SCENE I

The Street. Enter Colonel Standard and Vizard.

Colonel S. I bring him word where she lodged? I the civilest rival in the world? 'Tis impossible.

Vizard. I shall urge it no farther, sir. I only thought, sir, that my character in the world might add authority to my words, without so many repetitions.

Colonel S. Pardon me, dear Vizard. Our belief struggles hard, before it can be brought to yield to the disadvantage of what we love. But what said Sir Harry?

Vizard. He pitied the poor credulous colonel, laughed heartily, flew away with all the raptures of a bridegroom, repeating these lines:

A mistress ne'er can pall her lover's joys,

Whose wit can whet, whene'er her beauty cloys.

Colonel S. A mistress ne'er can pall! By all my wrongs he whores her, and I am made their property.——Vengeance——Vizard, you must carry a note for me to Sir Harry.

Vizard. What, a challenge? I hope you don't design to fight?

Colonel S. What, wear the livery of my king, and pocket an affront? 'Twere an abuse to his sacred Majesty: a soldier's sword, Vizard, should start of itself, to redress its master's wrong.

Vizard. However, sir, I think it not proper for me to carry any such message between friends.

Colonel S. I have ne'er a servant here; what shall I do?

Vizard. There's Tom Errand, the porter, that plies at the Blue Posts, one who knows Sir Harry and his haunts very well; you may send a note by him.

Colonel S. Here, you, friend.

Vizard. I have now some business, and must take my leave; I would advise you, nevertheless, against this affair.

Colonel S. No whispering now, nor telling of friends, to prevent us. He, that disappoints a man of an honourable revenge, may love him foolishly like a wife, but never value him as a friend.

Vizard. Nay, the devil take him, that parts you, say I. [Exit.

Enter Tom Errand.

Tom. Did your honour call porter?

Colonel S. Is your name Tom Errand?

Tom. People call me so, an't like your worship.

Colonel S. D'ye know Sir Harry Wildair?

Tom. Ay, very well, sir; he's one of my best masters; many a round half crown have I had of his worship; he's newly come home from France, sir.

Colonel S. Go to the next coffee-house, and wait for me.——Oh, woman, woman, how blessed is man, when favoured by your smiles, and how accursed when all those smiles are found but wanton baits to sooth us to destruction. [Exeunt.

Enter Sir H. Wildair, and Clincher Senior, following.

Clinch. sen. Sir, sir, sir, having some business of importance to communicate to you, I would beg your attention to a trifling affair, that I would impart to your understanding.

Sir H. What is your trifling business of importance, pray, sweet sir?

Clinch. sen. Pray, sir, are the roads deep between this and Paris?

Sir H. Why that question, sir?

Clinch. sen. Because I design to go to the jubilee, sir. I understand that you are a traveller, sir; there is an air of travel in the tie of your cravat, sir: there is indeed, sir——I suppose, sir, you bought this lace in Flanders.

Sir H. No, sir, this lace was made in Norway.

Clinch. sen. Norway, sir?

Sir H. Yes, sir, of the shavings of deal boards.

Clinch. sen. That's very strange now, 'faith—Lace made of the shavings of deal boards! 'Egad, sir, you travellers see very strange things abroad, very incredible things abroad, indeed. Well, I'll have a cravat of the very same lace before I come home.

Sir H. But, sir, what preparations have you made for your journey?

Clinch. sen. A case of pocket-pistols for the bravos, and a swimming-girdle.

Sir H. Why these, sir?

Clinch. sen. Oh, lord, sir, I'll tell you——Suppose us in Rome now; away goes I to some ball—for I'll be a mighty beau. Then, as I said, I go to some ball, or some bear-baiting—'tis all one, you know—then comes a fine Italian bona roba, and plucks me by the sleeve: Signior Angle, Signior Angle—She's a very fine lady, observe that—Signior Angle, says she—Signiora, says I, and trips after her to the corner of a street, suppose it Russel Street, here, or any other street: then, you know, I must invite her to the tavern; I can do no less——There up comes her bravo; the Italian grows saucy, and I give him an English dowse on the face: I can box, sir, box tightly; I was a 'prentice, sir——But then, sir, he whips out his stiletto, and I whips out my bull-dog—slaps him through, trips down stairs, turns the corner of Russel Street again, and whips me into the ambassador's train, and there I'm safe as a beau behind the scenes.

Sir H. Is your pistol charged, sir?

Clinch. sen. Only a brace of bullets, that's all, sir.

Sir H. 'Tis a very fine pistol, truly; pray let me see it.

Clinch. sen. With all my heart, sir.

Sir H. Harkye, Mr. Jubilee, can you digest a brace of bullets?

Clinch. sen. Oh, by no means in the world, sir.

Sir H. I'll try the strength of your stomach, however. Sir, you're a dead man.

[Presenting the Pistol to his Breast.

Clinch. sen. Consider, dear sir, I am going to the Jubilee: when I come home again, I am a dead man at your service.

Sir H. Oh, very well, sir; but take heed you are not so choleric for the future.

Clinch. sen. Choleric, sir! Oons, I design to shoot seven Italians in a week, sir.

Sir H. Sir, you won't have provocation.

Clinch. sen. Provocation, sir! Zouns, sir, I'll kill any man for treading upon my corns: and there will be a devilish throng of people there: they say that all the princes of Italy will be there.

Sir H. And all the fops and fiddlers in Europe——But the use of your swimming girdle, pray sir?

Clinch. sen. Oh lord, sir, that's easy. Suppose the ship cast away; now, whilst, other foolish people are busy at their prayers, I whip on my swimming girdle, clap a month's provision in my pocket, and sails me away, like an egg in a duck's belly. Well, sir, you must pardon me now, I'm going to see my mistress. [Exit.

Sir H. This fellow's an accomplished ass before he goes abroad. Well, this Angelica has got into my heart, and I cannot get her out of my head. I must pay her t'other visit. [Exit.