Enter Sampson, and a Gentleman.
Gent. I presume, Sir, you now need no instruction,
But fairly know, what belongs to a Gentleman;
You bear your Uncles cause.
Sam. Do not disturb me,
I understand my cause, and the right carriage.
Gent. Be not too bloody.
Sam. As I find my enemy; if his sword bite,
If it bite, Sir, you must pardon me.
Gent. No doubt he is valiant,
He durst not undertake else,
Sam. He's most welcome,
As he is most valiant, he were no man for me else.
Gent. But say he should relent.
Sam. He dies relenting,
I cannot help it, he must di[e] relenting,
If he pray, praying, ipso facto, praying,
Your honourable way admits no prayer,
And if he fight, he falls, there's his quietus.
Gent. Y'are nobly punctual, let's retire and meet 'em,
But still, I say, have mercy.
Samp. I say, honour. [Exeunt.
Enter Champernel, Lamira, Anabel, Beaupre, Verdone, Charlote and a Servant.
Lam. Will not you go sweet-heart?
Champ. Go? I'le fly with thee.
I stay behind?
Lam. My Father will be there too,
And all our best friends.
Beau. And if we be not merry,
We have hard luck, Lady.
Verd. Faith let's have a kind of play.
Cham. What shall it be?
Verd. The story of Dinant.
Lam. With the merry conceits of Cleremont,
His Fits and Feavers.
Ana. But I'le lie still no more.
Lam. That, as you make the Play, 'twill be rare sport,
And how 'twill vex my gallants, when they hear it!
Have you given order for the Coach?
Charl. Yes, Madam.
Cham. My easie Nag, and padd.
Serv. 'Tis making ready.
Champ. Where are your Horses?
Beau. Ready at an hour, Sir: we'll not be last.
Cham. Fie, what a night shall we have!
A roaring, merry night.
Lam. We'll flie at all, Sir.
Cham. I'le flie at thee too, finely, and so ruffle thee,
I'le try your Art upon a Country pallet.
Lam. Brag not too much, for fear I should expect it,
Then if you fail—
Cham. Thou saiest too true, we all talk.
But let's in, and prepare, and after dinner
Begin our mirthful pilgrimage.
Lam. He that's sad,
A crab-face'd Mistris cleave to him for this year. [Exeunt.
Enter Cleremont, and La-writ.
La-writ. Since it cannot be the Judge—
Cler. 'Tis a great deal better.
La-writ. You are sure, he is his kinsman? a Gentleman?
Cler. As arrant a Gentleman, and a brave fellow,
And so near to his blood—
La-writ. It shall suffice,
I'le set him further off, I'le give a remove
Shall quit his kindred, I'le lopp him.
Cl[e]r. Will ye kill him?
La-w. And there were no more Cousins in the world I kill him,
I do mean, Sir, to kill all my Lords kindred.
For every cause a Cousin.
Cler. How if he have no more Cousins?
La-writ. The next a kin then to his Lordships favour;
The man he smiles upon.
Cler. Why this is vengeance, horrid, and dire.
La-writ. I love a dire revenge:
Give me the man that will all others kill,
And last himself,
Cler. You stole that resolution.
La-writ. I had it in a Play, but that's all one,
I wou'd see it done.
Cler. Come, you must be more merciful.
La-writ. To no Lords Cousins in the world, I hate 'em;
A Lords Cousin to me is a kind of Cockatrice,
If I see him first, he dies.
A strange Antipathy.
Cler. What think you of their Nieces?
La-writ. If I like 'em,
They may live, and multiply; 'tis a cold morning.
Cler. 'Tis sharp indeed; you have broke your fast?
La-writ. No verily.
Cler. Your valour would have ask'd a good foundation.
La-writ. Hang him, I'le kill him fasting.
Enter Sampson and the Gent.
Cler. Here they come,
Bear your self in your language, smooth and gently,
When your swords argue.
La-writ. 'Pray Sir, spare your precepts.
Gent. I have brought you, Sir—
La-writ. 'Tis very well, no words,
You are welcome, Sir.
Sam. I thank you, Sir, few words.
La-writ. I'le kill you for your Uncles sake.
Sam. I love you,
I'le cut your throat for your own sake.
La-writ. I esteem of you.
Cler. Let's render 'em honest, and fair, Gentlemen,
Search my friend, I'le search yours.
Gent. That's quickly done.
Cler. You come with no Spells, nor Witchcrafts?
Sam. I come fairly to kill him honestly.
La-writ. Hang Spells, and Witchcrafts,
I come to kill my Lords Nephew like a Gentleman,
And so I kiss his hand.
Gent. This Doublet is too stiff.
La-writ. Off with't, I hate it,
And all such fortifications, feel my skin,
If that be stiff, flea that off too.
Gent. 'Tis no soft one.
La-writ. Off with't, I say:
I'le fight with him like a flea'd Cat.
Gent. You are well, you are well.
Cler. You must uncase too.
Sam. Yes, Sir.
But tell me this, why should I mix mine honour
With a fellow, that has ne're a lace in's shirt?
Gent. That's a main point, my friend has two.
Cler. That's true, Sir.
La-w. Base and degenerate Cousin, dost not thou know
An old, and tatter'd colours, to the enemy,
Is of more honour, and shews more ominous?
This shirt, five times, victorious I have fought under,
And cut through squadrons of your curious cut-works,
As I will do through thine, shake, and be satisfied.
Cler. This is unanswerable.
Sam. But may I fight with a foul shirt?
Gent. Most certain, so it be a fighting shirt,
Let it be ne're so foul, or lowsie, Cæsar wore such a one.
Sam. Saint Denis then: I accept your shirt.
Cler. Not so forward, first you must talk,
'Tis a main point, of the French method,
Talk civilly, and make your cause Authentick.
Gent. No weapon must be near you, nor no anger.
Cler. When you have done, then stir your resolutions,
Take to your Weapons bravely.
La-writ. 'Tis too cold;
This for a Summer fight.
Cler. Not for a world you should transgress the rules.
Sam. 'Tis pievish weather,
I had rather fight without.
Gent. An 'twere in a River.
Cler. Where both stood up to th' chins.
La-writ. Then let's talk quickly,
Pl—— o' this circumstance.
Cler. Are the Horses come yet?
Gent. Yes certain: give your swords to us, now civilly.
Cler. We'll stand a while off; take the things, and leave 'em,
You know when, and let the children play:
This is a dainty time of year for puppies,
Would the old Lord were here.
Gent. He would dye with laughter.
Cler. I am sorry I have no time to see this game out,
Away, away.
Gent. Here's like to be a hot fight,
Call when y'are fit. [Ex. Cler. and Gent.
La-writ. Why look you Sir, you seem to be a Gentleman,
And you come in honour of your Uncle, boh, boh, 'tis very cold;
Your Uncle has offer'd me some few affronts,
Past flesh and blood to bear: boh, boh, wondrous cold.
Sam. My Lord, mine Uncle, is an honourable man,
And what he offers, boh, boh, cold indeed,
Having made choice of me, an unworthy kinsman,
Yet take me with you: boh, boh, pestilence cold,
Not altogether.
La-writ. Boh, boh, I say altogether.
Sam. You say you know not what then? boh, boh, Sir.
La-writ. Sir me with your sword in your hand;
You have a scurvy Uncle, you have a most scurvy cause,
And you are—boh, boh.
Sam. Boh, boh, what?
La-writ. A shitten scurvy Cousin.
Samp. Our Swords; our Swords;
Thou art a Dog, and like a Dog, our Swords.
La-w. Our weapons Gentlemen: ha? where's your second?
Sam. Where's yours?
La-writ. So ho; our weapons.
Sam. Wa, ha, ho, our weapons;
Our Doublets and our weapons, I am dead.
La-w. First, second, third, a pl—— be wi' you Gentlemen.
Sam. Are these the rules of honour? I am starv'd.
La-w. They are gone, and we are here; what shall we do?
Sam. O for a couple of Faggots.
La-w. Hang a couple of Faggots.
Dar'st thou take a killing cold with me?
Sam. I have it already.
La-w. Rogues, Thieves, boh, boh, run away with our Doublets?
To fight at Buffets now, 'twere such a May-game.
Sam. There were no honour in't, pl—— on't, 'tis scurvy.
La-w. Or to revenge my wrongs at fisty-cuffes.
Sam. My Lord, mine Uncles cause, depend on Boxes?
La-w. Let's go in quest, if we ever recover 'em.
Sam. I, come, our Colds together, and our Doublets.
La-w. Give me thy hand; thou art a valiant Gentleman,
I say if ever we recover 'em—
Sam. Let's get into a house and warm our hearts.
La-w. There's ne're a house within this mile, beat me,
Kick me and beat me as I go, and I'le beat thee too,
To keep us warm; if ever we recover 'em—
Kick hard, I am frozen: so, so, now I feel it.
Sam. I am dull yet.
La-w. I'le warm thee, I'le warm thee—Gentlemen?
Rogues, Thieves, Thieves: run now I'le follow thee. [Exeunt.
Enter Vertaign, Champernel, Beaupre, Verdone, Lamira, Annabel, Charlote, Nurse.
Verta. Use legs, and have legs.
Cham. You that have legs say so,
I put my one to too much stress.
Verdo. Your Horse, Sir,
Will meet you within half a mile.
Lam. I like
The walk so well, I should not miss my Coach,
Though it were further. Annabel thou art sad:
What ails my Niece?
Beau. She's still musing, Sister,
How quietly her late bed-fellow lay by her.
Nurse. Old as I am, he would have startled me,
Nor can you blame her.
Char. Had I ta'ne her place,
I know not, but I fear, I should ha' shreek'd,
Though he had never offer'd—
Ana. Out upon thee,
Thou wouldst have taught him.
Char. I think, with your pardon,
That you wish now you had.
Ana. I am glad I yield you [Cornet.
Such ample scope of mirth. [Musick within.
Verta. Nay, be not angry,
There's no ill meant: ha? Musick, and choice Musick?
Cham. 'Tis near us in the Grove; what courteous bounty
Bestows it on us? my dancing days are done;
Yet I would thank the giver, did I know him.
Verdo. 'Tis questionless, some one of your own Village,
That hearing of your purpos'd journey thither,
Prepares it for your entertainment, and
The honour of my Lady.
Lam. I think rather,
Some of your Lordships Clients.
Beaup. What say you Cousin,
If they should prove your Suitors?
Verd. That's most likely.
Nurse. I say if you are noble, be't who will,
Go presently and thank 'em: I can jump yet,
Or tread a measure.
Lam. Like a Millers Mare.
Nurs. I warrant you well enough to serve the Country,
I'le make one, and lead the way. [Exit.
Charl. Do you note,
How zealous the old Crone is?
Lam. And you titter
As eagerly as she: come sweet, we'll follow,
No ill can be intended. [Musick ends.
Cham. I ne're feared yet. [Exeunt.