Sir Row. Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I’ll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir, will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha! Draws his Sword.
Sir Mer. Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!
Sir Row. Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal Sisters, and cut my Thred thy self, thou graceless reprobate Rascal—Come, come on, you Man of Bravery.
Runs at Sir Merlin, who retires before him: Sir Morgan holds Sir Rowland.
Sir Mer. Oh, good Sir, hold: I recant, Sir, I recant.
Sir Row. Putting up. Well, I’m satisfy’d thou’lt make no good Rake-hell in this Point, whatever you will in the others. And since Nature has made thee a Coward, Inclination a Coxcomb, I’ll take care to make thee a Beggar; and so thou shalt be a Rake-hell but in Will, I’ll disinherit thee, I will, Villain.
L. Blun. What, disinherit your eldest Son, Brother?
Sir Mer. Ay, Aunt, his very Heir apparent? Aunt, to show you how the old Gentleman has misrepresented us, give me leave to present you a Dance I provided to entertain your Son with, in which is represented all the Beauties of our Lives.
L. Blun. Oh! by all means, Cousin, by all means.
[Sir Mer.] What hoa! Roger, bring in the Dancers.