Blunt. The Rogues are up in Arms, ’dsheartlikins, this villainous _Frederick_ has betray’d me, they have heard of my blessed Fortune. _Ned Blunt, Ned, Ned_— [and knocking within. Belv. Why, he’s dead, Sir, without dispute dead, he has not been seen to day; let’s break open the Door—here—Boy— Blunt. Ha, break open the Door! ’dsheartlikins that mad Fellow will be as good as his word. Belv. Boy, bring something to force the Door. [A great noise within at the Door again. Blunt. So, now must I speak in my own Defence, I’ll try what Rhetorick will do—hold—hold, what do you mean, Gentlemen, what do you mean? Belv. Oh Rogue, art alive? prithee open the Door, and convince us. Blunt. Yes, I am alive, Gentlemen—but at present a little busy. 87 Belv. How! _Blunt_ grown a man of Business! come, come, open, and let’s see this Miracle. [within. Blunt. No, no, no, no, Gentlemen, ’tis no great Business—but—I am—at—my Devotion,—’dsheartlikins, will you not allow a man time to pray? Belv. Turn’d religious! a greater Wonder than the first, therefore open quickly, or we shall unhinge, we shall. [within. Blunt. This won’t do—Why, hark ye, Colonel; to tell you the plain Truth, I am about a necessary Affair of Life.—I have a Wench with me—you apprehend me? the Devil’s in’t if they be so uncivil as to disturb me now. Will. How, a Wench! Nay, then we must enter and partake; no Resistance,—unless it be your Lady of Quality, and then we’ll keep our distance. Blunt. So, the Business is out. Will. Come, come, lend more hands to the Door,—now heave altogether—so, well done, my Boys— [Breaks open the Door. Enter _Belvile_, _Willmore_, _Fred._ _Pedro_ and _Belvile’s_ Page: _Blunt_ looks simply, they all laugh at him, he lays his hand on his Sword, and conies up to _Willmore_. Blunt. Hark ye, Sir, laugh out your laugh quickly, d’ye hear, and be gone, I shall spoil your sport else; ’dsheartlikins, Sir, I shall—the Jest has been carried on too long,—a Plague upon my Taylor— [Aside. Will. ’Sdeath, how the Whore has drest him! Faith, Sir, I’m sorry. Blunt. Are you so, Sir? keep’t to your self then, Sir, I advise you, d’ye hear? for I can as little endure your Pity as his Mirth. [Lays his Hand on’s Sword. Belv. Indeed, _Willmore_, thou wert a little too rough with _Ned Blunt’s_ Mistress; call a Person of Quality Whore, and one so young, so handsome, and so eloquent!—ha, ha, ha. 88 Blunt. Hark ye, Sir, you know me, and know I can be angry; have a care—for ’dsheartlikins I can fight too—I can, Sir,—do you mark me—no more. Belv. Why so peevish, good _Ned?_ some Disappointments, I’ll warrant—What! did the jealous Count her Husband return just in the nick? Blunt. Or the Devil, Sir,—d’ye laugh? [They laugh.] Look ye, settle me a good sober Countenance, and that quickly too, or you shall know _Ned Blunt_ is not— Belv. Not every Body, we know that. Blunt. Not an Ass, to be laught at, Sir.