Enter Philidor.
O my mad cousin, your servant.
Whither so fast?
Phil. So fast, sir? why,
I have been hunted by a pack of hounds
This three hours,
And damn'd deep-mouth'd hounds too, [sir] no less than
Three couple of nurses, three couple
Of plaguy hunting bitches, and with them
Three couple of whelps, alias children, sir.
They have rung me such a ring this morning
Through every by-turning that leads to a bawdy
House, I wish'd myself earth'd a thousand
Times, as a fox does when he is hard-run,
But that they wou'd have presently digged me
Out with their tongues.
Duke. Faith, Philidor,
'Tis no news to me; for I have known thee
From sixteen at this course of life. What, and these
Children were all your bastards, and your nurses
Coming to dun you for money?
Phil. Something of that's in it, I think, sir.
Duke. Well, coz, I'll leave thee to thy wildness; a fitter
Companion much for thee than I at this time.
Phil. Why, sir, I hope nothing has happened
To trouble you?
Duke. No, no;
My grief, alas! is far beyond express;
To tell it to a friend can't make it less. [Exit.
Phil. Wou'd I were at the wars again: I fear
No sword half so much as the tongue of one
Of these nurses; and the youling of th' children
Are more dismal to my ears than the groans
Of dying men in a battle. I am
At this time in law with six or seven
Parishes about fath'ring of bastards;
Tis very fine truly! and yet me thinks
'Tis a hard case that I should be sued for
Multiplying the world,
Since death makes bold with bastards,
As well as other children. The very picture
Of a nurse and child in her arms wou'd fright
Me now. O, from that sight deliver me!