La Nu. Put up your Sword, this Lady’s innocent, at least in what concerns this Evening’s business; I own—with Pride I own I am the Woman that pleas’d so well to Night. Will. _La Nuche!_ kind Soul to bring me off with so handsom a lye: How lucky ’twas she happen’d to be here! Beau. False as thou art, why shou’d I credit thee? La Nu. By Heaven, ’tis true, I will not lose the glory on’t. Will. Oh the dear perjur’d Creature, how I love thee for this dear lying Virtue—Harkye, Child, hast thou nothing to say for thy self, to help us out withal?— [To _Aria._ aside. Aria. I! I renounce ye—false Man. Beau. Yes, yes, I know she’s innocent of this, for which I owe no thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark. La Nu. And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour’d your Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, 208 that if this Night I lost you, I shou’d never regain you: now I am yours, and o’er the habitable World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases. Will. Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou’dst try’d me, thou’dst ne’er part with me—give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part us. [Kisses her. —so—now here’s a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage. La Nu. Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as the Parson’s of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing. Will. Thou art reform’d, and I adore the Change. Enter the _Guardian_, _Blunt_, and _Fetherfool_. Guar. My Nieces stol’n, and by a couple of the Seignior’s Men! the Seignior fled too! undone, undone! Will. Hah, now’s my Cue, I must finish this Jest. [Goes out. Enter _Shift_ and _Giant_, _Hunt_ and _Dwarf_. Guar. Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with ’em! I charge ye, Gentlemen, to lay hold on ’em. Dwarf. For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us? Guar. How, married to Rogues, Rascals, _John Potages!_ Blunt. Who the Devil wou’d have look’d for jilting in such Hobgoblins? Feth. And hast thou deceiv’d me, thou foul filthy Synagogue? Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank as before. Blunt. The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated adulterated Villain. Feth. Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal. Blunt. Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue! Will. What’s the matter, Gentlemen? 209 Blunt. Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me to this ill-favour’d Baboon? Feth. And me to this foul filthy o’ergrown Chronicle? Blunt. And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry ’em: Sirrah, I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam’d Drugs, thy _Guzman Medicines_. Feth. Nay, I’ll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have him hang’d for a Witch. Shift. Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their Portion, what wou’d you more? [Aside to the _Guar._ Look ye, Sir. [Pulls off their Disguise. Blunt. _Hunt!_ Feth. _Shift!_ We are betray’d: all will out to the Captain.