La Nu. Faith, such a Brood may prove a pretty Livelihood for a poor decay’d Officer; you may chance to get a Patent to shew ’em in _England_, that Nation of Change and Novelty. Will. A provision old _Carlo_ cannot make for you against the abandon’d day. La Nu. He can supply the want of Issue a better way; and tho he be not so fine a fellow as your self, he’s a better 167 Friend, he can keep a Mistress: give me a Man can feed and clothe me, as well as hug and all to bekiss me, and tho his Sword be not so good as yours, his Bond’s worth a thousand Captains. This will not do, I’ll try what Jealousy will do. [Aside.] Your Servant, Captain—your Hand, Sir. [Takes _Ariadne_ by the Hand. Will. Hah, what new Coxcomb’s that—hold, Sir— [Takes her from him. Aria. What would you, Sir, ought with this Lady? Will. Yes, that which thy Youth will only let thee guess at—this—Child, is Man’s Meat; there are other Toys for Children. [Offers to lead her off. La Nu. Oh insolent! and whither would’st thou lead me? Will. Only out of harm’s way, Child, here are pretty near Conveniences within: the Doctor will be civil—’tis part of his Calling—Your Servant, Sir— [Going off with her. Aria. I must huff now, tho I may chance to be beaten—come back—or I have something here that will oblige ye to’t. [Laying his hand on his Sword. Will. Yes faith, thou’rt a pretty Youth; but at this time I’ve more occasion for a thing in Petticoats—go home, and do not walk the Streets so much; that tempting Face of thine will debauch the grave men of business, and make the Magistrates lust after Wickedness. Aria. You are a scurvy Fellow, Sir. [Going to draw. Will. Keep in your Sword, for fear it cut your Fingers, Child. Aria. So ’twill your Throat, Sir—here’s Company coming that will part us, and I’ll venture to draw. [Draws, Will. draws. Enter _Beaumond_. Beau. Hold, hold—hah, _Willmore!_ thou Man of constant mischief, what’s the matter? 168 La Nu. _Beaumond!_ undone! Aria. —_Beaumond!_— Will. Why, here’s a young Spark will take my Lady Bright from me; the unmanner’d Hot-spur would not have patience till I had finish’d my small Affair with her. [Puts up his Sword. Aria. Death, he’ll know me—Sir, you see we are prevented. [Draws him aside. —or— [Seems to talk to him, _Beau._ gazes on _La Nuche_, who has pull’d down her Veil. Beau. ’Tis she! Madam, this Veil’s too thin to hide the perjur’d Beauty underneath. Oh, have I been searching thee, with all the diligence of impatient Love, and am I thus rewarded, to find thee here incompass’d round with Strangers, fighting, who first should take my right away?—Gods! take your Reason back, take all your Love; for easy Man’s unworthy of the Blessings. Will. Harkye, _Harry_—the—Woman—the almighty Whore—thou told’st me of to day. Beau. Death, do’st thou mock my Grief—unhand me strait, for tho I cannot blame thee, I must hate thee.— [Goes out. Will. What the Devil ails he? Aria. You will be sure to come.