_Mer._ How! how! how's this? wounded in his Honour, fay'll thou? Tell me the Villain that has defam'd him, and this good old Sword shall slit the Rascal's Wind-pipe. _Fri._ O, Sir, your Daughter, your Daughter, Sir---- _Mer._ Ha! what's that? what's that? is she injur'd too? _Fri._ No, no Sir, my falling Tears quite drown my feeble Voice, I cannot utter what I fain would speak--Your Daughter's false, false to her _Bonvile_! And by the help of her beloved _Summerfield_, has robb'd my Friend of all he cou'd call Dear, I mean his Fame. [_Seems to weep._ _Mer._ A Pox o' your Crocodile's Tears. Why, Sirrah, Sirrah, do you call my Daughter Whore? Hey, Swords and Daggers, Blunderbusses and Pistols, shall I bear this? Hark you, you my Friend, and no Friend, what a Kin do you take me to be to this Gentlewoman, Heh? _Fri._ Her Father, Sir. _Mer._ Audacious Villain, O that I had thee in some private Corner, where none you'd either see or hear us, this Sword shou'd justify my Daughter's Honour; I'de Whore you with a Pox to you, so I wou'd. _Fri._ Your Pardon, Sir, I only did inform you as a Friend, that by your fatherly Admonitions, you might refrain her from her undecent Course. _Mer._ Pox o' your friendly Intelligence. _Fri._ The Jewels which her Husband did present her, as the first Sign and Confirmation of the happy Contract, she to my certain Knowledg has given to---- _Mer._ To whom, to whom thou wicked Slanderer? tell me, Sarrah, quickly, quick, quick. _Fri._ To _Summerfield_. _Mer._ Ha, ha, ha, the Fool makes me laugh; Ha, ha, ha, why 'twas but just now that I saw e'm on her Neck and Arms. _Fri._ She was no Woman, had she not the Sense to get them against her Husband's coming. _Mer._ But pray tell me, how is't possible that she cou'd part with 'em, when they are lock't on, and the Key with her Husband? _Fri._ O, Sir, that's no Question to be ask'd in these Times: Women _have found a way to make use of other Keys besides their Husbands: And no doubt but_ Summerfield _has got a Key will open your Daughter's lock as well as_ Bonvile's. _Mer._ Sirrah you lie, you lie Sirrah; and I'le tell thee thou ly's, again and again, so I will. Nay, and I were to pay a 100 Pounds for every Lie I give thee, as Men do Twelve-pence for every Oath they swear, I wou'd spend all the Thousands I am worth, in giving thee the Lie. 'Tis likely indeed, that such a brave Gentleman as _Summerfield_, that fought at Sea like a Dragon to save my Life, should shorten my Days on Land in ruining my Daughter; therefore once more I tell you you Lie. _Fri._ 'Tis very well. _Me._ Do you hear Sir, have you told this Lie to any body else but me? _Fri._ I am no Informer, Sir. _Mer._ Why then for fear you shou'd, do ye see, draw, [_Draws_] Draw, I say, I am not so old but I can make a shift to cut your Throat still; I'le spoil your Carking, I'le warrant ye. _Enter_ Bonvile _and_ Clara.