Sir Tim. A new Wench, I warrant—But prithee, Sham, I have other matters in hand; ‘Sheart, I am so mortify’d with this same thought of Fighting, that I shall hardly think of Womankind again.

Sharp. And you were so forward, Sir Timothy—

Sir Tim. Ay, Sharp, I am always so when I am angry; had I been but A little more provok’d then, that we might have gone to’t when the heat was brisk, I had done well—but a Pox on’t, this fighting in cool Blood I hate.

Sham. ‘Shaw, Sir, ‘tis nothing, a Man wou’d do’t for Exercise in a Morning.

Sir Tim. Ay, if there were no more in’t than Exercise; if a Man cou’d take a Breathing without breathing a Vein—but, Sham, this Wounds, and Blood, sounds terribly in my Ears; but since thou say’st ‘tis nothing, prithee do thou meet Bellmour in my stead; thou art a poor Dog, and ’.is no matter if the World were well rid of thee.

Sham. I wou’d do’t with all my Soul—but your Honour, Sir—

Sir Tim.—My Honour! ‘tis but Custom that makes it honourable to fight Duels—I warrant you the wise Italian thinks himself a Man of Honour; and yet when did you hear of an Italian, that ever fought a Duel? Is’t not enough, that I am affronted, have my Mistress taken away before my Face, hear my self call’d, dull, common Man, dull Animal, and the rest?—But I must after all give him leave to kill me too, if he can—And this is your damn’d Honourable English way of shewing a Man’s Courage.

Sham. I must confess I am of your mind, and therefore have been studying a Revenge, sutable to the Affront: and if I can judge any thing, I have hit it.

Sir Tim. Hast thou? dear Sham, out with it.

Sham. Why, Sir—what think you of debauching his Sister?

Sir Tim. Why, is there such a thing in Nature?

Sham. You know he has a Sister, Sir.

Sir Tim. Yes, rich, and fair.

Sham. Both, or she were not worthy of your Revenge.

Sir Tim. Oh, how I love Revenge, that has a double Pleasure in it—and where—and where is this fine piece of Temptation?

Sham. In being, Sir—but Sharp here, and I, have been at some cost in finding her out.

Sir Tim. Ye shall be overpaid—there’s Gold, my little Maquere—but she’s very handsom?

Sharp. As a Goddess, Sir.

Sir Tim. And art thou sure she will be leud?

Sharp. Are we sure she’s a Woman, Sir?—Sure, she’s in her Teens, has Pride and Vanity—and two or three Sins more that I cou’d name, all which never fail to assist a Woman in Debauchery—But, Sir, there are certain People that belong to her, that must be consider’d too.

Sir Tim. Stay, Sir, e’er I part with more Money, I’ll be certain what returns ‘twill make me—that is, I’ll see the Wench, not to inform my self, how well I like her, for that I shall do, because she is new, and Bellmour’s Sister—but to find what possibility there is in gaining her.—I am us’d to these things, and can guess from a Look, or a Kiss, or a Touch of the Hand—but then I warrant, ‘twill come to the knowledge of Betty Flauntit.

Sham. What, Sir, then it seems you doubt us?

Sir Tim. How do you mean, your Honesty or Judgment? I can assure you, I doubt both.

Sharp. How, Sir, doubt our Honesty!

Sir Tim. Yes—why, I hope neither of you pretend to either, do you?

Sham. Why, Sir, what, do you take us for Cheats?

Sir Tim. As errant, as any’s in Christendom.

Sharp. How, Sir?

Sir Tim. Why, how now—what, fly in my Face? Are your Stomachs so queasy, that Cheat won’t down with you?

Sham. Why, Sir, we are Gentlemen; and though our ill Fortunes have thrown us on your Bounty, we are not to be term’d—

Sir Tim. Why, you pair of Hectors—whence this Impudence?—Do ye know me, ye Raggamuffins?

Sham. Yes, but we knew not that you were a Coward before. You talkt big, and huft where-e’er you came, like an errant Bully; and so long we reverenc’d you—but now we find you have need of our Courage, we’ll stand on our own Reputations.

Sir Tim. Courage and Reputation!—ha, ha, ha—why, you lousy Tatterdemallions—dare ye talk of Courage and Reputation?

Sharp. Why, Sir, who dares question either?

Sir Tim. He that dares try it. [Kicks ‘em.

Sharp. Hold, Sir, hold.

Sham. Enough, enough, we are satisfy’d.

Sir Tim. So am not I, ye mangy Mungrels, till I have kickt Courage and Reputation out of ye.

Sham. Hold there, Sir, ‘tis enough, we are satisfy’d, that you have Courage.

Sir Tim. Oh, are you so? then it seems I was not to be believ’d—I told you I had Courage when I was angry.

Sham. Ay, Sir, we have prov’d it, and will now swear it.—But we had an Inclination to try, Sir.

Sir Tim. And all you did, was but to try my Courage, hah!

Sharp. On our Honours, nothing else, Sir Timothy.

Sir Tim. Though I know ye to be cursed cowardly lying Rogues, yet because I have use of ye, I must forgive ye.—Here, kiss my Hand, and be forgiven.

Sham. ‘Tis an Honour we are proud of, Sir.

Sir Tim. Oh, is it so, Rascallians? then I hope I am to see the Lady without Indentures.

Sharp. Oh Lord, Sir, any thing we can serve you in.

Sham. And I have brib’d her Maid to bring her this Morning into the Mall.

Sir Tim. Well, let’s about it then; for I am for no fighting to day—D’ye hear, Boy—Let the Coach be got ready whilst I get my self drest.

Boy. The Coach, Sir! Why, you know Mr. Shatter has pawn’d the Horses.

Sir Tim. I had forgot it—A pox on’t, this ‘tis to have a Partner in A Coach; by Fortune, I must marry and set up a whole one.

[Exeunt.