Lov. Hey; what the Devil, do you affront my Wife, Sir? Nay then—
[They draw and fight. The Women run shrieking for Help.
Aman. Ah! What has my Folly done? Help! Murder, help! Part 'em, for Heaven's sake.
Lord Fop. [Falling back, and leaning upon his Sword.] Ah——quite thro' the Body——Stap my Vitals.
Enter Servants.
Lov. [Running to him.] I hope I han't kill'd the Fool, however——Bear him up! Where's your Wound?
Lord Fop. Just thro' the Guts.
Lov. Call a Surgeon there: Unbutton him quickly.
Lord Fop. Ay, pray make haste.