Sir _Cred._ Oh, Quarter, Quarter, Murder, Help, Murder, Murder! Enter _Lodwick_. _Lod._ Damn these Rascals, who e’er they were, that so unluckily redeem’d a Rival from my Fury,--Hah, they are here,--Egad, I’ll have one touch more with ‘em,--the Dogs are spoiling my design’d Serenade too--have amongst ye.-- [Fights and beats ‘em off.] Sir _Credulous_, how is’t? Sir _Cred._ Who’s there? _Lodwick?_ Oh dear Lad, is’t thou that hast redeem’d me from the inchanted Cudgels that demolish’d my triumphant Pageant, and confounded my Serenade? Zoz, I’m half kill’d, Man,--I have never a whole Bone about me sure. _Lod._ Come in with me--a plague upon the Rascal that escap’d me. [Exeunt. ACT IV. SCENE I. Lady _Knowell’s_ House. Enter _Lucretia_, followed by Sir _Credulous_. _Lucr._ Marry’d to morrow! and leave my Mother the possession of _Leander_! I’ll die a thousand Deaths first.--How the Fool haunts me! [Aside. Sir _Cred._ Nay, delicious Lady, you may say your Pleasure; but I will justify the Serenade to be as high a piece of Gallantry as was ever practised in our Age, though not comparable to your Charms and celestial Graces, which shou’d I praise as I ought, ‘twou’d require more time than the Sun employs in his natural Motion between the Tropicks; that is to say, a whole Year, (for by the way, I am no _Copernican_) for, Dear Madam, you must know, my Rhetorick Master,--I say, my Rhetorick Master, who was-- _Lucr._ As great a Coxcomb as your self;--pray leave me, I am serious--I must go seek out _Lodwick_. Sir _Cred._ Leave ye! I thank you for that, i’faith, before I have spoke out my Speech; therefore I say, Divine Lady--because my Rhetorick Master commanded the frequent use of _Hypallages_, _Allegories_, and the richest Figures of that beauteous Art,--because my Rhetorick-- _Lucr._ I must leave the Fool, follow if you dare, for I have no leisure to attend your Nonsense. [Goes out. Enter Lady _Knowell_. L. _Kno._ What, alone, Sir _Credulous_? I left you with _Lucretia_. Sir _Cred._ _Lucretia!_ I’m sure she makes a very _Tarquinius Sextus_ of me, and all about this Serenade,--I protest and vow, incomparable Lady, I had begun the sweetest Speech to her--though I say’t, such Flowers of Rhetorick--’twou’d have been the very Nosegay of Eloquence, so it wou’d; and like an ungrateful illiterate Woman as she is, she left me in the very middle on’t, so snuffy I’ll warrant. L. _Kno._ Be not discourag’d, Sir, I’ll adapt her to a reconciliation: Lovers must sometimes expect these little _Belli fugaces_; the _Grecians_ therefore truly named Love _Glucupicros Eros_. Sir _Cred._ Nay, bright Lady, I am as little discourag’d as another, but I’m sorry I gave so extraordinary a Serenade to so little purpose.