L. _Kno._ Name it no more, ‘twas only a Gallantry mistaken; but I’ll accelerate your Felicity, and to morrow shall conclude the great dispute, since there is such Volubility and Vicissitude in mundane Affairs. [Goes out. Enter _Lodwick_, stays Sir _Credulous_ as he is going out the other way. _Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, whither away so fast? Sir _Cred._ Zoz, what a Question’s there? dost not know I am to unty the Virgin Zone to morrow, that is, barter Maiden-heads with thy Sister, that is, to be married to her, Man, and I must to _Lincolns-Inn_ to my Counsel about it? _Lod._ My Sister just now told me of it; but, Sir, you must not stir. Sir _Cred._ Why, what’s the matter? _Lod._ Have you made your Will? Sir _Cred._ My Will! no, why my Will, Man? _Lod._ Then, for the good of your Friends and Posterity, stir not from this place. Sir _Cred._ Good Lord, _Lodwick_, thou art the strangest Man,--what do you mean to fright a body thus? _Lod._ You remember the Serenade last night? Sir _Cred._ Remember it? Zoz, I think I do, here be the marks on’t sure.-- [Pulls off his Peruke, and shews his Head broke. _Lod._ Ads me, your Head’s broke. Sir _Cred._ My Head broke! why, ‘twas a hundred to one but my Neck had been broke. _Lod._ Faith, not unlikely,--you know the next House is Sir _Patient Fancy’s_; _Isabella_ too, you know, is his Daughter. Sir _Cred._ Yes, yes, she was by when I made my dumb Oration. _Lod._ The same,--this Lady has a Lover, a mad, furious, fighting, killing Hector, (as you know there are enough about this Town) this Monsieur supposing you to be a Rival, and that your Serenade was address’d to her-- Sir _Cred._ Enough, I understand you, set those Rogues on to murder me. _Lod._ Wou’d ‘twere no worse. Sir _Cred._ Worse! Zoz, Man, what the Devil can be worse? _Lod._ Why, he has vow’d to kill you himself wherever he meets you, and now waits below to that purpose. Sir _Cred._ Sha, sha, if that be all, I’ll to him immediately, and make Affidavit I never had any such design. Madam _Isabella_! ha, ha, alas, poor man, I have some body else to think on. _Lod._ Affidavit! why, he’ll not believe you, should you swear your Heart out: some body has possess’d him that you are a damn’d Fool, and a most egregious Coward, a Fellow that to save your Life will swear any thing. Sir _Cred._ What cursed Luck’s this!--why, how came he to know I liv’d here? _Lod._ I believe he might have it from _Leander_, who is his Friend. Sir _Cred._ _Leander!_ I must confess I never lik’d that _Leander_ since yesterday. _Lod._ He has deceiv’d us all, that’s the truth on’t; for I have lately found out too, that he’s your Rival, and has a kind of a-- Sir _Cred._ Smattering to my Mistress, hah, and therefore wou’d not be wanting to give me a lift out of this World; but I shall give her such a go-by--my Lady _Knowell_ understands the difference between three Thousand a Year, and--prithee what’s his Estate?