE _off._ _Sim._ I stay with you! Oh, gemini! Indeed, I can't----They can't be without me at our house. _Watch._ But they must, friend----Harkee, friend--I hope you'll be hanged. [_Whispers him._ _Sim._ I hanged! Pray, sir, take care of your words. Madam Penelope's, our young lady's servant, hanged! Take care what you say. _Enter_ LATINE.