_Nurse._ I protest 'tis one of the forward'st Infants in the Universe; Lord! how it will Crow, and Chirup like a Sparrow! I am afraid Sir he is about Teeth, for he Dribbles extreamly, if so, Your Worship must provide him a Silver Corral with a Whistle and Chain. _Mr. Ven._ Well, well, he shall have everything Nurse, my Wife shall send them to ye; in the mean time, there, there's a Piece, to buy thee a Pair of Gloves, and so leave us, for I am busie at present, therefore steal away behind me, and slip out at the back Door. _Nurse._ Yes Sir, I am gone, Heavens bless your Worship, a Piece! Marry! and that's a sufficient Charm to lye up any Nurses Tongue in _Christendom_. [_Ex. Nurse_ _Just. Mer._ Well well, it shall be done: Come Brother we are mist I warrant you amongst the Young Fry, let's to 'um and, Dance till our Legs ake again, come I'll lead the way. _Mr. Ven._ We follow you. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ Friendly _Reading the Letter._ _Fr._ Heaven in its excess of Goodness, bestow'd no greater Blessing on Mankind than that of Friendship--To Murder any one is a Crime unpardonable! _But a Friend!--And of all Friends the nearest to my Heart_,--'Tis such an Imposition that Hell it self 'till now cou'd never parallel; And yet this Devil of a Woman has power over me beyond all Virtue. I am distracted in my Thoughts, and know not what to do; yet something must be done without delay, or else I lose her quite: And yet I fear 'tis most Impossible, for Friendship left the World, when Justice fled, and all who now do wear that Name are the worst of Hypocrites, _Like Counterfeited Coin on which is seen, The formal Stamp; but sordid Dross within._ _Enter_ Bonivile. _Bon._ My Friend alone and Thoughtful? say for what? That you alone appear with Discontent, When all my Friends Congratulate my Bliss? Is it because (which I durst ne're suspect) Your Love to me was not intirely true? Or else perhaps, this Crown of Happiness You think Misplac'd, and Envy it not yours. _Fri._ Forbear such cruel Words-- How can you entertain a Thought so Vile Of him whom so long you have call'd your Friend? May all the Blesings Heaven can bestow On us poor Mortals in this World below, Crown all your Days, and may you nothing see But flowing Tides of sweet Felicity; But I, alas!-- _Bon._ Alas! What means my _Friendly_? Much hidden Grief that wretched Word portends, Which thus disturbs the Quiet of my Friend? But come disclose it to me, And since the Burthen is too much for one, I'll bear a part to ease thy troubled Breast. _Fri._ Oh _Bonvile_! Seek not to force this Fatal secret from me-- _Bon._ I must know it, by my best hopes I must. _Fri._ Oh no! I cannot, Nay I dare not-- _Bon._ How dare not trust a secret to a Friend? _Fri._ Oh _Bonville_, _Bonville_! Call me not your Friend, That Name strikes horrour to my very Soul.