_Sum._ I desire you not to grow too inward with me, on so short an Acquaintance: Not that I'de have you think the Lady of so base a Disposition to grant me any thing beyond the Rules of Decency and Honour. The only Favour I e're receiv'd from her, was a Present of those Bracelets she wears about her Arms, and that Chain of Gold and Pearl she has about her Neck; all which either of us may own without a Blush. _Fri._ How, the Chain and Bracelet, say you! Those were the first Tokens of her Husband's Love. _Sum._ Methinks you look concern'd at what I've said; yet I have said no more than what I am obliged in Honour to maintain, and will: therefore I hope, as you'r a Gentleman, you'l not turn Informer. _Fri._ O pray think not so poorly of me. _Enter a Servant who whispers_ Summerfield. _Sum._ Tell her I'le wait on her immediately. [_Exit Servant._ Sir, some Business of Importance calls me hence; therefore some other time I hope I shall have the Happiness of enjoying your Company longer. [_Exit_ Sum. _Fri._ Sir, your humble Servant. Tell her I'll wait on her immediately, said he; this must be _Arabella_ that he's going to: Better still. _The Work's begun, now I am made or lost; He runs the best who holds out to the Post: And all the Comfort in Adversity, Is to see others as miserable as me._ Who have we here? Old _Merryman_! As I live 'tis he! _Enter Justice_ Merryman. _Mer._ O Master _Friendly,_ you're happily returned: But where's my Son-in-Law? _Fri._ Alas, Sir, the unhappy _Bonvile_ is---- _Mer._ Is, is, what is he? Heh! speak; is he living, or is he dead; or what's become of him? _Fri._ O! that I had the Marble _Niobes_ Heart! Or that I had suck'd the Milk of Wolves and Tigers; so that I might have told, without the least remorse of Sorrow, what now I dare not, nay, I cannot speak, for fear at once I melt my self in Tears, and break your aged Heart. [_Seems to weep._ _Mer._ Then I suppose he's killed; say, is he not? Hast thou inticed him from his Bride for this, thou inhumane Wretch? Yet speak, and tell me truly, for I'm prepared to hear the worst of Ills; Is he then slain? _Fri._ No, Sir, but dangerously wounded. _Mer._ Not mortally, I hope; but whereabouts is he so desperately wounded? In his Arms, his Legs, or Body? _Fri._ Neither, Sir, but in as perfect Health as when he left you. _Mer._ Strange! sure thou art all o're a Mystery, and form'st these Riddles to try my Wit. _Fri._ No, Sir, for all I have said, you in effect will surely find I told you he was wounded, did I not? _Mer._ Yes, you did. _Fri._ And so he is. _Mer._ But where, whereabout, I ask you once again? _Fri._ I see you force the unwilling Secret from me--Why, he's wounded. _Mer._ He's wounded, he's wounded, but where, where is he wounded? _Fri._ In his Fame, Honour and Reputation, more mortal than a thousand fleshy Wounds. _For such slight Baubles, Cures are oft obtain'd; But injur'd Honour ne're can be regain'd._