me, Warner may have wherewithal to instruct his

master.

Mill. But yet there's fear my father will find out the plot.

Rose. Not in the least; for my old lady has provided two rare disguises for the master and the

man.

Mill. Peace, I hear them beginning to tune the lute.

Rose. And see, madam, where your true knight, Sir Martin, is placed yonder like Apollo, with his lute in his hand, and his rays about his head. [SIR MARTIN appears at the adverse window; a tune is played; when it is done, WARNER rings, and SIR MARTIN holds.] Did he not play most excellently, Madam?

Mill. He played well, and yet methinks he held his lute but untowardly.

Rose. Dear madam, peace; now for the song.

THE SONG*.

Blind love, to this hour,

Had never, like me, a slave under his power:
Then blest be the dart,

That he threw at my heart;

For nothing can prove

A joy so great, as to be wounded with love.

My days, and my nights,

Are filled to the purpose with sorrows and frights:
From my heart still I sigh,

And my eyes are ne'er dry;
So that, Cupid be praised,

I am to the top of love's happiness raised.

My soul's all on fire,

So that I have the pleasure to doat and desire:
Such a pretty soft pain,

That it tickles each vein;

'Tis the dream of a smart,

Which makes me breathe short, when it beats at my heart.

Sometimes, in a pet,

When I am despised, I my freedom would get:
But strait a sweet smile

Does my anger beguile,

And my heart does recal;

Then the more I do struggle, the lower I fall.

Heaven does not impart

Such a grace, as to love, unto every one's heart;
For many may wish

To be wounded, and miss:

Then blest be love's fire,

And more blest her eyes, that first taught me desire.

The Song being done, WARNER rings again; but SIR MARTIN continues fumbling, and gazing on his Mis

tress.

Mill. A pretty humoured song. But stay, methinks he plays and sings still, and yet we cannot hear him. Play louder, Sir Martin, that we may have the fruits on't.

Warn. [Peeping.] Death! this abominable fool will spoil all again. Damn him, he stands making his grimaces yonder; and he looks so earnestly upon his mistress, that he hears me not. [Rings again.

Mill. Ah, ah! have I found you out, sir? Now, as I live and breathe, this is pleasant: Rose, his man played and sung for him, and he, it seems, did not know when he should give over.

[MILL. and ROSE laugh.

Warn. They have found him out, and laugh yonder, as if they would split their sides. Why, Mr Fool, Oaf, Coxcomb, will you hear none of

names?

your

Mill. Sir Martin, Sir Martin, take your man's counsel, and keep time with your music.

Sir Mart. [Peeping.] Hah! What do you say, madam? How does your ladyship like my music?

Mill. O most heavenly! just like the harmony of the spheres, that is to be admired, and never heard. Warn. You have ruined all, by your not leaving off in time.

Sir Mart. What the devil would you have a man do, when my hand is in! Well, o'my conscience, I think there is a fate upon me. [Noise within. Mill. Look, Rose, what's the matter.

Rose. "Tis Sir John Swallow pursued by the bailiffs, madam, according to our plot; it seems they have dogged him thus late to his lodging.

Mill. That's well; for though I begin not to love this fool, yet I am glad I shall be rid of him.

[Exeunt MILL. and Rose.

Enter SIR JOHN, pursued by three Bailiffs over the stage.

Sir Mart. Now I'll redeem all again; my mistress shall see my valour, I'm resolved on't. Villains, rogues, poltroons! What? three upon one? In fine, I'll be with you immediately.

[Exit. Warn. Why, sir, are you stark mad? have you no grain of sense left? He's gone! now is he as earnest in the quarrel as Cokes among the puppets; 'tis to no purpose whatever I do for him. [Exit WARNER.

Enter SIR JOHN and SIR MARTIN (having driven away the Bailiffs); SIR MARTIN flourishes his sword.

Sir. Mart. Victoria! Victoria! What heart, Sir John? you have received no harm, I hope?

Sir John. Not the least; I thank you, sir, for your timely assistance, which I will requite with any thing, but the resigning of my mistress. Dear Sir Martin, a goodnight.

Sir Mart. Pray let me wait upon you in, Sir John.

Sir John. I can find my way to Mrs Millisent without you, sir, I thank you.

Sir Mart. But pray, what were you to be arrested for?

Sir John. I know no more than you; some little debts perhaps I left unpaid by my negligence: Once more, good night, sir. [Exit. Sir Mart. He's an ungrateful fellow; and so, in fine, I shall tell him when I see him next-Monsieur

Enter WARNER.

Warner, a propos! I hope you'll applaud me now. I have defeated the enemy, and that in sight of my mistress; boy, I have charmed her, i'faith, with my valour.

Warn. Ay, just as much as you did e'en now with your music; go, you are so beastly a fool, that a chiding is thrown away upon you.

Sir Mart. Fool in your face, sir; call a man of honour fool, when I have just achieved such an enterprise-Gad, now my blood's up, I am a dangerous person, I can tell you that, Warner.

Warn. Poor animal, I pity thee!

Sir Mart. I grant I am no musician, but you

must allow me for a swordsman: I have beat them bravely; and, in fine, I am come off unhurt, save only a little scratch in the head.

Warn. That's impossible; thou hast a skull so thick, no sword can pierce it; but much good may it do you, sir, with the fruits of your valour: You rescued your rival, when he was to be arrested, on purpose to take him off from your mistress.

Sir Mart. Why, this is ever the fate of ingenious men; nothing thrives they take in hand.

Enter Rose.

Rose. Sir Martin, you have done your business with my lady, she'll never look upon you more; she says, she's so well satisfied of your wit and courage, that she will not put you further

trial.

to any

Sir Mart. Warner, is there no hopes, Warner? Warn. None that I know.

Sir Mart. Let's have but one civil plot more before we part.

Warn. 'Tis to no purpose.

Rose. Yet, if he had some golden friends, that would engage for him the next time

Sir Mart. Here's a Jacobus and a Carolus will enter into bonds for me.

Rose. I'll take their royal words for once.

[She fetches two disguises. Warn. The meaning of this, dear Rose?

Rose. 'Tis in pursuance of thy own invention, Warner; a child which thy wit hath begot upon me: But let us lose no time. Help! help! dress thy master, that he may be Anthony, old Moody's bastard, and thou his, come from the East Indies.

Sir Mart. Hey-tarock it-now we shall have Rose's device too; I long to be at it, pray let's hear more on it.