MEN. _Willmore_, The Rover, in love with _La Nuche_, Mr. _Smith_. _Beaumond_, the _English_ Ambassador’s Nephew, in love with _La Nuche_, contracted to _Ariadne_, Mr. _Williams_. _Ned Blunt_, an _English_ Country Gentleman, Mr. _Underhill_. _Nicholas Fetherfool_, an English Squire, his Friend, Mr. _Nokes_. _Shift_, an English Lieutenant, Friends and Officers to _Willmore_, Mr. _Wiltshire_. _Hunt_, an Ensign Mr. _Richards_. _Harlequin_, _Willmore’s_ Man. _Abevile_, Page to _Beaumond_. Don _Carlo_ an old Grandee, in love with _La Nuche_, Mr. _Norris_. _Sancho_, Bravo to _La Nuche_ An old _Jew_, Guardian to the two Monsters, Mr. _Freeman_. _Porter_ at the English Ambassador’s. _Rag_, Boy to Willmore. Scaramouche. WOMEN. _Ariadne_, the English Ambassador’s Daughter-in-law, in love with _Willmore_, Mrs. _Corror_. _Lucia_, her Kinswoman, a Girl, Mrs. _Norris_. _La Nuche_, a _Spanish_ Curtezan, in love with the _Rover_, Mrs. _Barry_. _Petronella Elenora_, her Baud, Mrs. _Norris_. _Aurelia_, her Woman, Mrs. _Crofts_. A Woman Giant. A Dwarf, her Sister. Footmen, Servants, Musicians, Operators and Spectators. SCENE, _Madrid_. 118 ACT I. Scene I. A Street. Enter _Willmore_, _Blunt_, _Fetherfool_, and _Hunt_, two more in Campain Dresses, _Rag_ the Captain’s Boy. Will. Stay, this is the _English_ Ambassador’s. I’ll inquire if _Beaumond_ be return’d from _Paris_. Feth. Prithee, dear Captain, no more Delays, unless thou thinkest he will invite us to Dinner; for this fine thin sharp Air of _Madrid_ has a most notable Faculty of provoking an Appetite: Prithee let’s to the Ordinary. Will. I will not stay— [Knocks, enter a Porter. —Friend, is the Ambassador’s Nephew, Mr. _Beaumond_, return’d to _Madrid_ yet? If he be, I would speak with him. Port. I’ll let him know so much. [Goes in, shuts the door. Blunt. Why, how now, what’s the Door shut upon us? Feth. And reason, _Ned_, ’tis Dinner-time in the Ambassador’s Kitchen, and should they let the savoury Steam out, what a world of _Castilians_ would there be at the Door feeding upon’t.—Oh there’s no living in _Spain_ when the Pot’s uncover’d. Blunt. Nay, ’tis a Nation of the finest clean Teeth— Feth. Teeth! Gad an they use their Swords no oftner, a Scabbard will last an Age. Enter _Shift_ from the House. Will. Honest Lieutenant— Shift. My noble Captain—Welcome to Madrid. What Mr. _Blunt_, and my honoured Friend _Nicholas Fetherfool_ Esq. Feth. Thy Hand, honest _Shift_— [They embrace him. Will. And how, Lieutenant, how stand Affairs in this unsanctify’d Town?—How does Love’s great Artillery, the 119 fair La Nuche, from whose bright Eyes the little wanton God throws Darts to wound Mankind? Shift. Faith, she carries all before her still; undoes her Fellow-traders in Love’s Art: and amongst the Number, old _Carlo de Minalta Segosa_ pays high for two Nights in a Week.