Sham. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his—I suppose sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.
Sir Tim. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the
Windows.
Sharp. Then, Sir, you shew’d so much Courage, that you may bless the Minute that forc’d you to fight.
Sir Tim. Ay, but between you and I, ‘twas well he kick’d me first, and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing’d, by Fortune—But thanks to my Spleen, that sav’d my Bones that bout—But then I did well—hah, came briskly off, and the rest.
Sham. With Honour, Sir, I protest.
Sir Tim. Come then, we’ll serenade him. Come, Sirrah, tune your Pipes, and sing.
Boy. What shall I sing, Sir?
Sir Tim. Any thing sutable to the Time and Place.