_Jen._ I am scar’d with those dead Bodies we have pass’d over; for God’s sake, Madam, let me know your design in coming. _Ran._ Why, now I tell thee--my damn’d mad Fellow _Daring_, who has my Heart and Soul, loves _Chrisante_, has stolen her, and carried her away to his Tents; she hates him, while I am dying for him. _Jem._ Dying, Madam! I never saw you melancholy. _Ran._ Pox on’t, no; why should I sigh and whine, and make my self an Ass, and him conceited? no, instead of snivelling I am resolved-- _Jen._ What, Madam? _Ran._ Gad, to beat the Rascal, and bring off _Chrisante_. _Jen._ Beat him, Madam! what, a Woman beat a Lieutenant-General? _Ran._ Hang ‘em, they get a name in War from Command, not Courage; but how know I but I may fight? Gad, I have known a Fellow kick’d from one end of the Town to t’other, believing himself a Coward; at last forced to fight, found he could; got a Reputation, and bullied all he met with; and got a Name, and a great Commission. _Jen._ But if he should kill you, Madam. _Ran._ I’ll take care to make it as comical a Duel as the best of ‘em; as much in love as I am, I do not intend to die its Martyr. Enter _Daring_ and _Fearless_. _Fear._ Have you seen _Chrisante_ since the Fight? _Dar._ Yes, but she is still the same, as nice and coy as Fortune when she’s courted by the wretched; yet she denies me so obligingly, she keeps my Love still in its humble Calm. _Ran._ Can you direct me, Sir, to one _Daring’s_ Tent? [Sullenly. _Dar._ One _Daring!_--he has another Epithet to his Name. _Ran._ What’s that, Rascal, or Coward? _Dar._ Hah, which of thy Stars, young Man, has sent thee hither, to find that certain Fate they have decreed? _Ran._ I know not what my Stars have decreed, but I shall be glad if they have ordain’d me to fight with _Daring_:--by thy concern thou shou’dst be he? _Dar._ I am, prithee who art thou? _Ran._ Thy Rival, though newly arrived from _England_, and came to marry fair _Chrisante_, whom thou hast ravish’d, for whom I hear another Lady dies. _Dar._ Dies for me? _Ran._ Therefore resign her fairly--or fight me fairly-- _Dar._ Come on, Sir--but hold--before I kill thee, prithee inform me who this dying Lady is? _Ran._ Sir, I owe ye no Courtesy, and therefore will do you none by telling you--come, Sir, for _Chrisante_--draw. [They offer to fight, _Fearless_ steps in. _Fear._ Hold--what mad Frolick’s this?--Sir, you fight for one you never saw [to _Ranter_.] and you for one that loves you not. [To _Dar._ _Dar._ Perhaps she’ll love him as little. _Ran._ Gad, put it to the Trial, if you dare--if thou be’st generous, bring me to her, and whom she does neglect shall give the other place. _Dar._ That’s fair, put up thy Sword--I’ll bring thee to her instantly. [Exeunt. SCENE III. A Tent. Enter _Chrisante_ and _Surelove_. _Chris._ I’m not so much afflicted for my Confinement, as I am that I cannot hear of _Friendly_. _Sure._ Art not persecuted with _Daring_?