SO, I am first at the place appointed. I had lost my honour, if the fair Inviter, that sent me the chal­lenge, had got into the field before me.

Sir—

Sir— with your mouth wide open as if you were coming to eat me.

I have more stomach to sleep than to eat.

Sluggish Brute cannot you watch one night without all this yawning and rubbing your eyes.

These signs are the Language of Nature, by which she declares her wants. Draw but the Teat from the mouth of a Babe, and still the lips retain a pretty sucking motion, which tels us with a silent sort of Oratory, that it is still a hungry. Nature even in the most vile sort of Animals will not without [Page 2] complaints be denyed her due refections. I think Sir, it is as natural to sleep as to eat.

Yes to such Sots as you it is natural to do nothing else but sleep and eat. You slept enough, if snoring be a sign of sleeping.

A little towards morning, when I had no more paper left to burn under my Nose.

If your loud snoring had not waken'd me your sitting up all night, had been to much purpose, instead of your cal­ling me, I was fain to call you, half a dozen kicks could scarcely rouze you.

I think you did ill to treat a servant so, that does your business as well sleeping as waking. I knew my faculty, and therefore had no scruple of Conscience to take a nap contrary to your commands.

I have helpt you to an excuse for your negligence, but you had best not let me catch you napping so any more.

The next time you have an occasion to rise early, let me but lie in your Antichamber upon a pallad Bed, and you will find you have a Servant more advantageous for the design of waking you, than a Cock, or an Alarum-Clock.

And keep me awake all night with a noise more un­grateful than a Catterwailing:

There's not a man in all Toledo sleeps with the like de­corum. I have a clear Conscience, and my sleeps are harmoni­ous.

Go, leave rubbing your eies and look about, if you see e'r a Lady entring the Church give me notice.

Of all my Senses that of Seeing at present is most im­perfect, I can scarcely hold my eies open, they twinkle like a couple of rush lights.

You Snail Beetle mend your pace, How like a Carriers horse you go Nod, Nod along.

Well if he takes up the trade of being a Lover, I'le lay down that of Vallet; for Lovers are alwayes thus cholle­rick, and I shall have but a Spaniels life on't, lie down at his Chamber door a nights, and in the morning rise and shake my ears, and all the day after be set a rangeing, or be bid to [Page 3] fetch and carry; O the wicked cause of all these evils is at hand. — Sir, Sir, look to your self, here comes a couple of dark Lanthorns towards us.

Begone, keep your distance.

Iacinta, go and stand Centry at the Church door, and if you see my Brother coming give me notice.

The hour of his devotions is not yet come.

I listened at his Chamber, as I came down stairs, and I heard him stirring.

My diligence shall secure you from a surprise.

How excellent is her shape, and her meine how grace­ful.

Don Gusman, for so I know you are called, tho you are ignorant both of my name and Quality, tell me with what sentiments do you receive a visit from a Lady, that thus ex­poses her honour to your censure.

With all the faith, sence, and honour, that a true Ca­vileer ought, who is thought worthy to be trusted, and so high­ly honour'd by a Lady.

Did not the Letter I sent you yesterday with a summons to meet an unknown person much surprise you?

I was surpris'd to think, that you would trust your person with me here, that in your Letter durst not trust me with your name.

Do you think you know me, Sir?

I am sure I do not, for if I did, you would then know me, of which I find the contrary.

I am sure I do not, for if I did, you would then know me, of which I find the contrary.

I call'd you by your name.

But, Madam, did you know me, you would in your Letter have intrusted me with your name, and here with a sight of your person. Whilst you keep your Vail on, I am sure you don't know me as you ought.

I confess Sir, what I have done proceeds not from my knowledge, but from my belief of your gallantry, and you may hope much when my faith is confirm'd by experience.

I hope Love will inspire you with a quick faith, to be­lieve that if you should discover to me all those glorious charms [Page 4] you are enrich'd with, that I should be capable of conserving a sufficient Empire o're my self, and to remember what I am obliged to render to so great a merit as yours.

If I find you as discreet, as I think you gallant, I shall have a very great inclination to acknowledge the trouble I have given you.

I am resolved, how great so e're my passion is, my re­spect shall be inseparable.

Though you wonder, yet blame not my denial. A proceedure so new as this, seems to have something in it inex­cusable, but when you shall learn, what at present I must not acquaint you with, you will then at least not condemn it: all that I can now say to you is, That the liberty I take ought not to make you think any thing to my disadvantage.

I would not press you to enlarge your favours; but that I know the discovery of your person will give me yet more advantageous thoughts of you.

I am of some Quality, and without vanity I will say, I have attractions enough to engage you to more than you think, if it were permitted me to shew you them. But I have reasons not to be subverted, that now make me conceal my self from your sight. Desist from further expectations till time has convinced me, that I may with assurance trust you with the sight and knowledge of my person.

Will you have the cruelty to raise me to this high ex­pectation, and leave me here to be tortured by imagination?

I will unvail my self if you have the injustice to de­mand it, but then I will for ever withdraw from your sight; this day past you shall never see me more.

Hold, yet now I see your hand uncovered, it appears so fine, I am more desirous and impatient to behold the rest. By that little patern I perceive the whole piece is excellent, Madam I must acknowledge I should be transported to see you, if you had that indulgent goodness to suffer it. But since you have reasons to the contrary, I ought to have some too not to desire it, but rather accommode my self to what is your plea­sure [Page 5] to prescribe, than let you grant, what I had the insolence to press you to.

Madam, Don Ruis is at the further end of the Street, and comes towards the Church.

Sir, I must leave you at present, but by your respect to me, and the honour of a Cavileer, I charge you not to fol­low me one step, nor cause me to be followed by any, for besides that your curiosity would be vain, I would never more converse with you.

What assurance do you give me that you ever will a­gain, or how distant is that happy minute from this hour?

I will half an hour hence meet you in this very place, and tell you when and where you shall see me next.

In this half hour consider you have drawn me to the rack, and leave me there upon the full streach, and resolve to have the charity to ease my pain, by the shortness of your delay, Think, one that has had a glimpse of Heaven how wrapt he is with desires to have a full view of its glories.

So much as you abound in virtuous sentiments, and so punctual as I find you to my commands I will endeavour to have thoughts of you, that shall not displease you, Adieu.

So 'tis even as I thought, one assignation begets ano­ther, this night will be a Vigil too: and so it will go on night after night, till at last I run mad for want of sleep.

I was thinking, that Lovers are very vertuous peo­ple, for they in one months intrigue keep more Vigils, than are found in the Churches Kalender for a whole year.

Leave your Meditations, Rascal.

Here comes your Friend and Hoste Don Ruis.

If she should return sooner than I expect, and find company here, I might lose the happyness of conversing a second time with a person, whose short absence I already think too long, and with impatience wish the sight of.

Don Gusman good morrow to you, you are got early to your Devotions— I was no sooner up, but I came into your apartment, and knock'd at your chamber door, and my Ser­vants told me you went out at break of day.

I had some thoughts in my mind that broke my repose, and therefore got up early, that I might be so sleepy at night, that no disquiet of mind, may then hinder me from taking my rest.

Don Gusman put not on these disguises before your Friend, if it be inconvenient for me to know your secrets, I will not press you to a discovery, but your early rising this morning I know was design; for hearing a noise last night, I rose, and looking into your Anti-chamber, I saw Sanco sit nodding with his head in the Chimney, and hold smoking pa­per under his nose to keep him awake: I doubt not but in or­der to obey your commands of calling you early this morning. I then ghess'd at the design, and retir'd to my bed without taking further notice, and your early going abroad this morn­ing, has confirm'd the truth of my suspitions.

I must own you were not mistaken, yet in justification of what I told you, I will acquaint you with the cause whence those thoughts did proceed, which broke the soundness of my sleep.

If you doubt my friendship, or think I want the fa­culty to conceal, what you are about to entrust to my know­ledge, yet forbear the discovery: I assure you I am not at all curious.

Nor do I wrong your friendship with such suspitions. I must draw him from this ground, and the relati.

on of what is already pass'd affords me a pretence. If you'll defer your devotions we will take a turn in the Cloy­sters, and I will there give you a short relation of no unplea­sant adventure.

I am glad you do not repent your early rising.

As yet I have no cause.— Sanco be vigilant, and if you discover the vail'd Lady or her attendant coming, step to the Cloyster door and becken me, I'le have my eie still this [Page 7] way.— Be sure you let 'em not depart till I have first spoken with 'em.

If once they come within my Gripe I'le be sure of them.

Except to call me, stir not a foot from this place.

No Sir, I will set my self down at the foot of this Pil­lar, and be as immovable till you return.

This Don Ruis I hold to be a man of much greater discreetion than my Don Gusman. He never gets up by the same light that he goes to bed, but is so good a Husband as to save candle in the morning, and let the Sun light him to find his cloaths, and who indeed woud spend money to see to dress himself, when he may have day light for nothing. Well, I will fall to my devo­tions to pass away the time▪

We'll leave the Church with what speed we can.

Madam, let not fear discompose you, tho Don Ruis and he are walk'd aside, their discourse may not be about you.

Yes, yes, I know he is acquainting him with what is pass'd.

I look on Don Gusman to be more discreet than to trust affairs of this nature to the knowledge of any.

I believe he would not, if he could reveal to him a Ladies name, but if relating only the business, my Brothers cu­riosity should lead him to be an eye witness of our second in­terview, and place himself, where, unseen, he may behold what manner of person I am, he may ghess by my motion, or actions, or stature: I will not expose my self to the danger of being known.

See, yonder sits Sanco devoutly a sleep, wrapt in his Masters cloak, shall I wake him? you may with him leave di­rections for an after meeting.

No. I will be gone without saying any thing.

Don Gusman will stay expecting your return.

I will make him wait unprofitably, to punish the [Page 8] indiscreetion, which I know him guilty of.

It is but your suspition Madam.

Being my Brothers Ghest, I can at any time retrieve this omission, by letting you in disguise meet him in the Street with directions, as I did yesterday for this appointment. Come.

Farewel most pious drowsie Sanco.

So, my Friend has left me for his devotions. Where's Sanco. Ha, the Rogue's fallen fast a sleep with his beads in his hand, and my cloak about his shoulders, rouze, rouze, Animal.

The beast snorts on, if your Nose and Ears are set fast on your head, I'le make use of 'em to raise you up by.

Au, auh, auh —

Hold your bellowing Beast.

Sir, wont you let a Man alone at his prayers?

At his prayers Rascal, do you say your prayers like English Phanaticks through the Nose? must the Church be your dormitary, and my cloak your covering? if I find it any more about your villanous shoulders, I'le pin it to your back with a Toledo bodkin.

I thought, Sir, a good Christian, tho a poor Devil, was not so despicable, but that he might serve for a peg to hang your cloak on.

Has the Lady or any from her been here since I went?

No Sir no —

No Sir, I may as well ask the pillars; you was at your devotions in a heavenly trance.

Ay Sir, but I saw no female visions.

Which way went the Lady? when she parted from us?

Nay Sir, I thought it was forbidden to look after her.

Why did I let her go? why did I not follow her? to be so easily perswaded to quit her, will make her think I had no value for her, and then she will leave me to my dispair and ignorance.

Did you lend her any mony?

Lend her mony, Rascal.

Nay if you did not, you'l see her again for certain. I'le pawn my life she comes again, and layes the foundation of a better acquaintance, by asking to borrow a purse of gold.

Scoundrel, she is of Quality.

Yes Sir, most women that make assignations, have that good Quality.

Her own tongue declar'd she was no mean person.

I'le as soon take a Jocky's word of his horse, or a Poet's of his own play, as a womans of her self.

Her Garb was rich and Noble.

No question but it was the gift of some such noble person as your selfe.

Her mein and behaviour shew'd her of breeding, her shape was Charming, her wit was great, and no question but what she conceales, is not less beautiful and surprising; slave, if you had had any wit, or minded your Masters interest, you might have discourst the woman whilst I was talking to the Mistress, and have given her occasion to let fall some word, that might a little have contributed to the discovery of what I now remain ignorant.

A wise man never makes a puther▪ when reason tells him tis unnecessary and surperfluous, no doubt but the Lady you commend, has as many good thoughts of you; thinks you are as handsome and comely a person as walks the streets of Toledo, And judges no less by your embroder'd suits and change of rich apparel (which you shift oftener than the Major Domo of his Majesty) that you are too of Quality, but with more reason; and from thence too imagins, that you treat nobly all the Amorettos that you keep; and intends, I warrant you, that you shall be the cheif of her Dons.

Hold your poltry tongue, Rogue, if you were worth my trouble of chastiseing I shoud now give your insolence severe correction, if hereafter you do not speak with more respect of the most virtuous person in the wor [...]d, I shall lay a side all considerations, and put you in a condition of never more sullying a Ladyes reputation with that stincking breath of yours.

I acknowledge I am not worth your trouble of cha­stiseing, and it is to profane your noble hand to let it fal on any part of me but you'd let me have the priviledge of speaking two or three words; I wou'd demand, in what particular you find this person so virtuous; what virtue is there in appointing a Love embassadress, to stand century, who imagining that she has found her Cully, gives an assignation by break of day the the next morning; when all the virtuous people that I know are at that time, as I us'd to be, fast a sleep.

Yes persons of your sanctity snore out the time that such well dispos'd Virgins spend at their devotions, I believe it her practice to be here thus early, especially on such great holy dayes as these.

A Very godly practise, to make the Church a place of Rendevouze for Love affairs.

Did not the place protect thee, these provocations added to thy negligence wou'd not let my anger be appeas'd without thy life.

I shall love a Church the better for it as long as I live.

I know by her not coming, that she was here in my absence, when thou wast sottishly a sleep. Ile search round the Church for her, and then if I find her not, resolve to leave the place.

You will do more discreetly, Sir, for it is time to go to breakfast.

But I shall do more discreetly, for your sloath and care­lesness to turn you out of my service; give me my cloak: fare you well. unless by some means or other you can find what is become of the person I have lost the sight of by your Rascally negligence, never more come near me, unless it be to send your brutish soul on an Errand to the Devill.

So, this it is to be subservient to a Love Adventurer, if his Mistress quarrells with him, he quarrells with his man; if she turns off the Master, the Master turns away his servant. O instability of humane life; well, Ile ferret every altar in the Church for her, and enquire at every house in Toledo but Ile find her. And if I meet her, Ile have her to him, tho it be on pick-pack.

Sir, Don Ruis.

Beatrice! is the Adorable Octavia here Beatrice!

Yes Sir, she is at her prayers. I saw you pass by the altar, and stole from behind her, to tell you so.

I thank thee kind Beatrice, will she be displeas'd think'st thou if I approach her?

Sir! 'twill but insense her, the league was never so strong as now, betwixt my Mistress and Don Diego. they are now never from one another, they can't say their prayers a­sunder, and I believe shortly they won't be able to sleep asunder.

The last time I saw thee thou told'st me of their often quarreling.

Yes Sir, they fall out every day still, and jangle like bells on a holy day; they are as Jealous of one another, as the old Count her father is of his honour; they are ever a scanning punctillios, so that the least occasion begetts a falling out on either side. And now and then I put in an unlucky word, for your advantage.

Continue thy kindness, were it not for thee, I should quite dispair. I made my applications to Count-de-Benevent her father, and he having first approv'd of Don Diego's addresses to the fair Octavia, denyes the least overture of mine. And unless he quite break off, I must languish out my life in the tor­tures of a succesless Rival, and a dispairing Lover.

The mischeif on't is, there is a kind of sympathy, or instinct, or I don't know what in their love, that like a worme cut asunder, it still joynes together again; but Ile do my best Sir, and when ever their falling out may be to your advantage, Ile be sure to give you notice, your servant Sir. I dare not stay any Longer.

I'le follow you at distance. Whilst the fair Octavia pays her devotions to heaven, I'le pay mine to her, my sighs shall be as fervent as those she sends up her petitions in: nor shall her eyes look more devoutly upward, than mine shall do at her.

HEark you, pretty Female.

I don't know you.

Nor I whether you are pretty, but my Master has infected me with his implicite faith, and because he believes your Mistress handsome, unsight, unseen, I must of consequence, as I am of his Retinue, vouch the same of you.

What's your business?

Is not your Mistress an unreasonable woman to make a young Gentleman to rise at break of day to meet her, and then to pop him off with so short a visit; to leave him with­out shewing him her face: to say she'd come again within half an hour, and to break her promise and ne'r go near him since? I wonder how she can go to her prayers in a morning and have no better a Conscience.

My Lady is not a person that makes appointments.

You may well be asham'd on't, and so may she too.

What do you mean?

I would fain know what your Mistress's meaning was, to set you last night at the corner of a Street, angling for my Master with the enticing bait of an amorous assignation, and when you might have got him by the gills, forsook the sport? If she had had a mind to be acquainted with his good parts, it had been but unvailing, and if he had lik'd the Frontispiece, he soon would have made his Entrance into the main buil­ding.

Friend, if you are drunk it is not my fault, as for my part I am tir'd with your sottish discourse; Stand away.

One word more.

How now Friend! how came you so well acquainted with my Woman?

I am yet no better acquainted with her than my Master is with you: and as he is desirous of a better correspondence with you, so am I of a little more intimacy with her.

Friend, you had best leave us, and go about your bu­siness.

As a true Servant I must do my Masters business First I am his Ambassador, and must not depart without you first give me Audience.

Friend, you'l endanger a Bastinade.

That usage to an Ambassador is against the Law of Nations.

But you come more like a Spy, and as a Spy you shall be received, if you have yet the boldness to proceed in your impertinence, till you arrive at that door there.

The truth is, not having my Credentials about me, I shall appear rather a Spy than an Ambassadour. I will take their advice, and keep my distance. I have no great stock of valour to repel dangers; therefore I will make use of my dis­cretion, and like a wise man keep out of harms way— Auh, they are gone in, by their threatnings that must be the place of their abode: and I'le wait here about awhile to see if they don't take harbour here to shake me off. If that be their design, they'l come forth again presently.

Ha—! Sure I am not mistaken!

What's he a Spy too? He comes to take a survey of my Body, and as the Academist said when he hang'd the Butch­ers great Dog, He shall see it in it's full dimensions.

Ay, 'tis he.

Now, who does he take me for?

Country! How dost do Country?

I know not whether I am your Country or no: but I don't remember I ever saw you in mine.

O Heavens, I'le not believe you have so disobliging a memory.

It may be it is because I am fasting.

I'le give you a Breakfast for old acquaintance sake.

It may be then I may remember you better. But I can't stir from hence yet.

'Tis so, he's upon design.— Well, I'le step in here and bid 'em bring us a Morsel of something. I'le be with you pre­sently.

At least I shall remember him hence forward, that his acquaintance came so luckily. For I am heartily an hungry. I wish he knows me but well enough to come again according to his promise.

Come Country, will you sup off a couple of raw Eggs?

That's the Fashion of my Country.

That's lucky. Ay I know it well: here's a piece of good Bread and Garlick too, and that's the fashion of your Country too, is it not?

O yes! in our Country we are as great lovers of Gar­lick, as any Country in Spain.

Come Sir, the Boy is bringing some wine: in the mean time I will sup off an Egg to your good health.

I thank you Signieur, and I'le pledge you.

Come Country, here's some wine for you, Country.

Gratias Signieur; Now I am sure of the Wine, I'le ven­ture to see if he has ever been of my acquaintance. Signieur the more I look on you, the less I remember you.

O, and that be all you'l remember me anon.

Of what Country are you?

Of your Country.

What of Aragonia?

Now 'tis out. Yes, I am an Aragonian.

So far he's right. What may your name be?

Why have you forgotten my name too?

I don't remember I ever knew it.

Bless me what has happen'd to you! Can you remem­ber your own name?

Yes.

You can't. Let's hear.

Sanco.

Sanco, that's right. I durst have laid a wager that forgetting my name you could not have remembred your own. But Signieur Sanco I find I was mistaken. Come my service to you Signieur Sanco.

He knows Argonia is my Country, and my name Sanco, he has formerly known me, tho I have forgotten him.

Come pledge me, Signior Sanco, then sup off t'other egg

So. This is usually my Breakfast, a raw Egg and a glass of Ma­lago.

Ay, good hearty meat, but it is no great filler of the Belly.

A good preparative for dinner.

This is no more to my belly, than I was to the Church I left just now.

Come Sir, I am glad to see you with all my heart. I am rejoyced I meet you in a time of leasure, when we are not constrain'd to salute one another, with a bare scrape of the leg onely. I don't love old Acquaintance should meet and part with dry lips, and so your good health once more.

You are one of the most hearty and most cordial per­sons, that I have ever met with, and your civility will never let me forget you hereafter. And so I drink off the rest of my Wine, to your good health, and our better acquaintance.

Off with it'

So now my dear Sanco tell me, what inchantment confines you to this place. I find by the glances of your eye upon that part of the Street, you are upon some design.

It is a matter of no small consequence.

If I can be any thing serviceable to you in the business, let me know it, and for the honour of our Country, I'le shew the best of my skill.

I have been only dogging a Lady, and her Attendant to their home.

And they went into that House I warrant you, which you lear'd at so often since we have been here.

Very true. And I stand to watch if they come out a­gain.

Umh, have you any Letter or Message to deliver to 'em.

No.

How then?

If they stay long there, then I conclude that is their place of Habitation.

A very rational conclusion. I find you a man of judg­ment, and very expert in managing a Love intrigue. Is it not some such business Country: ha! let me by way of divertise­ment partake a little more knowledge of the business.

Why, you must know that I am of the retinue to Don Gusman.

So.

A very fine person, tho a little chollerick when he is cross'd in love.

Is he in love them? with whom?

You shall hear: last night a cunning love factress, that very well understood her trade, as my Master was coming home to his lodging, meets him at the turning of a street, pretty near the house of Don Ruis de Moncade, who is Don Gusmans friend, and whose ghest my master is at present.

So.

In this rancounter he received an appointment to meet an unknown Lady, early this morning, at the Church of St. Dominick.

Very pretty, so.

We obeyed the summons, the Lady came punctual­ly to her assignation, but after a few Ceremonies, and a little pritle pratle on both sides, the Lady withdrew, promising to [Page 17] return within halfe an hour, the time expir'd, Don Gusman waited out his patience, the party expected came not again, Don Gusman not knowing her name, nor where to find her, sent me in quest of her: at last I spy'd her coming out of the Church, and have now set her.

And here she hous'd. So.

Now my next business is to acquaint my Master with my success.

So. I am glad matters succeed so well; and since your affairs require not my service, I will content my selfe with the hopes of a future occasion, and at present detain you no longer in prejudice to Don Gusman, to whom this news must needs be wellcome.

Adios, Signior.

Adieu, Sancho.

Ordgano, well performed.

Coud you hear perfectly Sir from your window?

I heard all, and am amaz'd at her infidelity. Love was never declar'd in more kind and obliging expressions, than I receiv'd from her last night at parting. I'le give her a visit whilst my rage is arm'd with scorn, and upbraid her with her dissimu­lation, and ungrateful infidelity.

Sir, my Lady spy'd you from her window, and sent me to tell you, that she is coming down into the court to speak to you.

Your Looks Don Diego, tell me my invitation is not pleasing to you, what is the matter Sir?

Nothing.

If nothing be the matter, you don't do discreetly to come abroad when you are in such an ill humour as this, and incommode persons who are no wayes oblig'd to remove it.

I know it very well Madam, I might not it may be have been troublesome to you, had you not sent me an invita­tion.

Beatrice, prithee tell him, that the door he came in at is still open.

And let her tell me too, that it was open this morning by break of day to let you out.

Who are you acquainted with, that cou'd so quickly inform you, that I went out so early?

So early Madam! You did go out then I perceive, since you demand who coud inform me.

Yes, I did go out, but from hence forward I will not with so great tranquility take the pleasure I receiv'd this mor­ning. I shall continually imagine I see you, or some of your Spyes set to give you an account of my actions.

No, all that you can do for the future, shall be in­different to me, I shall abandon your Empire with a facility, that shall sufficiently discover, your chains are not so difficult to be broken, as your vanity does make you believe.

I find you very full of temerity in presuming to say you abandon me. You, whom I have so often ordain'd never to see me more, but have no sooner banisht you my presence, but I have seen you at my feet, imploring my grace, and making use of all your entreaties, to incline me to repeal the sentence, and declar'd that you could not without death obey: if my chains, as you scornfully say, are so easie to be broken, why have you not done it twenty times before? either they are more power­full than your malice will allow, or you are a very weak man, Don Diego.

You have sometimes driven me from you, but 'twas when you were sure that I would return again; of which you were glad, as appears by your frequent revoking those com­mands.

You are not the first troublesome companion, that has been received out of respect to good manners, and whom [...]ne sees with regret.

But I will no more, Madam, be that troublesome per­son. I will have the honour now to quit you, and do let you [Page 19] know, before I take my leave of you, that it is to be for ever; and that your lingring in the Church longer as you have for­merly done, expecting that I should come and make my ad­dresses to you, will now signifie nothing, and if I go or come by your house, or stand still near it, it shall not be out of de­sign that you should send Beatrice to invite me in.

And I would have you know, that I will never go to Church hereafter, but with my Father, in whose presence you dare not, unless I please, say the least thing to me; and that you shall, if you have a fancy for it, walk in sight of my window, a thousand times in a day; and I not take the least notice of you. If I look out and smile, interpret it not kind­ness, but in derision of your folly. And since you are so kind to promise me never to come here again, I will be so civil to dismiss you now without further ceremony, and deal really with you, and let you know, I wish with all my heart that you were already gone.

You do assure it me with an indifference too great to make me in the least doubt of what you say; in what I spake, there was something I know not what of passionate, which sufficiently discovers, if you had a mind to observe it, that I love you still, though you deserve it not: But the cruel indif­ference that you have now shewn, makes it plainly appear, you never had any true love for me; and so Madam I'le be preparing to take my leave. Beatrice, prithee give me a glass of your fair water.

So, now Madam—

Well Sir—

You don't hinder me from going.

Do your pleasure—

You do well, the trouble would be in vain, and to shew you it would, I bid you adieu, and decl [...]e it not to be [Page 20] as formerly, an adieu Iusqú au revoir, such as I have taken till this present, but an adieu for ever. Your Servant Madam.

Beatrice he's gone.

Did you observe how he spun out the time, in hopes you would change your mind.

But after all, can my going out to the Bath so early this morning be the onely occasion of this Quarrel? He can­not sure, at a thing so customary, be thus offended.

See, he is come again—

Beatrice, I had forgotten to take my leave of you. There's some duccates for you, it may be they may be as lucky to you as Don Ruis's, or those Don Gusman rewarded you with this morning for your early rising. Adieu.

I find by his last words, there is something which we don't understand, run Beatrice, and call him back.

If'twas to me, I'de e'ne let him go.

I must clear it, it may be some thing of [...]ensive to my honour: Run.

within. Odsprecious where are you here, hoy—

Madam, your Father is come in at the back door, I hear him rage.

Oh Heavens! There must be some other ground of this quarrel by his naming of Don Gusman; what it can be, or who this Don Gusman is I cannot imagine.

You have not leasure now to examine it.

Once again I'le see Don Diego, to convince his mistakes, and rectifie his opinion of my reputation. That done, I'le ne­ver see him more.

Ay Sir, we are right, this is their cage, here they hopp'd in.

The House is very remarkable.

If you have but patience to walk here a little, we shall see the canary Birds percht up in their window anon.

Here is no glimpse of'em: We'l view the windows on this other side of the house.

We'l keep at this distance.

If we stand here we can't lose sight of 'em: here we may see all up that Street.

The sudden resolution of my Brother was very lucky to our present design; I should else have been puzled to have invented a pretence to go abroad just at this time of the day.

What was his reason at first to conceal you from Don Guzman? and e're since he came to be his Ghest, to confine you to the back apartment of his house, and tell him you are out of town?

For fear any thing should be discours'd to my prejudice, if it was known that Don Gusman had a lodging so near me. Have you still sight of 'em Iacinta?

Yes Madam, the House must be hereabouts that they look for, by their hankering so. But Madam, the same reason continuing still, why does Don Ruis now order you to go to your Aunts, and to come home to his House in her Coach an hour hence; as if you were just come out of the Coun­trey?

I objected the same, when I received his orders. And he told me that was but a pretended reason. And that the true ground of my concealment was, that he had information there would be some Overtures of a marriage with me, made to him by Don Francisco de Medina; of whose Revenue my Brother is a greater admirer than ever I shoud have been of his Person. And that some dayes since he heard his Applications are elsewhere, and his affections deeply en­gag'd.

That no doubt is the true reason.

And since the, friendship betwixt my Brother and Don Gusman is much increas'd. My Brother has acquainted him with the love of Octavia: that Don Diego is his Rival, and that his pretentions are rewarded with the favours which his fidelity more justly merits. Don Gusman on the other side has [Page 22] given him a relation of our assignation, and what pass'd this morning; of Sanco's success in pursuit of the vail'd Lady; and of his present coming abroad with design to walk under the window. All this my Brother told me, to let me see the difference, betwixt my manner of living, and that of many other Ladies, who hazard the honour of their Families, by the indiscreet liberty they take, and applauds the Life I lead, ascri­bing all to his care, and conduct of me.

I wonder who this blundring Sanco has by mistake fol­lowed instead of us.

Who e're it be, she lives hereabouts. See, they come this way again.

I believe they are at a loss.

Let us meet 'em Iacinta.

They have sight of us.

See Sanco! we are staring up at the windows, and the persons we look for are here in the Street.

Ay, here they are. They spy'd you from their win­dows, and are come down to you. So there's the inviting dop for you.

When a Woman likes her man, she has an Eye like a Hawk: She'l spy him twelve score off. And if she don't care for him, she's so blind, she can't see him, though his mustachoes brush her Nose.

Madam, thus unexpectedly to surprise me with your presence, was the only way you had to make amends for your breach of promise to me this morning.

Sir, I came not now to make excuses for my self, but to complain of you. If I have broke my word it is by your example, and my not coming to you was your own fault.

How Madam, is it possible? That I, who waited with a burning desire of seeing you again, should be the occasion of your not coming, which is the thing I now lament of. I am confounded to think how you should be worse than [Page 23] your word by the example of one, who so exactly kept his.

I have evidence enough to justifie my complaint.

If it be not a disparagement to seek a witness in a Ser­vant, Sanco can testifie how diligent I was not to miss your re­turn.

Yes, my Master set a Memorandum on my nose and ears.

I stir'd not from the place, but out of design to re­move a Freind, whose presence, I fear'd, might interrupt your coming. But my Servant I planted there all the while to give me notice of your first approach. But if your find­ing him a sleep, as I did, has been the occasion; I revoke my act of mercy, and declare his fault unpardonable.

To render my self more intelligible, know that it is not of his neglect of duty, or your want of diligence that I com­plain, but of your indiscretion; the greatest fault a Cavalier can be guilty of, is to publish the favours he receives from per­sons of our Sex. I perceive by the colour that now rises in your face, that you already understand my meaning.

Your Eyes, whose transcendant brightness easily pene­trates the thickness of that vail which covers them, are wit­nesses too illustrious not to be believ'd. I confess I made a Friend my Confident, a Friend that till now I ever found dis­creet. but by what you inform me, I discover how much a Captive he is to you, and that the Empire you have over him has made his love do violence to his friendship.

You take me then to be the Mistress of your Freind.

Yes Madam, I take you to be Octavia de Pimentel, whom Don Ruis adores. And now I begin to lose the hopes I had conceiv'd. For how adorable soever you be, love ought not to make me undertake any thing to the prejudice of my Friend. Rather than add to the number of his Rivals by of­fering you my heart, I ought to lend him the assistance of my Sword to remove them he already has.

I do know Octavia, but I am not her.

If you are not her, I ought then to have a quarrel with Don Ruis; who by divulging the secret, is guilty of a crime, [Page 24] which nothing, but the interest of a Mistress could have ren­der'd excusable.

Don Ruis is the best Friend you have. He told this to a person who hath given him as many proofs of fidelity, as you e'r receiv'd from him, and intended you no more harm in communicating it to that party, than you did me, when you related it to him.

If he has discours'd it to one only, and that person be yourself, I cannot but be of opinion that you are his Mistress, if you are not her, do me the grace for one moment, to grant me the sight of those many charms your cruel vail robs me of. I shall then know if my friendship be inconsistent with the love my heart is going to be possest with.

Do you know Octavia?

Don Ruis often has shew'd me her picture, which out of devotion to her, he constantly wears about him: do not re­fuse me the happiness of being in a capacity to adore you with­out inquietude.

You desire a thing, that is not fit for me to grant, till I have had a sufficient proof of your discretion. It may be if I had told you my name before, or shew'd you my face, you had then too reveal'd one, and describ'd the other. No, my repu­tation is a thing that well deserves the best of my care with whom I entrust it. I'le see you again, as soon as I may safely tell you whom I am.

Leave me not without some further assurances that I shall again be thus blest, and that e're long I shall see you in the full lustre of your charms.

Nothing shall hinder it, if to Don Ruis you do not a­gain reveal what is past.

Stay, and I'le make you vows.

If you have any thing more to say, follow me to the Church of that Covent, and there discourse it.

Sanco there are four pistols;

See if you can make her earn it by discovering any thing to the advantage of my design.

I'le warrant you, I'le open her mouth with this bunch of golden Keyes. Money will set a womans clack a going pre­sently. [Page 25] Nay heark you, tho my Master and your Mistress are gone aside, it is not come to that yet, 'twixt you and I. I have not made my compliments to you yet.

I doubt your compliments will not be worth staying to hear.

I have a very good one in store for you.

I question it.

But you'l like it.

Don't let it be too long then.

There 'tis for you,

without saying a word to you. How do you like it?

I doubt 'tis a second hand one.

But 'tis ne're the worse for wearing.

It is a dry compliment.

But such a one as you can't well answer, unless you re­peat part of the same to me again.

I'le assure you I would not have receiv'd it, but that the money of Persons of Quality was alwayes lucky to me, and for lucks sake I'le keep it all.

Then for lucks sake I'le keep the other half.

You see Don Gusman is a man that knows how to return affronts in the best manner. He had not offended you thus if you had not first affronted me this morning, by scorning to take notice of me, when I dogg'd you and your Mistress home from Church.

I'le persue the hint, I may learn something to my Mistresses advantage.

I had not been so uncivil, but that my Mistress gave me the Nod.

I began to think I had been deceiv'd, when she ask'd me how I came acquainted with you, and threatn'd so. She dissembled so cunningly, one would have thought her really angry.

She did indeed counterfeit rarely well.

Seeing her so very angry, I ghess'd she was near home, and then press'd no further.

And did you see us go in?

Yes, and went presently and fetch'd my Master to shew him your house; and see if we could catch you peeping out of your windows.

And which are our windows now, think you?

There's your door, and there's your windows.

O cunning Sanco!

What are you my Country too?

How your Country?

That you know my name so readily. I never told it you.

I know it well enough.

But now, for the two Pistols I have given you, I would have you te'l me one thing, which I don't as yet know, and that is your Mistress's name.

I must needs beg your pardon. My mouth is seal'd up.

But with a Wafer.

So strong, that all your Art can't force it open▪

You have very strong jawes, if gold can't open 'em.

Not at this time.

If your legs have the same faculty as your lips, you'l die a Maid, Sweetheart.

That which is in hand has no force with me, it may be the assurance of as much more to come may prevail.

These Women are devilish pick-pockets. Now must I produce the other two. 'Tis e'ne true as you said, those pie­ces will be lucky to you. They already draw as many more to 'em. Look you here, will you open?

Give 'em me.

Unravel then.

I will not tell you her name, because I am sworn to the contrary, but give 'em me, and I'le tell you how you shall know it.

There. Now if you'l but return me half of 'em back, I will tell you the names of all the Kindred my Master has, since his great Grandfather, and the Lord knows how much further.

Take notice, what I shall tell you is for your sake, and not for the gold.

Then give me that back again.

The kindness I shall do you in giving you an occasion to get into the affections of your Master, who has set you about this work, will be a sufficient benefit to you.

Nay I knew that mony thrown into the Sea, is as soon to be gotten again, as when 'tis given to a Woman.

In short Sanco, if you woud know her name, go to the neighbours houses, where you saw her go in, and I warrant you, they'l tell you that, and all else you have a mind to know.

I might have thought of that my self, and have sav'd the mony.

My Mistress and Don Gusman are come out of the Church, and are just upon parting; for your ears, and the sake of your dear Mustachoes, Sanco, never discover it was I that put you into the way of coming to the knowledge of us.

No, No.

Adieu.

So, I have handsomely wheadled her, I think.

Well, how have you dispos'd of my Gold?

I'le assure you, Sir, I gave 'em her every one. You'd a sworn, if you had but seen how she then carried her self, that I had given her some offence, and had she not bethought her self that the mony of Persons of Quality is very lucky to her, she'd have done me the affront to have refus'd 'em.

What have you discover'd?

Nothing Sir for sake of your gold, she had sworn se­cresie, but for my sake she told me, if I'd but enquire of the Neighbours, I might know both her and her Mistress's Chri­sten names, Sirnames, Quality, Condition, and what ever, I had a mind too.

I'le satisfie my curiosity with all expedition.

Here comes one has the countenance of an Informer.

Hark you, Friend.

Your Worships most humble—

Are you an Inhabitant hereabouts?

At your service Sir.

who lives here in this House?

Certainly Sir you are one that has not liv'd long in Toledo, that you are ignorant who that house belongs to.

Prithee to▪ whom does it belong to?

To as worthy and gallant a Person as — this day is in all Spain, the King excepted.

I doubt it not.

He is a little hot and hasty, old and testy, but he lives not that has no fault.

How he racks me with delay. But I ask thee what his name is?

Lord Sir you are much of his temper, you are the most impatient'st Gentleman. Why Sir, that is the house of the Count de-Benevent!

The Count de-Benevent.

Yes Sir, and to let you see, that I know what I say, his name of baptism is Alfonso. His sirname de Pimentel. Benevent is the name of a Country, that brings him in twenty seven thou­sand, nine hundred sixty and fourteen duccates yearly Reve­nue. Where he has not only jurisdiction over his Vassals and Tenants for the preservation and recovery of his Signieural Duties, but has also arbitrary power in all causes Criminal, except high Treason. As for the Children he is blest with, he has onely one Daughter, call'd Octavia, to whom Don Diego de Stuniga, Grand Alguazil to his Majesty, and Don Ruis de Moncade, make their Addresses: and Beatrice is the name of her Woman, who is as inseparable from her, as- as- as Sir any thing you can imagine.

Stop thy Alarm, eternal Babler.

Lord Sir, if you had but let me have told you that I saw 'em go out early this morning together, and that they came [Page 29] home together, not half an hour ago, so closely vail'd that the Devil himself would have been plaguily puzl'd to have known 'em, and- and- and- I had done Sir.

Then begon, Sir.

Your servant, Sir.

The Devil go with you, Sir.

Hark you friend, of what Trade are you?

An Apothecary Signeor.

I thought so, you talk'd so like a Fool.

All circumstances agree to confirm me this was Octavia ▪ this is her Father's House, she went out this morning, return'd an hour ago, my Servant follow'd her, and here she went in. I must now in right to friendship, cruelly stifle my birth of pas­sion, slight her endearments, refuse her appointments, and shun the Caresses of a person, I find so obliging, and believe so excellent.

Sir, here comes Don Ruis.

Walk this way to avoid giving him suspition, that I have had any commerce with Octavia, Sirrah, leave your lear­ing up at those windows.

O Sir, my neck is stiff, I can't so much as turn my head that way,

Don Gusman, which way lyes your business at pre­sent?

I was going home, in hopes to meet you there.

I'le bear you company, word was brought me just now that my sister Elvira is come to town.

You tell me surprising news.

I expected her coming, but was not certain this wou'd be the Day of her arrival.

I have heard she is a great beauty.

Her vertue is greater than her beauty.

She is then an admirable Creature, for I have heard ve­ry great commendation of her beauty.

Ha- Beatrice has given me the sign out of the Window, [Page 30] This is the house of the Count Benevent. Let me desire you to walk slowly forward, she is coming down to speak to me. I'le o're take you at the end of the street.

I hope she has not sent her maid down to discover what she commanded me to conceal.

O Sir, I have had a great mind to speak with you. There has been a great falling out just now betwixt my Mistress and your Rival. They are parted in anger, never to see one ano­ther more; this is the most favourable time that can be, to insi­nuate your self into her heart, you are already in her esteem, she has an opinion of you to be a Gallant man and she is one that cannot be long without a Gallant, and no doubt will sooner make choice of you than another. Adieu Sir.

Stay Beatrice, and take my thanks a long with you.

I shall be hang'd if I am seen.

How kind was fortune to direct me here to receive this good news.

I Hope, Madam, you will be more favourable to a stranger, than to believe all that Don Ruis has told of me, to be truth.

It is so probable, that I can't i' th' least doubt it.

Believe it rather his rallery, or that I only entrusted [Page 31] him with an imaginary secret, to oblige him not to conceal from me all the true adventures that have hapn'd to him.

No, Don Gusman, she knows my way of rallery with my friends, is to surprise 'em with the discovery of such harmless truths as these.

You are a Cavalier so accomplish'd, that I question whether there is e're a considerable fortune in all Toledo that shuns you. And I shoud be more surpris'd to hear that you had no Mistress, in this short time you have been here, than I am now, to understand that you have one.

You may easily imagine what sentiments one can have for an invisible beauty.

I cannot imagine your motive to dissemble it. Since Love is the most innocent diversion, and the sittest imployment for so Gallant a person.

It is the policy of a well bred Cavalier, in the pre­sence of a Lady, never to own his Love to another.

Sir, a Woman in a vail came just now to enquire for you, her earnestness to speak with you, made me imagine her business of importance, wherefore I brought her to the gate of the Walks, where she waits to see you.

Don Gusman, I'le wait on you presently.

Is it Sir, as my Brother says, that you disown your Love for this vail'd Lady, out of Galantry to me, or are you really not in Love.

I believe my self never to have been a Lover? But since I have had the honour of seeing you.

If I had thought to have procur'd to my self this de­claration, I would not have complemented you upon the good fortune that has happen'd to you. Tho you woud not have me believe the last you met with. Yet your answer shews that you are too gallant not to be very happy.

I must never own a happiness from Love, till you be­lieve your self the author of that happiness.

I am not so great an Enemy to my own repose to endea­vour [Page 32] a conquest, which will not be in my power long to main­tain. And I woud little esteem the submissions of a heart so slippery as yours.

Do you think, Madam, that one can get out of your Chains, as easily as he is fetter'd with em? and that it is possible for a heart to resume its Liberty, after it has given it self up to so great a merit.

You have said as much to the obliging person that charm'd you last, and yet you wou'd be unfaithful to her, if you cou'd but find but any body to bestow that heart on which you wou'd take away from her.

If she would have unvail'd, and I had found her face answerable to her shape, mein, and wit; this sally of my heart could not have been without injustice, but now having seen you before her, your charms have not given me the liberty to wait till she shews me hers, and if now I had the weakness to change, I shoud not be unfaithful to Her, but to you.

I find, Don Gusman by his Wit has been conversant in all the gallantryes where ever he came. Tho I had the better cause, yet he still got the advantage on his side.

I am sorry I missed the pleasure of your discourse, but now Elvira, whilst you renew your acquaintance with the o­ther Walks of the Garden, which since you have been absent have received great alterations. I will consult with Don Gus­man in a small affair of my own.

Beatrice, from whom I receiv'd the good news I acquaint­ed you with, has been with me again, to tell me what haste then made her forget. That to morrow is her Mistresses anniversary birth day. And councels me to make an open profession of my Love to Octavia in the gallantry of a sere­nade to night under her Window, according to the custome of Lovers.

I advise you to persue the hint.

In order to it I entreat from you the composition, of a Song whist I go and provide for the dance.

It wou'd now be injurious to your affairs to plead in­sufficiency, I will rather expose my ignorance than seem to want a will to serve you.

I'le leave you here to the performance of what you undertake.

At your return you shall receive the fruits of my Medi­tation.

Madam, it is in vain to shun me, where ever you Re­tire I'le persue you, speak to you, and upbraid you.

How Sir! persue her! speak to her! and upbraid her! In the presence of Don Gusman de Haro no Lady shall ever re­ceive such affronts. And to this I'le not permit the thousandth part of that insolence.

Tho she flies to my new Rival for protection, I will even in thy presence tell her, that she is a faithless woman; and on thee, that art the cause and author of her Infidelity, I will revenge it.

Iac. Ah, ah, ah

My Friend engag'd against my Rival. Hold, hold.

Don Gusman you must not take up my quarrel, it is my right to fight him. He is my Rival.

But in my presence he offer'd the affront to her, and it is my right.

Hold, if he has affronted her I have a double right, yours is but single, therefore you must

give way.

I'le not quit my claim.

Ha! Ods precious. Ods, ods amongst Cavaliers. Come, here's an old Cock of the Game at time of need will come in for a sparring blow with ye.

Sir, I except against your sword, in respect of your Age.

And I must not engage mine in your defence that are the Parent of the fair Octavia, whose beauty renders her the Idol of my soul. Therefore we must defer our quarrel till some other time.

Don Ruis the word of a Cavalier ought to be invio­late, Ods precious, did I not promise you, on condition there might arise no quarrels betwixt you and Don Diego, that if he withdrew his pretentations to my Daughter, I wou'd next ap­prove of yours, and yet you in prejudice of your word now take up the unjust quarrel of a Rival.

Sir, the Punctilio of this quarrel is an affront offer'd my Sister in presence of my friend. Her outcryes call'd me to her assistance.

He would press on her retirement.

Hau Don Diego, here arises another Punctilio. And you and I shall come roundly to't anon. Do you, Don Diego, before you have quitted your pretentions to my Daughter, make ad­dresses to another. Ods precious, Don Diego.

Sir, run not on in this mistake. I thought the person I persu'd had been the fair Octavia, and not his sister.

There's my Punctilio gone agen. Ods precious, but how do I know this to be truth.

Your Daughter and I parted in anger, and having no­tice given me she was in the Walks, I resolv'd to come and make my submissions. When I enter'd the Garden, seeing that Lady pull down her Veil and retire from me as I came to­wards her, made me think 'twas she, and her haste to shun me confirm'd me beyond doubt. I follow'd her with resolutions not to leave her till she had had heard me speak. This I hope Sir, makes my peace with you.

Live Don Diego, long grow your M [...]st [...]choes. Ods precious, Cavaliers mistakes are no Punctilioes you must be friends.

Madam, I beg your pardon, and yours Sir,

And yours Don Ruis, for this error to the fair Elvira. But in the concern of Rival, to all I walk upright.

Ods precious, he's in th' right, there's the Punctilio on his side.

Sir, I own it as your mistake and forgive it.

And I know Don Gusman is so gallant, by following it to justifie my example.

I acknowledge Don Diego brave.

Ods precious, and so he is, and you Don Ruis shall have no farther resentments.

I have forgotten it already.

By my Grandsire's soul and these Mustachoes, thou art a gallant fellow too. Ods precious, Don Diego, you and I will go together.

I'de be content to have a Rancountre ev'ry day for the diversion of so pleasant a reconciliation.

This Count Benevent is a very worthy person. But the testyest little old gray-beard in all Spain.

I never met with such a hot spur, his humour is very pleasant.

Brother, I will cross the Walks, and make a visit to some Nuns of my acquaintance, in the Convent that joyns to the Gar­den.

A Discreet Maid is always Mistress of her self.

Now I'le persue my design.

And I'le retire to a more private Walk.

You see Sir, how subject we are to mistakes. And one error still begets another.

But I am not yet convinc'd that your going out so ear­ly was to the bath, or only thither. For the Vallet of Don Gusman, who follow'd you from the Church of St. Dominic, has disco­ver'd an adventure which it may be was not less pleasing to you than the other.

I heard him babble indeed, and perceiv'd by his discourse that he was run into a mistake. Which occasion'd that in you, which made such a hurly burly in your brains. And I hate you so much for believing me guilty of what that Sot kept a prating, that all your endeavours and acknowledgements shall never perfect a reconciliation.

You ought without difficulty to excuse a jealousie oc­casion'd by such convincing circumstances.

Convincing! Did he tell you my name? or if he had, I'le own no Lover but him, that will give the lye to a thou­sand witnesses, when I am tax'd. No Pretender to me shall dare believe any thing but his own eyes. And not all they inform him neither.

A Love like mine, cannot but be subject to jealousie. What is so dearly priz'd, we are ever in fear to lose. Put your self wholly into my possession, that I may no longer be tormented with the fears of being depriv'd of you.

No, Don Diego, now you can no longer boast of your deserting me, I'le depart with the honour of having left you; and whilst I may, March off with flying colours.

Yet a few minutes stay.

No, I will not endanger the loss of a triumph, of which I am now certain.

You know not the outrages of dispair.

I know my own resolutions.

And I mine,

Adieu Don Diego.

You don't hinder me then from going? You would

not let me go, but that you know I'le return again. But think not I bid you adieu, as formerly for a short time only. I bid you for ever adieu.

Had you been a perfect Lover, you cou'd not have be­come so absolute a Tyrant.

Come, come, come Octavia, Ods precious to morrow is a new day, fidle, fadle comes twice in a Moon. To be thus late a broad is no good punctilio in a Woman. Ods precious it grows late. Don Diego fare you well.

She resolves to maintain her conquest, [...]long as I did mine. But I perceive she durst not stay, fearing [...] hearts re­volt, yet e're I sleep, tho night comes on a pace, I'le make some progress towards a peace.

Auh! he's here: That such a gallant Person as my Master should turn Ballad Maker, and that Don Ruis should have such a crochet in's pate to sing'em! How strangely we com­mence our degrees in Love. First it makes us Fools, then Mad­men, then Poets, and our Wives as fast as we marry make us Monsters, and then, like commencing Doctors, we wear the Badge of our Occupations.

So.

Sir, Don Ruis sent me to you for some Stanza's. I be­lieve he meant a Ballad, Sir.

Do you think so Sir. There.

Give that to him, and tell him, I compos­ed them to the Tune that he is so much pleas'd with. Make haste.

Ay Sir.

Sir, Sir.

I am still of opinion that I receive these invitations from the Mistress of my Friend: hearing of our quarrel, she had the knowledge of my being here. Since I have seen the Charms of the Fair Elvira, I can at least with more ease be just to my Friend. I will return my answer in writing on the other side of the Leaf.

So! Return that to the Lady.

Give it me Iacinta, I have an impatient desire to know his answer.

Madam, my passions are grown so extream violent, since last I had the honour to discourse with you, that I find it will not be safe trusting your self with me. For should you give denial to [Page 38] my request, how extravagant soever, I should attempt some­thing in prejudice of your honour and my own. Therefore whilst I am yet capable of respect, I request you not to come in my way. For this reason I refuse to meet you, and beseech you not to honour me any further than with your esteem. Adieu.

O Iacinta he knows my heart already. This answer is pen'd word for word to my desires. I fear'd the declaration of his love had been but expressions of gallantry, but this re­fusal to meet his veild unknown, gives me at once a proof both of his love and constancy.

In this trial you dangerously expos'd the quiet of your mind, tho not love, yet curiosity might have led him to a fur­ther progress in this adventure.

Great gains are not purchas'd without great hazards. Come, I can now without fear let loose my heart, and give it a full range in the walks of love.

Heark.

More Musick! put out your Lights, and range your selves under the window.

Who goes there?

Who's there?

Pass.

Play musick.

Guards.

They have quitted their Station. Who's there?

Oh, Oh.

Sanco.

Don Ruis. O Sir, are you alive?

And so art thou.

Aye Sir, and as whole as a Fish. A pox on't, I could not get my Sword out.

We have made them quit their post.

Ay Sir, We are Masters of the field.

Run after the lights and Musick, and bid 'em turn a­gain.

This must be Don Diego, upon the same design.

Here, here, the days our own. Come again Cowards, come again.

Do you see 'em?

They were all yonder in the next Porch, they are com­ing Sir.

In order-Musick begin.-

Fall on.

Stand to your Arms.

So we have regain'd the field.

Ods precious, Don Diego, I approve not these nocturnal follies, why must I be alarm'd out of my Bed, and the whole neighbourhood be disturb'd? Ods precious, Don Diego.

Pray hear me Sir.

Ods precious, Don Diego, I tell you 'tis no good pun­ctilio to proclaim my Daughter to the whole town, by your te­nebrious [Page 42] exploits. Ods precious, I like not she shou'd be made the subject of publick discourse.

Sir, I beg your pardon that —

Ods precious, pardon's an Ass, and I ride my Mule. Don Diego this punctilio quadrate's with my judgment, you must pretend no more to my Daughter; ne're more come near my House. Ods precious, if I catch you within my Doors 'twill be an affront to my Mustachoes, farewel Sir.

I hope Sir.

What, that I'le tell a Lye: Ods precious such another hope, and you and I will crack a punctilio together.

Now he's he gone in Madam.

Don Diego, what's the matter?

'Tis no hard thing to ghess the matter when Rivals meet.

I hope you have not reciev'd harm.

I doubt not but your hopes are as obliging to my new Rival, that gave you this cerenade. I question not but you'l be glad of so fair a pretence as the authority of a father to justi­fie your forsaking me.

Well Don Diego —

Well Don Diego. Ods precious but I say 'tis not well

You shall find it ill done Don Diego, ah.

There's a Punctilio for him, now I shall exchange another with you, Mistress Mag-pye, that are chattering above, and change your Cage for you. Ods precious, Girls talking gibberish out at a Window.

SAnco walk in sight of that window, and if you see e're a Woman look out, shew her that Note, and becken her down to receive it.

How then Sir?

She will return an answer either in writing or by word of mouth: mind what she sayes to you, and bring me an exact account.

I know Sir, it is not manners to question our betters. But it is so material, when one is to deliver an answer, to know where you will be.

You shall find me here in the Church, with your Master and Elvira.

But Sir, not knowing me, suppose she shou'd refuse to come down.

It is because you are not known here that I ask'd Don Gusman leave to imply you in this affair. I would other­wise have entrusted it with one of my own servants.

Sir, I am known here.

Thou known here Sanco? how came your acquaintance and with whom.

I had like to have made a discovery. Why Sir, ever since last night that I was here with you. No doubt they took notice of me out at Window.

No, 'twas dark, and you had a cloak on, they'l not know you again.

Sir, I must beg leave to be once more unmannerly. Pray Sir, he [...] being no superscription upon this Note, what is the name of the person to whom I am to deliver it.

Her Name is Beatrice, she is servant to the Lady [Page 44] whom we Cerenaded last Night.

Cerenade ay, you shall Cerenade by your self next time. Love gallanties were never fortunate to me.

If any one of Count de Benevents house, question you, say you are Kinsman to Beatrice.

I can tell that lye without scruple, for she and I are brother and sister by occupation.

Be sure you forget not one syllable of her answer.

Look you Sir, I'le be picking my ears all the while I am here Eves dropping; that I may the better hear every word she sayes.

So, now go forward.

Little thinks Don Ruis, how well I am acquainted with Beatrice, if I had unluckily discover'd my Masters mornings ramble, and his Mistress early devotion, I should have set the de­vil upon his Gallop indeed. The door opens- I'le abscond.

Ods precious, Pedro, how thou hast, put my Cloak on.

I'le mend it Sir▪

Ods precious, a new Cloak want mending.

Set it right, I meant Sir.

O Sant Iago! Sant Iago! Thou disorderest my Ruff. Ods precious varlet am I to see the King in a rumpl'd Ruff.

Sir now it is well.

Ods Precious well, when I say it is ill, art thou upon thy Punctilio's with me.

Ods Precious. 'tis almost nine a Clock. Come, Come, he that will thrive at Court must rise betimes. Dios nos guarda.

What a testy old Wasp was this, I'de sooner be valet to his Mule, and venture to have my brains courteously knock'd out with a compliment, when he's so civil to make legs backward, than walk behind him, whilst he has that long sting at his tayl. [Page 45] But now the Weezel's gone, methinks the Rabbets shou'd be peeping out of their boroughs, Auh, I see that which I look for: mumping already, ist- ist-

Auh, there's the courteous dop, and the significant Nod, she's gone from the window and is coming down to me. I'le go into the Court and meet her.

Ha! There's that Fellow again upon some design. I'le follow him.

Well Sir! what have you to say to me now.

Nothing not I. There

What's this?

Let it speak for himself.

From whom comes it?

Read and learn.

You are very short.—

And you very inquisitive.—

It behoves me to ask.

And me to say nothing.

I'le try to hear their discourse

But I'le first know from whom it comes before I be­stow the pains to read it.

I was commanded to deliver it barely and simply to you. And will not go beyond my order, there if you will take it you may.

If you wont, here's one that will.

He chop'd as sure as a Dog at a Shoulder of Mutton.

I'le read it without so much ceremony.

Sir, you are a very courteous Person, and now I have delivered it safe into your hands, I'le take my leave.

Stay Friend, till I have read it, it may require an an­swer.

Now it will do you no further service, Sir, be pleas'd to return it to me again.

No Sir, but I'le be so civil to my Rival to pay Portage.

O hold, hold Sir, hold, hold, I am satisfi'd.

But I am not satisfi'd.

Hold Sir, I will give you what satisfaction you please.

Ah you Coward! What do you wear a Sword for?

Hold your tongue Huswife, or I'le, have you up before the Inquisition for provoking me to wrath.

Away you Sot.

I have been at my Prayers this Morning, I do the work of a good Christian, bear afflictions patiently; besides I have such a respect for so brave a Cavalier, that if it be for his satis­faction, he shall beat me twice as much.

I beat you less for your own sake, for undertaking this piece of service, than out of respect to Don Gusman. Tell him I have sent an answer. Bid him read it upon your back.

'Tis but a very scurvy Character.

If you think it is not writ plain enough, I'le try to mend it with a second Impression.

No Sir, It is all plain to be read, as Holy dayes in the Calender. It's in red Letters. Your Servant.

Don Diego, I saw you from my window discoursing with Beatrice, and thence did conclude, that you knew my Father was abroad.

Yes Madam, I met him.

Knowing you have ever been respectful to my Fa­thers Orders▪ and therefore wou'd not transgress them, how severe so ever, and that I could not invite you in, but with an absolute breach of my duty, I therefore came down to you, to let you know, that his severity and ill treatment of [Page] you, has mov'd me to much concern for you; and has reviv'd in my heart the same kind sentiments it had before your provo­cations.

Is this to me Madam!

I had not so soon forgiven you, but by my kindness to make satisfaction for the injuries you receiv'd from his ruff re­treatment last night.

Pray go on.

I have already endeavour'd to appease my fathers dis­pleasure, and doubt not but e're night do induce him to revoke his prohibition.

Perfidious Woman, how customary is it for you to frame impostures, That are aforehand thus prepar'd with such notorious ones.

The strangeness of your reply so much surprises me, I know not what answer to make on the sudden,

Go ungrateful! Make answer to that Letter, which Don Gusman has sent you, and which you have not the pleasure to read, but after my perusal.

You amaze me yet more, take it up Beatrice.

Far from the flattering

hopes you have given him of profiting by my misfortunes, I shall by his recieve advantage; since, I escape one so perfidious, that on the least occasion will sacrifice his interest to another, as you have done mine to him.

Beatrice, from whom came this note? who receiv'd it? and from whom?

Madam, I neither know the Messenger, nor him that sent it, and for that reason refus'd to receive it, and if he had not dealt so ill with the Messenger, 'tis probable he would have given an account from whom he brought it. I deny'd to take it, and Don Diego snatch'd it out of his hand.

Both the Mistress and the Servant act their parts most exactly well. For all that sereness of your countenance I per­ceive the disturbance in your mind, that artificial calm both in your looks and words is too thin a varnish to gloss over the per­fidiousness of your heart.

Tho fierceness is usually inseparable from innocence▪ yet I will now constrain my self to wave it. And without passion tell you, that I have no pretenders besides Don Ruis and your self. This Don Gusman, whom you inform me sent this note, is a stranger, and one I never spoke to, never have I so much as seen him

Do's not this Letter own a commerce betwixt you? do's he not say he follow'd your counsel? That he is your Lo­ver, and my Rival?

Am not I to be credited sooner than a Letter without a name to't?

We may constrain our selves not to believe great pre­sumptions. But not to credit such convincing proofs is impos­sible. Therefore keep back the heart you come to restore, mine from this hour shakes off your bonds, and that you may not again enslave it, this day I will put it under the protection of one who is at least as fair as you, But questionless will not be so perfidious.

I doubt not but you may bestow your heart on a fairer person, but with all your precaution, you cannot make choice of one more faithful. But do not fondly believe I tell you this [...]ecause I fear to lose you. I less concern my self to regain a place in your heart, than to discover the state of mine, which is well enough pleas'd not to discend to a justification.

The mistery of the Cerenade and Letter is not so hard to unridle, as you woud make me believe by an absolute deny­al of all: if you had said you knew of the Cerenade, but coud not help it, that you receiv'd his Love Letters but re­turn'd no answer, that he made himself my Rival but had no encouragement, you had seem'd to disapprove what you had done by being willing to excuse it; but not to acknowledge any thing is to confess your self criminal in all, and this assurance which you discover in your obstinate disowning my accusati­ons, shews the pleasure you have taken to offend me. Thus having made you sensible that I am not ignorant, nor you inno­cent, I'le leave you to sollace your self in the repose of your new conquest.

Beatrice I perceive well enough that you hold intelligence [Page 49] with Don Ruis, but in so critical a conjucture, I forbore to acknowledge it. Follow me up to my Chamber, and there resolve to make a full discovery or depart from me, and my eternal hatred be your stipend.

How? In what manner did he beat you?

In the best manner he coud, without doubt. The gallant person who diverted himself at my expence, made a shift to make my back, and his Cane meet some halfe a Score times.

You told him you belong'd to me, and the offended Don Diego retains a grudge since our last quarrel, and consi­der'd thee accordingly.

No Sir, he told me that I belong'd to you, and with­out any consideration at all, loaded my back with his salutes, and sent me to you greeting —

Are you sure you understood him right, did he name Don Gusman, and then say you belong'd to him.

Nay Sir, I believe he took me for an arrant blockhead as you do, because he took such pains to beat it into me.—

By his usage of Sanco and his Message, he takes you for his Rival.

Without doubt he takes him for his Rival, and it is as the most humble Vallet of his Rival, that I have been regal'd so plentifully.

When you saw how he woud use you, you shou'd have told him from whom the note had come.

What had I gain'd by that, for besides that you had for­bidden me. I shou'd only have changed my Master, not the imployment, and since I cou'd not escape beating, what matte [...] was it for whose sake I had been beaten.

I will find time, to return Don Diego thanks, for his Message.

Since it was to his Rival that he meant the affront, it is I that am to take an account of his actions.

I may be his en'my without being his Rival. He not [Page 50] count to declare himself mine, has by his ill usage of one that he knew belong'd to me, has nam'd me for fear he shou'd doubt it, I stand in honour oblig'd to take notice of the affront.

I fear the event of this —

If I had not written the Note, Don Diego and you wou'd in probability never have had any more concern. Besides Sanco at that time belong'd not to you, but to me, since you were pleas'd to make me Master of him, and he was imploy'd in my business. So whether in concern of his Rival, or in consi­deration of his Master, he gave Sanco the beating, it is to me on­ly that the affront was done,

It was an affront to both, therefore the best way to re­venge it, is for one to set upon him before, whilest the other at­taques him hehind.

In my judgement you are both too nice to interpret an affront from a gentlemans ill treatment of a Servant, when the Master is not in presence. A Servants sawciness oftentimes de­serves it.

I do not make a positive conclusion that I am oblig'd to resent it, but only supposing it an affront, that it concerns not Don Gusman, but me to revenge it.

I hope neither of you will think your selves so far con­cern'd as to heighten it to a quarrel.

Elvira, let not any such fears disquiet you. Don Gusman, how do you dispose of your self the rest of this morning?

I am now going to Court.

I'le wait on you thither▪ After I have conducted El­vira home.—

I will return into the Church, and pray Heaven to a­vert your minds from such resolutions

Give me my Vail, now put on your own. Instead of the Church, I will go to Don Diego's house, and endeavour that way to prevent a quarrel, which else I see will follow, by my Brothers smoothing over his mind. Go Iacinta— Ring at his Door.

Signior, is Don Diego within.

Yes.

I would speak with him, if he be at leasure.

A Cavaliere is alwayes at leasure to receive the visits of the fair. Be pleas'd to walk in Madam.

False beyond thy Sex! In cunning more artificial than the most practiced of thy kind in Sin. Gods, shall my revenge persue her, or her Lover. Where shall it begin, or beginning, where must it end.

Sir, here is a fair Person come to give you a visit.

If she be fair, she's faithless too.

There, Madam, is my Master.

Don Diego, I desire the liberty to say something to you, that none shou'd be witness of, but my self.

Ordgano ▪ quit the Room.

Stay, be pleas'd to command him too, that while I am with you to tell every body that shall come to visit you, that you are not within; for it much concerns me not to be surpris'd with you.

I charge you not to let any one come in, who ever it be: Go.

Sir, the occasion of this visit, is to let you understand, that one action of yours this morning has procur'd you two enemies; both which have a design at your life, and either of them is brave enough to make you stand in need of all your va­lour.

I ghess the Enemies you mean are Don Ruis and Don Gusman.

The same Sir, tho the fate of arms shou'd give you ad­vantage over one, yet you are not in safety, whilst the other has his blood to spill; and the second may do what the first faild in.

I neither doubt their courage nor my own. The most brave is not sure of success.

To avoid the mischief, absent your self two or three dayes out of Town. In which time I will so qualifie things, [Page 52] that there shall be no prejudice to your honour.

Quit the Town Madam for a quarrel! No.

If the Love you have for the fair Octavia makes you find any difficulty in absence, let your servants onely give out you are gone some little journey: But especially let me beg the favour of you not to be seen to day.

I wish, with a blind obedience, I could acknowledge the honour you do me in the care you take of my safety. But far from avoiding my enemies, honour obliges me to prevent their inquiry by my presence.

Yes, had you a single enemy, but you have two?

If Madam, for me you have this fear, I advise you to quit it. For the danger is not so great as you imagine, tho the odds be so. My enemies being valiant, they will without doubt be as generous.

If your honour obliges you to accept the combat, the interest of your Mistress forbids it. Do you think she can ap­prove of divulging so nice a secret, and if you love her as she deserves, wou'd it not be better to make a sacrifice of your fame to her, than to have the displeasure of exposing hers?

I should be much troubled, if it should cost me my own reputation to be sparing of anothers, whose interest I am no longer oblidg'd to. But if in obeying you, I shou'd be as­sur'd to do you a service; so pleasant a consideration, might make me forget what I owe my self.

Since neither the care of your self, nor the considerati­on of a person for whom you are oblig'd to have the greatest esteem in the world will induce you to comply. Know too, you will render me the greatest service imaginable. For as a se­cret I tell it you, that one of your two enemies is my Lover, the event of this quarrel must either way be unfortunate. If you conquer, death deprives me of him, if he vanquish you, I lose him in his flight.

This is the real cause you require my absence?

It is. Trust me with your honour a few dayes, and I will render it back bright as it is, with a full assurance of your safety.

Your Love shall ever be a secret, but as to the rest, it [Page 53] is impossible to give you an absolute satisfaction. All that I can do to serve you, is to constrain my resentment to Don Gus­man for he (doubtless) is the gallant person, that has the honour to please you. I must not flie his presence, but at all times that he shall speak to me as a gallant person ought to do, he shall find, that I know in what manner to answer him.

Madam, let me first acquaint my Master.

I am strictly charg'd to the contrary.

Whence is't, that Ordgano treats me to day after this strange manner? and that—

I humbly beg your pardon Madam, I did not know that Don Diego was so agreeably taken up. I had not quarrel'd with his Servant, if I had known the ground of his Orders. I thought they had proceeded onely from the ill humour of his Master.

Do you Madam by way of reprisal, give me a visit to quarrel with me.

I came to clear your mistakes, and to tell you what I have learn'd of the Letter and Serenade. But at present you are not in a condition to hear me, and though you woud be in the humour to afford me your attention, I should not be so diso­bliging to interrupt the pleasure you receive with Madam — whose conversation questionless will be more charming, than any thing I have to say.

The compliment you make me wou'd be the beginning of a quarrel, if I should answer it in the same obliging man­ner. But I deceive my self, or the most agreeable one I can make you, is to quit the place, where you are not infinitely pleas'd to see me, I will Madam, and advise you not to dis­compose your Spirits, with imagining I intend to advantage my self by the divorce betwixt you and your Lover. Madam your Servant. Adieu.

Madam, I'le wait on you down.

Well Madam, what is it you have to acquaint me with?

Nothing! but that you are very disobliging not to let me see the charming person to whom you have given the heart you found me not worthy of. If not out of good nature, you shou'd have don't for revenge, if she was fair, and I had seen that her beauty had justified her revolt, the sight must needs have rais'd a secret spight in my heart, I shou'd presently have fallen sick, and in a short time dy'd with grief for the loss of you. There had your revenge been compleated, Don Diego.

Oh Heavens! Madam, that a person so witty as you believe your self, shou'd endeavour to get clear of a Treache­ry whereof you are convicted, by imputing one to me, of which there is so little appearance. I wish it was as easie for you to convince me, you never had a kindness for Don Gusman, as it for me to justifie, that I never yet have seen the face of that Lady you talk off.

And Oh Heavens! Sir, for a man so witty as you be­lieve your self too, to think you can perswade me out of my senses, why was your Sentinel set at door, contrary to your custome, but for fear of being surpris'd, which shews you were afraid of the presence of some body whom you were unwil­ling should see her. Why this precaution if the person was un­known to you?

I see, Madam, I was not to blame for asking you when you came in, if you were not come to quarrel, I find you are glad of any pretence that you make use of such a slight one.

You woud not have foreseen that you shoud have been quarrell'd with, if you had not known your self guilty enough to occasion it. And but for your mistrustfulness I had not ac­cus'd you of any thing.

You wou'd not have wanted a pretence, tho you had found none; that came designedly for that purpose.

I came thinking to do you a kindness. To tell you that Don Gusman was not the man that gave me the Cerenade. That the Letter, which put you into such a pelt, came from another. I wou'd have told you likewise the name of your Rival, whose gallantry last night clash'd with yours, and to have left you no scruple, I'de have told you too, who has been false to us both; how all this came about, and last of all, how I came to the dis­covery. [Page 55] But since you have made a new conquest, the know­ledge of this will be very indifferent to you, and I shall now spare my self the trouble.

You may spare the labour Madam, if you think, as you your self said just now, to perswade me out of my senses. Was then the Cerenade last night, the servant this morning, and the Letter he brought, all but visions? Was you not fol­low'd from Church by Don Gusman's servant? Was it not the same person that brought the Letter? Were not the contents, that he follow'd your Counsel, that he was my Rival, and con­jur'd you to hasten your promise? After this shall I not be [...]ieve Don Gusman is the man? Shall all be Vision both by Night and by Day?

Answer me, Sir, I pray, to find a Lady in your Chamber, to force by a Sentinel, set to forbid entrance, to see you all con­fus'd at the surprise I gave you by pressing in; to hear your new Mistress talk of a divorce betwixt you and me, which was a secret, she cou'd not know, but from you alone; and lastly, to see you rather play the ridiculous person, then let slip any occasion to offend me, and to conduct a stranger down Stairs in the presence of one you knew, whom you left with­out the least civility of excuse.- answer me you that are so skil­ful in visions, if this be one, shall I be made believe that you know not this person, never saw her face, shall this pass for truth, or shall it all be vision, vision.

I have already told you, that the Lady you ground your anger on is an absolute stranger, that I have no manner of knowledge either of her name or person, I neither ask'd to see one, or hear the other.

I have told you as much of Don Gusman, that I ne­ver had seen him, spoken to him, or receiv'd Letters from him, and yet you wou'd not believe me, tho you never found him in my Chamber. But Don Diego, after such evidences as I have receiv'd [...] befits not a man of good sense so grosly to impose on a person that hath either eyes or ears. And you'd have done better to have said, that you cou'd not hinder a Lady so accom­plish'd and beautiful, to have an inclination for you, that 'twou'd not have been like a gallant soul, to deny her entrance into your [Page 56] house, when she came on purpose, to honour you with her visits. But that you receive them out of complaisance; that in your passion some words slipt from you of our falling out. But not to be willing to own any thing is to acknowledg your self guil­ty of all, and your obstinate denyal of your crime is a proof that you are not sorry for't. Adieu my Dear Lover, that has found a new Mistress full as fair, but questionless not half so false as the old, peaceably enjoy your new conquest and let there be no more Sentinels at your door, if I am the only person you are afraid off.

So, now has fortune given her the run of the dice, she is march'd off as she thinks victorious, with an absolute belief that she has foyl'd me with my own weapon. Now will she con­clude that she has all the reason of the World not to own any thing of her own crimes, unless I will acknowledge my self guilty of the like. And so stand in as much need of her par­don as she of mine. Thus she sells me at her pleasure.

Sir, there is a Gentleman without that woud not send in his Name desires to speak with you. But by his atten­dant it shou'd be Don Gusman, if Sanco bely'd not his Masters Name.

Wait him in. I believe the business he comes about, will suit well with my present temper.

Sir, I come to demand satisfaction for the affronts done me, I need not repeat more of 'em, then when I tell you, you took a Letter out of my servants hand by violence, broke it o­pen and read it. Your usuage to him and your message to me you cannot have forgetton.

Enough— I own ev'ry tittle of your accusations! Now? Perfidious Woman wast thou but present, to hear

thy obstinate denyals confuted by his own mouth. Sir, I am only sorry that you have so far gotten the start of me, to be the inviter. Now to tell my injuries woud be superfluous and loss of time. I will therefore with a ready complyance to your demand, wipe off as much as I can of my past remisness. Sir, I am ready to wait on you.

If we are seen together it may cause suspitions in some Persons, if they should meet us. Wherefore that nothing may hinder our design, nominate a place fit for such a ran­countre, and we'l part at the door and go several wayes.

At the Grove of Pines.

I know it, and will meet you there.

Sanco return to Court, and stand in the Lobby, till you see Don Ruis coming by, tell him I accidentally lost his com­pany, and urgent affairs prest me to be gone without allow­ing me time to take my leave.

Yes Sir.

What makes thee look so pale and tremble?

I- I- got cold Sir last night with Serenadeing, and have a fit of an Ague, I think.

Go, go, walk it off.

Ordgano, Stir not from home till you hear from me, be diligent in your duty.

Sir, your Servant.

Country, Country.

Ah Lord let me alone.

What's the matter? you look as if you were not well, Country.

Oh, my heart akes.

You tremble.

Woud not any one tremble at the wickedness that your Master and mine are gone about?

Why! what's the matter?

After my Master went in, I had a Fools curiosity to hearken to their discourse, I laid my ear close to the door, and heard 'em talk a company of idle words. As injuries, grievances, affronts, and satisfaction.

They are gone to fight then.

Don Gusman all the way we came mutter'd the Devils Pater noster to himself.

'Tis so, their parting at door was but cunning.

Ay Lord, to see how cunning men are to go to the De­vil.

I'le after 'em, but stay: whither is't they are gone?

'Twas to a Grove.

The Grove of Pines.

Ay, ay, that.

I'le after 'em with all speed, and get some Friends a­long with me, to prevent their design.

Ay do, make haste and save a soul.

Ha, Sanco here! then I fear Don Gusman is gotten here before me upon the same design. Where's your Master?

Oh Sir I am glad you are come, he and Don Diego are gone to destroy both Soul and Body of one another.

I fear'd so, when I miss'd him in the Kings Lodgings, which way went they?

To the Grove of Pines.

I'le endeavour to o'retake 'em.

I pray do Sir, and desire my Master, for the Lords sake, not to be kill'd, for if he dies I shall want a service. Methinks he shoud have a little care of himself for my sake. Well it is a strange thing, that men can't stay till Nature brings the right Keyes, but must wear such cursed Instruments at their Girdles to pick lock the doors of Mortality, and let Souls out so at randome.

WOnder not, Madam, that the relation of this Quarrel gives me no more disquiet. Don Diego is a man so indifferent to me now, that I have no more than a common concern for his safety.

Can you then be content to see the life of a Lover re­main expos'd to the fury of his enemies?

I cou'd not once have suffer'd it. But know Elvira, that perfidious man has had the arrogance to scan even the most in­nocent actions of my life to find pretensions to justifie his own disloyalty. This day, not two hours since, I surpriz'd him in his Chamber with a shameless woman, whom he preferr'd to me.

Time is now too precious to be trifl'd away in unpro­fitable grievances. Know, dear Friend, I was that woman you surpris'd. I went to acquaint him with the intentions of his enemies, and to perswade him to that, which I now press you to undertake, your interruption and his own obstinate gallan­try rendred my indeavours ineffectual.

Have then my suspitions wrong'd him! And is he faith­ful still! Oh my friend, how subject are Lovers to mistakes?

His innocence thus clear'd consent to use your interest to perswade him to grant that to a Mistress he refus'd to one un­known.

I'le rather let the worst happen fate has in store, than submit to visit him first. Try your interest, Madam, with Don Gusman.

I confess, Madam, I have some ascendancy over him, and if I desire him to sacrifice his resentment to me, I believe he will not refuse it. But know my Brother and he are gone to Court, and tho I have sent Iacinta home with orders to watch their [Page 60] return, and privately to acquaint Don Gusman, that I am at a Friends house, where I desire to speak with him, and to conduct him hither, yet I am afraid least they should attempt to find your Lover before they return home, to prevent that danger, you must condiscend to go immediately to Don Diego —

To go and visit him after the solemn leave I have taken, O, I cannot think on't.

Madam, I have brought Don Gusman to the back door, where he waits for entrance.

Now, Madam, our design may be effected without the visit you are so unwilling to make.

Oh Heavens! his coming hither is of dangerous conse­quence. He is the man of whom Don Diego is become jealous, and if he should know, that I have seen him here, he wou'd have reason to believe, that I have indeed betraid him.

To take away your fear, you shall understand how I contriv'd it. I order'd Iacinta to conduct him to the back door of your house, without giving him any account to whom it belong'd, tho he should make inquiry. Now let some one go down, and open the back door, and bring him up the private stair case, into your apartment, I alone will appear to receive him; thus it will be so far from coming to the knowledge of Don Diego, that Don Gusman himself will never know that he has been here in your House.

But if my Father should come whilst you are speaking with Don Gusman, I'le assure you; and suspect me to be half at least concern'd in some amorous intrigue. I assure you, he is a man the hardest of any in the world to be put off with excuses.

Let but the back door he enters at still remain unlock'd, and if it should so happen, that your Father returns, he may slip down the back stairs, and go out unseen.

Go then Iacinta, bid Beatrice unlock the back door, and do you conduct him up the little stairs. Madam,

I conjure you not to protract his stay with any unnecessary dis­course; but to hasten his retreat with all expedition imaginable.

After a few minutes discourse, I will release you from your fears.

I will conceal my self in this little withdrawing-Room, during the time of his stay. I hear him coming.

Don Gusman, I have contriv'd this meeting to satisfie my self of your intentions, and if you own that I have any power over you▪ do not disguise 'em. Do you still retain your resolution to fight Don Diego.

That is already done: and he is now no more either my enemy or your Brothers.

O Heavens! is he dead?

No Madam, he is not dead.

Is he hurt, or wounded, O my fears!

I will not inquire the cause, Madam, of your concern, but certainly he must be either a Lover or a B [...]other, and either of those Titles are sufficient to justifie your exacting from me an account of what is pass'd.

Quickly Sir let us hear —

Don Diego, and my self, being gotten into the field, we had already our swords in our hands, and just ready to engage, when Don Ruis, who persu'd us with all speed, interpos'd and declar'd to Don Diego that I was not his enemy, but that he was the only man offended, and was able without my assistance to take his revenge. Don Diego might perhaps have hearken'd to what he said; but I urg'd that he cou'd not quit me for another, without confessing himself conquer'd. He cou'd not digest so harsh a word, yet the obstinate Don Ruis to prevent our en­gagement, put himself again betwixt us.

What will be event of this?

Whilst we were thus contending, some friends, who had likewise heard of our design, I know not how, came to us, and woud know the ground of our quarrel.

This happy circumstance lightens my heart of half it's fears.

Don Diego, forc'd by their importunity to tell the cause of his resentment, declar'd he was jealous of me, charging me of attempts to deprive him of the affections of a Lady, for whom he had an ardour that was inextinguishable, then mention'd a Serenade last night, and a Letter that this morning he surpriz'd [Page 62] in the hands of my servant. But Don Ruis clear'd me of these accusations owning himself the person that gave this Cerenade, and that sent the Letter too, but not to the Lady, but her ser­vant. Don Diego perceiving his errors, embrac'd me in the most obliging manner, and made excuses, which I receiv'd with a sin­cere affection.

Now my hopes blossom a pace?

Now to adjust matters betwixt him and Don Ruis, their friends affirmed, that the extroardinary beauty of a Lady might justifie both their pretensions to adore her. That two such Gallant persons, coveting the same object, declar'd it to be of a more then common value. And that a Lover without Rivals might conclude he had a Mistress without merit.

Now Madam, comes the result of all —

By these discreet Mediators they were oblig'd to con­jure the fair person that charm'd them both to decide their right by her choice. And to promise one another, to look up­on him without envy, whom it shoud please her to make happy, since both of them co [...]d not be so. Thus Madam, whether I speak to the Sister, or the Mistress —

O Madam, your Father unluckily is come in at the back door, and finding it open is so enrag'd that he has lock'd it and taken away the Key.

Haste then and conduct this Gentleman down the Fore-Stairs, and let him out at the great Door, Sir, shall I beg your pardon.—

Madam, 'tis impossible your Father follow's me close and is by this time at the very Door.

I hear him.—

Run, run in there Sir.

Hey! Where are you, Ods precious no body below, all got to the house top like Cats in a Moonshiny night. Octa­via, where are you? Ods precious Octavia who unlock'd the back door, how comes it open, Ods precious have not I com­manded it should eternally be kept shut.

It was was open'd, Sir, but just now.—

Ods precious that now should have been never. How often have you heard me say, That the back door, lets in the Theif, and lets out the Whore.

Sir, having made a visit just behind your house, and not being willing to come so near, without giving Madam Octa­via an assurance of my respects, I sent to desire her, that the back door might be open'd to save me the trouble of going round.

Ods precious, Madam Elvira, I beg your pardon most heartily. Ods precious I thought no more of you than of the Soul of King Philip.

I am much displeas'd with my self for the liberty I have taken, since it is so much against your will.

Ods precious talk no more on't, I am extreamly glad of he honour you do me in visiting my daughter.

I hope Sir you will pardon my presumption.

Ods precious Madam, I'de a pull'd down one side of my house to have let you in.

The goodness you have so readily to excuse it —

Ods precious no more words about nothing, I am old and hasty, but true and hearty, and Alphonso is my name. But Ods precious Octavia, you have been to blame for entertain­ing this good Lady here all this while, when you have there so much a pleasanter and cooler Room. Come, Madam within there are some Pictures, and other little curiosities to please your Fancy.

Sir, we are but just come out thence, I have taken a full view of all. 'Tis indeed a very fine place.

But Ods precious whilst you do stay —

I was just taking my leave as you came in.

Ods precious but now I am come you'l stay a little longer.

Sir, I humbly beg your pardon, because I should com­mit a great incivility to some Ladies of the Court, who sent to know at what hour I would be at leasure to receive their visit, and it is now near the time appointed.

Nay, ods precious I have nothing to say against puncti­lio's; [Page 64] if it be so, do as like's you, and live the longer. Free-will and hearts ease make a complexion beyond Red-Wool and Fucus.

Sir, yor servant —

Nay, Ods precious, but I'le wait on you home.

By no means Sir, I will not give you that trouble. Ma­dam, your Servant.

O dear Elvira refuse not my Fathers offer,

his absence at this time will infinitely oblige me. Since Madam, you know my Father offers nothing but what is requisite, why? is't, you do yourself the injury to refuse it.

I deny'd my self the honour, cautious of being the oc­casion of too great a trouble.

Ods precious, Madam, I am not so old yet to think it a trouble to wait upon Ladies. Mine was not an age of that de­bauchery to make men old and decrepid at thirty. I am upwards of threescore, and yet, Ods precious, I am sound of Limb and cheary of heart. Ha, come Lady.

Your servant.—

Madam, your servant,

Beatrice make haste up again. Sir, you may now venture to come forth again. You narrowly escap'd, being discover'd.

I heard ev'ry word he said, and wonder'd what pre­vention you coud find.

I was all in a trembling, fear left me no power to speak, I was hasty to say something, but knew not what?

Madam Elvira brought it off very handsomly.

She was a great presence of wit, and speaks with much assurance. I wonder Beatrice stayes.

May I yet venter down stairs, Madam.

Stay Sir, and I will look out at Window

and see if my Father is gotten into the Street, Oh Heavens, Sir, I see Don Diego below contending with Bea­trice to come in.

Fear nothing, Madam, from him.

Nothing never happ'n'd so unluckily. I hear him com­ing [Page 65] up stairs, he is rush'd in, in spight of her, retire in there a­gain Sir, and shut the door.

Nay Sir, you must not, pray Don Diego retire, My Lady will be angry.

Nay Beatrice, I have proof enough thou art not my friend. Madam, I know you are already so much offended, that I cannot increase your anger with any new guilt; therefore I have prest into your house, but this is the most warrantable crime man ever committed; since it is to cast my self at your feet and supplicate your pardon for all my pass'd offences. I am now convinc'd of all: How much I have wrong'd your Virtue. I bless the day, the hour, that has render'd you innocent, and me only guilty.

Rise Sir, I pardon you —

Are you so heavenly, have you such a stock of mercy to forgive me?

I do Sir, with all my heart. But now you must be gone. My father has forbidden you the house, and charg'd me never to receive you more. He will presently come in if he finds you here, neither you nor I must hope his pardon.

Whilst I was watching below to be blest with a sight of you from your Windows, he came forth in company of a person, whom 'tis probable he will not so soon leave. If with as much sincerity as speed, you granted my pardon, you will have time more than necessary to give me farther assurances of it, and I too shall have enough to return you thanks for your favours.

I have already said it, and confirm'd it, and most wil­lingly again repeat it, I do pardon you, with all my heart I do; but now Sir you must go.

I fear to forgive so many injuries with so much rea­diness; is less a mark of your goodness than of your indiffe­rence.

Sir, what woud you have me say?

I woud be assur'd that I owe my pardon to your boun­ty and goodness only, and not to your fears or desires to have me gone.

If you think that you do not deserve the favours I be­stow [Page 66] on you, now merit it by granting that which I demand of you, Not to stay any Longer. Your presence gives me much disquiet, from which I beg that by your sudden absence you'd deliver me.

Your earnestness to have me gone, gives me suspitions That you design not my pardon, but my banishment.

To leave you no reply, know that what ever offence you have been guilty of, to refuse believing that I now for­get it, is to be guilty of a much greater.

But Madam, all that you have done for me is unpro­fitable, if you do not yet more. Don Ruis with whom I have been quarrelling in the field, disputes with me the honour of serving you, and to reconcile us, some friends have prevail'd with us, to submit our selves to your choice; as soon as you have pronounc'd it, the unfortunate is to bear his wretchedness without a murmur, and I have so highly offended you; that I cannot but fear I am the person that must be miserable.

I will engage my word to prefer you to Don Ruis, you never was so dear to me as now, therefore, Sir, fear nothing, or only fear, if you depart not now I desire it, that I'le thrust you out a door.

How mighty pressing you are Madam! You must have an aversion for me that my presence gives you so great an affliction

O Sir, my Father.

If he shoud come! The back door.

O Sir, he has got the Key of't, be gone, be gone, or all my spight, and malice will return.

Let but me stay one moment longer, that in your eyes I may once more find the way to your heart.

Oh Madam, looking out at the window, I saw your Father meet with Don Ruis, and has deliver'd Madam Elvira into his hand, and is return'd, he is just at the door.

We are undone —

I'le make sure of my retreat in here?

Hold you must not Sir, my Father will come in there immedi­ately, that being the coolest Room [Page 67] in the house, he alwayes writes his Letters there, and order'd when he went out, that Pen, ink, and paper should be carried in ready against his return.

Lock it and say you have lost the Key, say any thing.

Hold Sir, forbear, there is no lock to the door.

I now discover ungrateful woman, what oblig'd you to be so earnest with me to be gone—

What Sir?

Go, look in, and see one at the further end of the Room stand wrapt and twin'd in the window Curtain, a pair of large feet are visible, I know 'tis a Lyon by his Paw. I'le say no more to you now, because I am forc'd to leave you, but had I as lit­tle honesty as your self, I should now acquaint your Father —

Sir, come this way, go down these little stairs to the back door, and remain there till I give you notice of an oppor­tunity to make your escape.

Beatrice this is most unfortunate. What shall we do?

I heard my Master unlock his Study door. Madam go down, and pretend something of business, and all the while you discourse, keep your body betwixt the door and him, or find some occasion to shut it. I'le place Don Gusman at the top of the stairs in readiness to slip down at a minutes warning.

Do Beatrice, I'le run down before, for fear he should be coming out, and frame some pretence to keep him longer there.

Did he know who I was?

No Sir, I believe not, he only discover'd by your feet that you were a man, follow me Sir to the stair head.

Ha, I see no body, all's quiet, I hear no noise in any part of the House, this was, as I suspected, all but design, they were urgent with me to be gone, for fear I should make a disco­very of the person they conceal'd, the pretence too of the old Counts being return'd was a false alarm to draw me out of the Room, till they conveyed the other away. 'Tis so, here's no [Page 68] body now. O my too tender sense of her honour? O Fe­male subtilty? had I but suspected this before I woud have forc'd that traytor from his Sanctuary into the open field, and there have reveng'd my injuries with my Sword, I hear some body coming up I'le step in till I know who it is.

Beatrice, I have got the Key of the Back door. My Father had laid it down upon the little table in his study, run, run down, and let Don Diego out, that I may carry't again before he misses it. Oh Heavens! She has not yet

convey'd Don Gusman out, he is still in the next Room, I saw him put to the door: I thought you had been gone, for Heavens sake Don Gusman keep close till the jealous Don Diego. —

Well Madam. —

Ah. —

What woud you say of the jealous Don Diego? what think you now has not his suspitions wrong'd your virtue, has he not been much to blame, for doubting a fidelity so pure? And you have questionless been very obliging, to have so much goodness for a man who deserv'd it so little. O ungrate­ful, and perfidious!

O he's here!

Speak lower Sir, or you will undo us both. You are again in a mistake —

In a mistake deceitful Woman!

For Heaven sake, Sir, speak lower or my Father. —

Ods precious, who's here?

Ah, Ah.

Ods precious, Don Diego, I thought I had forwarn'd you my house. You Mistress Minx, Ods precious, was that the design of your coming down to steal away the Key, to let him out, thy blood shall wash away the stain from thy Family when I have been reveng'd of this Traytor, this Theif that steals into my house, and robs me of my honour. Ods pre­cious, Sir, you are come a visiting. I'le give you, your en­tertainment.

Ah, Ah-

Are you got to the door?

I'le wait on you down. Ho Pedro, Pedro, shut the door Pedro.

Don Diego has not yet made his escape▪ I would fain meet him at his coming out, to search into his temper and resolutions.

Give me my vail Beatrice.

Madam, here's Don Gusman.

O Sir, my Father has surpriz'd Don Diego in the house, we left 'em with their swords drawn. He threatned to murder me. But I took the opportunity to make my escape at the back door whilst they quarrel'd. Don Diego knows it was you that were in the closet.

Whither do you fly Madam?

I know not Sir, to Elvira.

She and her Woman pass'd by just now, and Don Ruis presently after.

I must take shelter quickly, I shall be persu'd.

Are you well acquainted with Don Ruis his house?

Very well.

Take this Key then and go into the apartment forwards, whilst I go and see how the business ends between your Father and your Lover. Of which I'le bring you word presently.

Pray do Sir, and satisfie 'em both in what you know of the business. Come Beatrice.

Don Gusman you are the Person of the World I desi­red to meet. Now at least, I hope, we may pretend a just ground to quarrel

Hold Sir, when I fight it is in the field.

Lets go then.

Stay Sir and hear me, you will but put your self to an unnecessary trouble.

Don Gusman I expect to find you of a temper not to disown, but justifie your actions.

It is Sir, and I shall both own and justifie my being in the House of the Count de Benevent.

Enough Sir, Come.

Stay Sir, and let me tell you in short, That I was no sooner return'd from the field, but I was inform'd by the Servant of Elvira, that her Mistress was gone to a Friends House, and had given her order to bring me to her with all speed, where she had an opportunity to discourse with me, which the presence of Don Ruis allow'd her not at home. I went: was conducted in a back way at a private door: was had up into a fair apartment, where I was received only by the fair Elvira, her first words demanded if I were resolv'd to fight with you. I replied we had already been in the field, and that you was no longer my enemy or her Brothers. Those doubtful words deceiv'd the understanding of one that hearken'd, for then a Lady bolted out of an inner Room, eagerly demanding if you was kill'd! Her passionate en­quiries forc'd from me a speedy relation of what had pass'd in the field, which scarce was ended when news was brought that her Father was come in; that he had lock'd the back door, which was left open for my retreat; to avoid his presence, I retired in­to an inner Room, but he no sooner enter'd, but Elvira took her leave to be gone, he offer'd her his service home, which she ac­cepted to give me an opportunity to get out of the house. They were no sooner gone, but your coming up occasioned a second surprise. I again made my retreat to the same place. What fol­low'd I need not tell you. Now Don Diego do you think, you and I have any occasion to go into the Field.

How malitiously fate contrives to turn the respects and services I pay to that person I love, into occasions of hatred and displeasure.

Love to your advantage will soon o'recome those resent­ments.

My follies have expos'd her to the fury of an enrag'd Father. All his wild anger now will flash on her.

She is not in his power: whilst you two were contend­ing she made her escape. Here I had the fortune to meet her, we but just parted as you came.

And whither is she fled fo [...] Refuge?

I have given her the Key of my apartment, where if El­vira is from home she will do me the honour to stay till my re­turn.

You have remov'd a world of care and trouble from my heart.

She gave me her commands to make enquiry what has happ'n'd to her Father and you in this quarrel.

I retreated, onely defending my self till I reach'd the stairs, and then I was too nimble for the old assaylant. He persu'd me down, with what speed he cou'd, but I first made sure of the door, and in a minute, when it was just going to be lock'd by one of his servants, and so made my escape with­out doing or receiving any hurt. Come Don Gusman, let me not delay throwing my self at her feet, to implore her grace and fa­vour, and from her breast remove the anxiety of her fears.

Leave that to my care. I counsel you to go directly to some friends that you know have the greatest influence o're her offended Father, and by their assistance disabuse him if he think any thing has pass'd betwixt you and Octavia in prejudice to his honour, and her virtue.

I approve of your advice. During my absence, ex­cuse my extravagancies and prepare me a kind reception.

I promise you the best of my service.

Friend, if any but your Master come to enquire for me, say I am not here?

If they ask for you, by your name, I may safely say I Don't know where you are: but if they enquire for one with no name, how then?

Why then say the same —

So I will, if your Lady desires the same.

Do honest friend?

Living in the Service of a Cavaliere, you cannot but be so well bred, as to have at all times an excuse ready to serve a Lady.

Yes, I'le tell a Lye to shew my breeding.

Now Beatrice go with all speed to my Aunts house, ac­quaint her with these unlucky accidents, and tell her I desire leave to put my self under her protection, that during the time of my Fathers displeasure, she may be responsible for my carri­age. Say I am at present with Madam, Elvira.

Yes, Madam?

Stay Beatrice, first give me the Key of the door, I'le lock my self in, and make answer to no body, 'till your return, except Don Gusman; as you go down charge Sanco to watch his Masters coming, and to bid him speak, when he knocks at the Door, that I may be sure not to open it to any one but him.

Madam, he is come already —

Go then Beatrice, make haste.

Madam, I bring you the good news that your Father and Lover parted without the least damage receiv'd from eithers Sword. And that Don Diego is gone to get friends to mitigate his displeasure, by giving him a just account of his being in the house and —

Hold, hold Madam, I'le first see if my Master says he is within. Sir, here's a Lady urgent to speak with you.

I'le not be seen —

Step into that Closet, Madam, and shut the door, your imprisonment shall be but short. Entreat the Lady to walk in.

As far as I see she wants no entreaty, Madam, my Master is within as good luck will have 't.

I knew that, I almost overtook him at the Door. You see Sir, I am as good as my word, I told you, you should see me when it was convenient.

How egregiously. I have been mistaken; till now I thought that, Octavia, and this unknown had been the same person.

Whence is it Sir, you seem amaz'd?

If Elvira shoud know I converse with this invisible Mi­stress, she woud suspect me false, and punish the treachery by re­nouncing my Love.

Do's my presence Sir, displease you, that you thus coldly receive this favour, which I coud not grant without giv­ing my self so much confusion.

'Tis true Madam, that you did promise to honour me with your presence, and when you had the goodness to make it, your words had something in 'em very harmonious, but now the fear I have, least any shoud surprise you here, lets me not see [Page 73] you without great reluctance, therefore, if you will sensibly oblige me, deprive me of the honour I confess my self unwor­thy of.

How pleas'd I am to hear this.

Don Gusman, I thought the answer you return'd in writing, had been but rallery, or if meant really, that you writ it injustice to your friend; whose Mistress you suspected me. I came now with resolutions to convince you of that mistake, by unvail­ing my self to you. But since I find how little satisfi'd you are with my visit, I assure you, I will never more do you the honour to trouble you. Fare you well Sir.

At what Madam, are you surpris'd?

Some one is coming up stairs —

it is my Brother. I'le run into the Closet. Ha, there is a Woman, I saw her

hand, when she clapt the Door against me. I find 'tis not out of respect to thee Elvira he has seen, that he refuses the kindness of Elvira vail'd. But for her sake that is there conceal'd.

Madam, I have heard of the misfortunes that happ'n'd at Count Benevents; and came with all possible haste to offer you my service. Were not your interest concern'd, I shoud re­joyce at the accident that gives me opportunity to converse with the person, for whose society alone I woud quit the rest of the World. Why is it Madam, that you fly from me? What do you fear from a Lover that never oppos'd your rigour but by a Multitude of respects? And who having heard of your dis­asters, does not approach you, but to make an offer of all the services he is capable to render?

To whom, Don Ruis, do you beleive you speak?

To Octavia, who has escap'd from her Fathers house, and came to my sister Elvira, but not finding her within, has given you the honour of her company.

I know not who has so inform'd you. But the Lady you see is so far from being Octavia, that she is not in the least known to you.

Don Gusman you are questionless so much my friend, as not to make a mistery of a thing I know so well; if the fair ungrateful, to whom I coud never render my self considerable e­nough to be belov'd, had not cruelly desir'd you to do it. She woud not hide her self as she does, if in my place, Don Diego had come and assur'd her of his service, and this her refusal to answer, is not the first injustice she has done me.

Don Ruis to oblige you to retire, I'le confess to you, that this is the unknown charming person I told you of; there­fore let me entreat you not to do her the affront to endeavour to know her better.

Ah Don Gusman, you interress your self too much to my disadvantage; I know this to be Octavia, I had a relation of what pass'd in her fathers house, with an account of her escape and being here, from Beatrice her own servant, whom I met as she was going to the Ladies Aunt.

Whatever she told you, yet I assure you, that you are now mistaken: and affirm that this is not Octavia, but the vail'd Lady.

If what you say be true, and that the person I see is not Octavia, let her tell me so her self, and I'le withdraw; I do not demand the sight of her, since she is unwilling to be seen, but one word is quickly spoke, and I am resolv'd not to retire til from her own mouth. I receive my adieu.

Two or three words Madam, will deliver us from his presence. I do not say in what a fear I am for you, and for my self, if it should happen that others should surprise you here: do not stay for the misfortunes which I foresee, since with one word you may have free passage

and rescue me from a mighty trouble.

See Sir, if I can res­cue

Hau! conceal your face again, Madam, and be resolute neither to speak a word, nor let him see you, I ex­pect

Don Diego will come presently and ask for Octa­via, who is in the Closet, into which I will put you as soon as your Brother is gone out of the Room. Don Ruis I

can't prevail with the Lady to speak one word to you

Sir, Sir, here's Don Diego below, shall I fetch your Pi­stols out of the Closet?

Hold Sirrah, what woud you have the Pistols for?

O Sir, now 'tis a rare time to be reveng'd as he comes up stairs, they are ready charg'd.

Go and wait on him up —

If I was a person of Quality, and he shoud beat my ser­vant, but half so much as he did yours, I'de shoot at him tho there were no more men in the World.

Hold your prating, unless you have a mind to be bea­ten again.

Nay Sir, he has disparag'd your Livery enough already with his Cane, I am almost a sham'd to walk after you in't; there remains the print of every blow he gave me visible to all the world to your disgrace.

If you are my servant, hold your tongue and do your duty.

I know not well whither I am your servant or not. This is your coat, but I have been looking under't, and there I find I wear the Livery of Don Diego, black and blew upon Orenge-Tawny. And he takes the liberty to beat me at his pleasure, as if he was my master.

I'le run my sword in your Guts.

Oh, Don Diego's here Sir.

My obliging enemy, I have staid longer than I expected. Octavia, who makes your apartment her sanctuary, and who al­ready has so much reason to hate me, will be offended at it with­out question But Madam, I hope you will give me your par­don, when you shall know that I have spent my time wholly in your service, visiting of friends who have power with your fa­ther, to try if they can pacifie his displeasure, and make him fa­vourable to my desires.

Now Don Gusman, will you affirm that this vail'd person is not Octavia, how can you excuse the wrong to friendship, and the injuries done to me?

'Tis I who have reason to be offended, that find you [Page 76] here Don Gusman who gave me his word to serve me, has not been punctual to his promise, to give you opportunity in my ab­sence to insinuate into the affections of that beauty who has charm'd us both.

You are much to blame Don Diego, for making any com­plaints against me; far from embracing the interest of Don Ruis I have protested to him, e're since he came, that this Lady was not Octavia, as he believ'd: but since you are both present, I am not any longer oblig'd to deny that it is she her self. If you are minded to have her away, behold I deliver her into your hand, for I know from her own mouth, that it was you she re­solv'd to make her choice.

He must take my life that will take her from hence, before she has told me her self, that it is you whose service she is pleas'd to accept. Don Gusman whom I thought my friend, does not give me marks enough of it, to oblige me to relie upon his word. I will stand to the conditions we have made. I doubt whether Octavia will be for you, or me, so long as she does not say any thing:

If there wants only my speaking, you shall not be long in doubt.

Ruis. Ha. —

If my esteem can do you any good, that I offer you; but it is impossible for me ever to give you my Love: bestow your heart on some other person, whose inclinations may make her worthy of it.

The fatal sentence now is pass'd, my hopes as the Sun goes down in Clouds, now set in dark despair. But nere like that to rise again.

Endeavour not to take ill what I have said to you, since it was you only forc'd me to say to much.

No Madam, now I withdraw all my pretensions; no more do I obstruct your course of Love. As she and you think fit, dispose of her.

Now Sir, convey me secretly to my Aunts, under whose care and [...] you shall leave me, till from your friends you have an account of my Fathers temper and resolutions. I will no longer [...] the return of Beatrice.

Ho?

Run down and get two Chairs ready.

Madam I'le send you away in one.

Now friend I find you told me nothing but truth. That Lady is not Octavia, Madam, I beg your pardon, you see how much it did concern me to enquire.

I find the Ladies and I are of the same constitution, sworn enemi's to drawn Swords.

The door is shut,

what shall I do.

Nay if you are all providing for

yourselves, I'le shift for one.

Don Diego, you are my prisoner.

Sir I submit.

Ods precious, hold him fast —

Madam, here's your vail.

Come Ods precious, where are you gentlewoman?

Ha Elvira!

Ods precious, that's none of her.

O disgraceful Maid, was it you that kept your self so close in your vail, and stood so mute, shame to thy sex, and dis­honour to thy Family. I'le be reveng'd.

Hold Don Ruis.

Hold Sir.

Ods precious, she has been playing pranks too? The Moon's in the critical minute.

I will at present choak my anger, —

By all that's sacred in friendship, I swear that nothing has pass'd betwixt your fair sister and [...] the most austere vertue can disapprove —

Ay, ay, no harm, no harm, Ods precious my jewel will be at that too anon.

'Till you prest her to speak, I did not so much as know the person I had been conversing with to be Elvira.

Come, come, Ods precious where is her fellow Com­rade in mischief? Ods precious there's never any good towards, when young Girles get together a tatling.

Don Diego by order of Justice you must remain my Pri­soner, unless you consent to marry the Lady. No other Act of yours can vindicate her fame, or restore to her Family the ho­nour you have taken from it.

Do you, Count Benevent, exact this from me?

Ods precious do I.

You seek to force a blessing on me, which I would have implor'd from you, and have already imploy'd my best friends to interceed for.

Ods precious then I am satisfied as to that punctilio: But Ods precious, where is she? where is she?

I may now venture out, and appear unveild. Sir with my face uncover'd, I kneel before you to let you see I have not a heart conscious of crimes to make me blush. I know not of any offence I have committed, except my fear of your displea­sure be one. I fled not Sir from you, but from your Anger.

Ods precious that's all one: I'le march you off for all that. There take her: look to her your self, Ods precious you know her tricks better than I do.

Now Sir, I hope, your anger is appeas'd, and you are fully satisfied.

Ods precious I have no more to say.

But Don Ruis, I perceive your brow is still contracted. If my acknowledgements can remove your displeasure, I will confess that no Lover ever sacrific'd a heart in brighter flames, than I do mine to the fair Elvira. Nor is the offering, I believe, displeasing to her: If, Don Ruis, you hold me worthy of your sister, and my friendship is as acceptable to you, as my love to her, promote it's perfection; and let our marriage bind me to you in a stricter union.

Ods precious e'ne let him have her too. As they have been Rogues together, e'ne let 'em fare both alike, and now [Page] go to be married together. Ods precious, it is the best way, so a done.

I feel the torments of successless love, and cannot be so cruel to see my friend in that condition. 'Tis my only happi­ness at this time, that I can so well dispose of her. I have a mind at present so disturb'd at my own loss, that I have no con­duct o're my self, how unfit am I then to have the charge of ano­ther? Here Sir, I resign her to you.

So, Now the danger is pass'd and the storm is quite over, I'le venture abroad and bid adieu to my Cover.

I wish, in return, I could settle such a peace in your breast, as you have done in mine.

Ods precious Cheary, cheary, Don Ruis, Love in the breast is like a bush of dry Thorns in an oven; it blazes, and crackles, and keeps a sputter for a while, but presently gives over. Ods precious think no more of her.

Sir the next time you ask my Master leave to send me to be beaten, pray let it be to gain your Mistress, now he goes a­way with her, I have been cudgel'd to no purpose.

I cannot soon forget the ruin of my hopes, but I will wear my sorrows with discretion.