_1 Bra._ I am a ruffian too; by the prejudice of education, I was born a butcher.--In short, sir, if your wine had come, we might have trifled a little longer.--Come, sir, which sword will you fall by? mine, sir? _2 Bra._ Or mine? [_Draws._ _3 Bra._ Or mine? [_Draws._ _4 Bra._ Or mine? [_Draws._ _Y. Mir._ I scorn to beg my life; but to be butchered thus!--O, there's the wine!--this moment for [_Knocking._] my life or death. _Enter_ ORIANA. Lost! for ever lost!--Where's the wine, child! [_Faintly._ _Oriana._ Coming up, sir. [_Stamps._ _Enter_ DURETETE _with his Sword drawn, and six of the_ GRAND MUSQUETEERS, _with their Pieces presented, the_ RUFFIANS _drop their Swords_.--ORIANA _goes off_. _Y. Mir._ The wine, the wine, the wine! Youth, pleasure, fortune, days and years, are now my own again! Ah, my dear friends! did not I tell you, this wine would make me merry?--Dear Captain, these gentlemen are the best natured, facetious, witty creatures, that ever you knew. _Enter_ LAMORCE. _Lam._ Is the wine come, sir? _Y. Mir._ O yes, madam, the wine is come----see there! [_Pointing to the_ SOLDIERS.] Your ladyship has got a very fine ring upon your finger. _Lam._ Sir, 'tis at your service. _Y. Mir._ O ho! is it so? Thou dear seven hundred pound, thou'rt welcome home again, with all my heart!--Ad's my life, madam, you have got the finest built watch there! Tompion's, I presume? _Lam._ Sir, you may wear it. _Y. Mir._ O madam, by no means, 'tis too much--Rob you of all!--[_Taking it from her._] Good, dear time, thou'rt a precious thing, I'm glad I have retrieved thee. [_Putting it up._] What, my friends neglected all this while! Gentlemen, you'll pardon my complaisance to the lady.--How now! is it civil to be so out of humour at my entertainment, and I so pleased with yours? Captain, you're surprised at all this--but we're in our frolics, you must know.--Some wine here! _Enter_ SERVANT, _with Wine_. Come, Captain, this worthy gentleman's health. [_Tweaks the First_ BRAVO _by the Nose; he roars_. But now, where--where's my dear deliverer, my boy, my charming boy? _1 Bra._ I hope some of our crew below stairs have dispatched him. _Y. Mir._ Villain, what say'st thou? dispatched! I'll have ye all tortured, racked, torn to pieces alive, if you have touched my boy.--Here, page! page! page! [_Runs out._ _Dur._ Here, gentlemen, be sure you secure those fellows. _1 Bra._ Yes, sir, we know you, and your guard will be very civil to us.