Present an humble serviteur.

Fres. I do lie

At the sign of Donna Margaretta de Pia

In the Strand.

Gud. At the Magget a Pie in the Strand, sir.

Le Fris. At de Magdepie, bon, adieu, serviteur.
Amb. He will not know us.

Gud. D'ye see those gentlemen ?

Fres. Thou Pantalone,* be silent.
Col. I'll speak to him :

You're welcome home, sir.

Fres. Signior!

Col. He will not know me, this is excellent :

He shall be acquainted better, ere I part

[exit.

[exit.

With any sums.

Amb. Next time we'll not know him.

Bos. Would all my creditors had this blessed ignorance!

Mar. Now, colonel, I'll take my leave.

[exeunt Sir Marmaduke and Sir Ambrose.

Bos. I am engag'd too.

Col. Well.

Bos. I shall meet you anon,

I am to wait upon a cousin of mine.

Col. A countess ?

* Pantalone. In the old edition this word is spelt Platalone, which is most probably an error of the press. That a person who pretends to have just returned from Venice, and who affects, in consequence, a knowledge of the Italian language, should sprinkle his conversation with Italian, is likely enough. The character of Pantalone (an old man) was common on the Italian stage, and is, it is conjectured, used here in the sense of Dotard.

Bos. My lord.

Enter LORD RAINEBOW and BARKER.

Lord R. Cousin !

Bos. Your lordship honours me in this acknowledgement. Lord R. Colonel!

Bos. D'ye not know me, sir?

Bar. You're not a proclamation that every man is bound to take notice of, and I cannot tell who you are by instinct. Lord R. A kinsman of mine, Frank.

Col. Good morrow to your lordship.

Lord R. Colonel, your humble servant; hark you,

Frank!

[exeunt Lord Rainebow and Barker.

Bos. You are acquainted with my lord then.

Is he not a complete gentleman? his family
Came in with the Conqueror.

Col. You had not else been kin to him.

Bos. A poor slip, a scion from that honorable tree.
Col. He is the ladies' idol, they have not leisure
Το

say their prayers for him; a great advancer

Of the new ball.

Bos. Nay, he's right, right as my leg, colonel.

Col. But t' other gentleman, you do not know his inside. Bos. I have seen him; he looks philosophical.

Col. Who! he's the wit, whom your nobility

Are much oblig'd to for his company;

He has a railing genius, and they cherish it,

Flings dirt in every face when he's i' the humour,

And they must laugh, and thank him; he is dead else.

Bos. Will the lords suffer him?

Col. Or lose their mirth; he's known in every science, And can abuse 'em all; some have supposed

He has a worm in's brain, which at some time

O'the moon doth ravish him into perfect madness;
And then he prophecies, and will depose

The emperor, and set up Bethlem Gabor.*

Bos. He's dead; I hope he will not conjure for him. Col. His father shall not 'scape him nor his ghost, Nor heaven, nor hell, his jest must have free passage; He's gone! and I lose time to talk of him:

Farewell! Your countess may expect too long.

Bos. Farewell! colonel.

[exeunt.

SCENE II.

Enter LADY ROSAMOND, and LADY HONORIA.

Ros. Why do you so commend him?

Hon. Does he not

Deserve it? Name a gentleman in the kingdom,

So affable, so moving in his language,

So pleasant, witty, indeed every thing
A lady can desire.

Ros. Sure thou dost love him;

I'll tell his lordship, when I see him again,
How zealous you are in his commendation.

Hon. If I be not mistaken, I have heard

Your tongue reach higher in his praises, madam,

* Bethlem Gabor, the famous Prince of Transylvania, being proclaimed King of Hungary, was opposed by the Emperor, and obliged to conclude a peace in 1624.

Howe'er you now seem cold; but if you tell him
My opinion, as you shall do him no pleasure,
You can do me no injury; I know
His lordship has the constitution
Of other courtiers-they can endure
To be commended.

Ros. But, I pr'ythee, tell me,

Is't not love whence this proceeds? I have,
I must confess, discours'd of his good parts,
Desir'd his company.

Hon. And had it?

Ros. Yes, and had it.

Hon. All night.

Ros. You are not, I hope, jealous :
If I should say all night, I need not blush,
It was but at a ball; but what of this?
Hon. E'en what you will.

Ros. I hope you have no patent

To dance alone with him; if he have privilege
To kiss another lady, she may say

He does salute her, and return a curtesey
To shew her breeding; but I'll now be plainer:
Although you love this lord, it may be possible
He may dispose his thoughts another way.
Hon. He may so.

Ros. Who can help it? he has eyes

To look on more than one, and understands,
Perhaps to guide and place his love upon
The most deserving object.

Hon. Most deserving!

This language is not level with that friendship
You have profess'd; this touches a comparison.
Ros. Why do you think all excellence is throng'd
Within your beauty!

Hon. You are angry, lady;

How much does this concern you to be thus
Officious in his cause, if you be not

Engag'd by more than ordinary affection;

I must interpret this no kind respect

To me.

Ros. Angry! ha, ha!

Hon. You then transgress against civility.
Ros. Good madam, why? because

I think and tell you that another lady
May be as handsome in some man's opinion;
Admit I lov'd him too, may not I hold
Proportion with you, on some entreaty ?

Enter LORD RAINEBOW.

Lord R. They're loud, I'll not be seen yet.
Ros. What is it that exalts you above all
Comparison? my father was as good

A gentleman, and my mother has as great
A spirit.

Hon. Then you love him too?
Ros. "Twill appear

No greater miracle in me, I take it:
Yet difference will be, perhaps I may
Affect him with a better consequence.