_Cour._ What, with that circumcised band? that grave hypocritical beard, of the reformation-cut? Old fellow, I believe you are a rogue. _Sir Dav._ Sirrah, you are a whore, an arrant bitch-whore; I'll use you like a whore; I'll kiss you, you jade; I'll ravish you, you buttock; I am a justice of the peace, sirrah, and that's worse. _Cour._ Damn you, sir, I care not if you were a constable and all his watch: what, such a rogue as you send honest fellows to prison, and countenance whores in your jurisdiction for bribery, you mongrel! I'll beat you, sirrah, I'll brain you; I'll murder you, you mooncalf! [_Throws the chair after him._ _Sir Dav._ Sir, sir, sir! constable! watch! stocks! stocks! stocks! murder! [_Exit._ _Cour._ Huzza, Beaugard! _Re-enter_ BEAUGARD _and_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE. _Four._ Well, sir, the business is done; we have bargained to murder you. _Beau._ Murdered! who's to be murdered, ha, Fourbin? _Sir Jol._ You are to be murdered, friend; you shall be murdered, friend. _Beau._ But how am I to be murdered? who's to murder me, I beseech you? _Four._ Your humble servant, Fourbin; I am the man, with your worship's leave: Sir Davy has given me this gold to do it handsomely. _Beau._ Sir Davy! uncharitable cur; what! murder an honest fellow for being civil to his family! What can this mean, gentlemen? _Sir Jol._ No, 'tis for not being civil to his family, that it means, gentlemen; therefore are you to be murdered to-night, and buried a-bed with my lady, you Jack Straw, you. _Beau._ I understand you, friends; the old gentleman has designed to have me butchered, and you have kindly contrived to turn it to my advantage in the affair of love. I am to be murdered but as it were, gentlemen, ha? [_Exit_ COURTINE. _Four._ Your honour has a piercing judgment. Sir, Captain Courtine's gone. _Beau._ No matter, let him go: he has a design to put in practice this night too, and would perhaps but spoil ours. But when, Sir Jolly, is this business to be brought about? _Sir Jol._ Presently; 'tis more than time 'twere done already. Go, get you gone, I say. Hold, hold, let's see your left ear first, hum--ha--you are a rogue, you're a rogue; get you gone, get you gone, go. [_Exeunt._ [Illustration] SCENE II.--_Outside_ Sir DAVY DUNCE'S _House_. _Enter_ SYLVIA _and her_ Maid _in the Balcony_. _Maid._ But why, madam, will you use him so inhumanly? I'm confident he loves you. _Sylv._ Oh! a true lover is to be found out like a true saint, by the trial of his patience. Have you the cords ready? _Maid._ Here they are, madam.