The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher by Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher

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_Ang_. He follows still, yet with a sober face; would I might know the
worst, and then I were satisfied.

_Syl_. Ye may both, and let him but go with ye.

_Char_. Why do you flie me? what have I so ill about me, or within me, to
deserve it?

_Ang_. I am going to bed, Sir.

_Char_. And I am come to light ye; I am a Maid, and 'tis a Maidens office.

_Ang_. You may have me to bed, Sir, without a scruple, and yet I am chary
too who comes about me. Two Innocents should not fear one another.

_Syl_. The Gentleman says true. Pluck up your heart, Madam.

_Char_. The glorious Sun both rising and declining we boldly look upon;
even then, sweet Lady, when, like a modest Bride, he draws nights
curtains, even then he blushes, that men should behold him.

_Ang_. I fear he will perswade me to mistake him.

_Syl_. 'Tis easily done, if you will give your mind to't.

_Ang_. Pray ye to your bed.

_Char_. Why not to yours, dear Mistris? one heart and one bed.

_Ang_. True, Sir, when 'tis lawful: but yet you know--

_Char_. I would not know, forget it; those are but sickly loves that hang
on Ceremonies, nurs'd up with doubts and fears; ours high and healthful,
full of belief, and fit to teach the Priest: Love shall seal first, then
hands confirm the bargain.

_Ang_. I shall be a Heretick if this continue. What would you do a bed?
you make me blush, Sir.

_Char_. I'd see you sleep, for sure your sleeps are excellent, you that
are waking such a noted wonder, must in your slumber prove an admiration.
I would behold your dreams too, if't were possible; those were rich
showes.

_Ang_. I am becoming Traitor.

_Char_. Then like blew _Neptune_ courting of an Island, where all the
perfumes and the precious things that wait upon great Nature are laid up,
I'd clip it in my arms, and chastly kiss it, dwell in your bosome like
your dearest thoughts, and sigh and weep.

_Ang_. I've too much woman in me.

_Char_. And those true tears falling on your pure Crystals, should turn to
armelets for great Queens t'adore.

_Ang_. I must be gone.

_Char_. Do not, I will not hurt ye; this is to let you know, my worthiest
Lady, y'have clear'd my mind, and I can speak of love too: Fear not my
manners, though I never knew, before these few hours, what a Beauty was,
and such a one that fires all hearts that feel it; yet I have read of
virtuous Temperance, and study'd it among my other Secrets; and sooner
would I force a separation betwixt this spirit and the case of flesh, than
but conceive one rudeness against Chastity.

_Ang_. Then we may walk.

_Char_. And talk of any thing, any fit for your ears, and my language;
though I was bred up dull, I was ever civil; 'tis true, I have found it
hard to look on you, and not desire, 'twill prove a wise mans task; yet
those desires I have so mingled still, and tempered with the quality of
honour, that if you should yield, I should hate you for't. I am no
Courtier of a light condition, apt to take fire at every beauteous face;
that only serves his will and wantonness, and lets the serious part run by
as thin neglected sand. Whiteness of name, you must be mine; why should I
rob my self of that that lawfully must make me happy? why should I seek to
cuckold my delights, and widow all those sweets I aim at in you? We'll
lose our selves in _Venus_ Groves of Myrtle, where every little Bird shall
be a _Cupid_, and sing of love and youth, each wind that blows, and curls
the velvet-leaves, shall breed delights, the wanton Springs shall call us
to their banks, and on the perfum'd flowers we'll feast our senses; yet
we'll walk by untainted of their pleasures, and as they were pure Temples
we'll talk in them.

_Ang_. To bed, and pray then, we may have a fair end of our fair loves;
would I were worthy of you, or of such parents that might give you thanks:
But I am poor in all but in your love. Once more, good night.

_Char_. A good night t'ye, and may the dew of sleep fall gently on you,
sweet one, and lock up those fair lights in pleasing slumbers; no dreams
but chaste and clear attempt your fancy, and break betimes sweet morn,
I've lost my light else.

_Ang_. Let it be ever night when I lose you.

_Syl_. This Scholar never went to a Free-School, he's so simple.

_Enter a_ Servant.

_Serv_. Your Brother, with two Gallants, is at door, Sir, and they're so
violent, they'll take no denial.

_Ang_. This is no fit time of night.

_Char_. Let 'em in, Mistris.

_Serv_. They stay no leave; shall I raise the house on 'em?

_Char_. Not a man, nor make no murmur oft I charge ye.

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust_. They're here, my Uncle absent, stand close to me. How do you,
Brother, with your curious story? have you not read her yet sufficiently?

_Char_. No, Brother, no; I stay yet in the Preface: the style's too hard
for you.

_Eust_. I must entreat her; she's parcel of my goods.

_Char_. She's all when you have her.

_Ang_. Hold off your hands, unmannerly, rude Sir; nor I, nor what I have
depend on you.

_Char_. Do, let her alone, she gives good counsel; do not trouble your
self with Ladies, they are too light: Let out your Land, and get a
provident Steward.

_Ang_. I cannot love ye, let that satisfie you; such vanities as you, are
to be laugh'd at.

_Eust_. Nay, then you must go; I must claim mine own.

_Both_. Away, away with her.

_Char. Let her alone, pray let her alone, [_She strikes off_
and take your Coxcomb up: Let me talk [Eustace's _hat_.
civilly a while with you, Brother. It may be on some terms I may part with
her.

_Eust_. O, is your heart come down? what are your terms, Sir? Put up, put
up.

_Char_. This is the first and chiefest; [_Snatches away his sword_]
let's walk a turn. Now stand off, fools, I advise ye, stand as far off as
you would hope for mercy: this is the first sword yet I ever handled, and
a sword's a beauteous thing to look upon; and if it hold, I shall so hunt
your insolence: 'tis sharp, I'm sure, and if I put it home, 'tis ten to
one I shall new pink your Sattins; I find I have spirit enough to dispose
of it, and will enough to make ye all examples; let me toss it round, I
have the full command on't. Fetch me a native Fencer, I defie him; I feel
the fire of ten strong spirits in me. Do you watch me when my Uncle is
absent? this is my grief, I shall be flesh'd on Cowards; teach me to
fight, I willing am to learn. Are ye all gilded flies, nothing but shew in
ye? why stand ye gaping? who now touches her? who calls her his, or who
dares name her to me? but name her as his own; who dares look on her? that
shall be mortal too; but think, 'tis dangerous. Art thou a fit man to
inherit Land, and hast no wit nor spirit to maintain it? Stand still, thou
sign of a man, and pray for thy friends, pray heartily, good prayers may
restore ye.

_Ang_. But do not kill 'em, Sir.

_Char_. You speak too late, Dear; it is my first fight, and I must do
bravely, I must not look with partial eyes on any; I cannot spare a button
of these Gentlemen; did life lie in their heel, Achilles like, I'd shoot
my anger at those parts, and kill 'em. Who waits within?

_Ser_. Sir.

_Char_. View all these, view 'em well, go round about 'em, and still view
their faces; round about yet, see how death waits upon 'em, for thou shalt
never view 'em more.

_Eust_. Pray hold, Sir.

_Char_. I cannot hold, you stand so fair before me; I must not hold;
'twill darken all my glories. Go to my Uncle, bid him post to the King,
and get my pardon instantly, I have need on't.

_Eust_. Are you so unnatural?

_Char_. You shall die last, Sir, I'll take thee dead, thou art no man to
fight with. Come, will ye come? Me-thinks I've fought whole Battels.

_Cow_. We have no quarrel to you that we know on, Sir.

_Egre_. We'll quit the house, and ask ye mercy too. Good Lady, let no
murther be done here; we came but to parly.

_Char_. How my sword thirsts after them! Stand away, Sweet.

_Eust_. Pray, Sir, take my submission, and I disclaim for ever.

_Char_. Away, ye poor things, ye despicable creatures! do you come poste
to fetch a Lady from me? from a poor School-boy that ye scorn'd of late,
and grow lame in your hearts when you should execute? Pray take her, take
her, I am weary of her: What did you bring to carry her?

_Egre_. A Coach and four Horses.

_Char_. But are they good?

_Egre_. As good as France can shew Sir.

_Char_. Are you willing to leave those, and take your safeties? Speak
quickly.

_Eust_. Yes with all our hearts.

_Char_. 'Tis done then. Many have got one Horse, I've got four by th'
bargain.

_Enter_ Miramont.

_Mir_. How now, who's here?

_Ser_. Nay, now y'are gone without bail.

_Mir_. What, drawn, my Friends? Fetch me my two-hand Sword; I will not
leave a head on your shoulders, Wretches.

_Eust_. In troth, Sir, I came but to do my duty.

_Both_. And we to renew our loves.

_Mir_. Bring me a Blanket. What came they for?

_Ang_. To borrow me a while, Sir; but one that never fought yet, has so
curri'd, so bastinado'd them with manly carriage, they stand like things
_Gorgon_ had turn'd to stone: they watch'd your being absent, and then
thought they might do wonders here, and they have done so; for by my troth
I wonder at their coldness, the nipping North or Frost never came near
them; St _George_ upon a sign would grow more sensible. If the name of
Honour were for ever to be lost, these were the most sufficient men to do
it in all the world; and yet they are but young, what will they rise to?
They're as full of fire as' a frozen Glow-worms rattle, and shine as
goodly: Nobility and patience are match'd rarely in these three Gentlemen,
they have right use on't; they'll stand still for an hour and be beaten.
These are the Anagrams of three great Worthies.

_Mir_. They will infect my house with cowardize, if they breath longer in
it; my roof covers no baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and air your selves; as I
live they stay not here. White-liver'd wretches, without one word to ask a
reason why. Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed; for if I take
ye in hand, I shall dissect you, and read upon your flegmatick dull
Carcases. My Horse again there: I have other business, which you shall
hear hereafter, and laugh at it. Good-night _Charles_, fair goodness to
your dear Lady; 'tis late, 'tis late.

_Ang_. Pray, Sir, be careful of us.

_Mir_. It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. [_Exeunt_.

ACTUS IV. SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Andrew.

_And_. Are you come, old Master? Very good, your Horse is well set up; but
ere you part, I'll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a
question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I
will. Now must I play at Bo-peep--A Banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes,
and, as I take it, Cantharides--Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I'll
handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority. Now they begin to
Bill; how he slavers her! Gramercy _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out, and
now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that's a good Wench) and cries
fair play above board. Who are they in the corner? As I live, a covy of
Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o'th' Company of
_Horners_; there's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one--Sure
'tis no Anthem, nor no borrow'd Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will
listen-- [_A Song_.
This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the Note's too sprightly. So, so, the
Musick's paid for, and now what follows? O that Monsieur _Miramont_ would
but keep his word; here were a Feast to make him fat with laughter; at the
most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, nor will he break, I
hope--O are you come, Sir? the prey is in the Net, and will break in upon
occasion.

_Mir_. Thou shalt rule me, Andrew. O th'infinite fright that will assail
this Gentleman! the Quartans, Tertians, and Quotidians that will hang like
Serjeants on his Worships shoulders? the humiliation of the flesh of this
man, this grave, austere man will be wondred at. How will those solemn
looks appear to me; and that severe face, that speaks chains and shackles?
Now I take him in the nick, e're I have done with him, he had better have
stood between two panes of Wainscot, and made his recantation in the
Market, than hear me conjure him.

_And_. He must pass this way to th' only Bed I have; he comes, stand
close.

_Bri_. Well done, well done, give me my night-cap. So. Quick, quick,
untruss me; I will truss and trounce thee. Come, Wench, a kiss between
each point; kiss close, it is a sweet Parenthesis.

_Lil._ Y'are merry, Sir.

_Bri._ Merry I will be anon, and thou shalt feel it, thou shalt, my
_Lilly_.

_Lil._ Shall I air your Bed, Sir?

_Bri._ No, no; I'll use no Warming-pan but thine, Girl, that's all. Come
kiss me again.

_Lil._ Ha'ye done yet?

_Bri._ No; but I will do, and do wonders, _Lilly_. Shew me the way.

_Lil._ You cannot miss it, Sir; you shall have a Cawdle in the morning for
your Worship's breakfast.

_Bri._ How, i'th' morning, _Lilly_? th'art such a witty thing to draw me
on. Leave fooling, _Lilly_, I am hungry now, and th'hast another Kickshaw,
I must taste it.

_Lil._ 'Twill make you surfeit, I am tender of you: y'have all y'are like
to have.

_And._ And can this be earnest?

_Mir._ It seems so, and she honest.

_Bri._ Have I not thy promise, _Lilly_?

_Lil._ Yes, and I have performed enough to a man of your years, this is
truth; and you shall find, Sir, you have kiss'd and tous'd me, handl'd my
leg and foot; what would you more, Sir? As for the rest, it requires youth
and strength, and the labour in an old man would breed Agues, Sciatica's,
and Cramps: You shall not curse me for taking from you what you cannot
spare, Sir. Be good unto your self, y'have ta'ne already all you can take
with ease; you are past threshing, it is a work too boisterous for you,
leave such drudgery to _Andrew_.

_Mir._ How she jeers him!

_Lil._ Let _Andrew_ alone with his own tillage, he's tough, and can manure
it.

_Bri._ Y'are a quean, a scoffing, jeering quean.

_Lil._ It may be so, but I'm sure I'll ne'r be yours.

_Bri._ Do not provoke me, if thou do'st I'll have my Farm again, and turn
thee out a begging.

_Lil._ Though you have the will, and want of honesty to deny your deed,
Sir; yet I hope _Andrew_ has got so much learning from my young Master, as
to keep his own; at the worst I'll tell a short tale to the Judges, for
what grave ends you sign'd your Lease, and on what terms you would revoke
it.

_Bri_. Whore, thou dar'st not. Yield, or I'll have thee whipt: how my
Bloud boils, as if't were o're a Furnace!

_Mir_. I shall cool it.

_Bri_. Yet, gentle _Lilly_, pity and forgive me, I'll be a friend t'ye,
such a loving bountiful friend--

_Lil_. To avoid Suits in Law, I would grant a little; but should fierce
_Andrew_ know it, what would become of me?

_And_. A Whore, a Whore!

_Bri_. Nothing but well Wench, I shall put such a strong Bit in his mouth,
as thou shall ride him how thou wilt, my _Lilly_; nay, he shall hold the
door, as I will work him, and thank thee for the Office.

_Mir_. Take heed, _Andrew_, these are shrewd temptations.

_And_. Pray you know your Cue, and second me, Sir. By your Worship's
favour.

_Bri_. _Andrew_!

_And_. I come in time to take possession of th'Office you assign me; hold
the door! alas, 'tis nothing for a simple man to stay without, when a deep
understanding holds conference within, say with his Wife: a trifle, Sir. I
know I hold my Farm by Cuckolds Tenure; you are Lord o'th' Soil, Sir.
_Lilly_ is a Weft, a stray, she's yours to use, Sir, I claim no interest
in her.

_Bri_. Art thou serious? speak, honest _Andrew_, since thou hast o'erheard
us, and wink at small faults, man; I'm but a pidlar, a little will serve
my turn; thou'lt find enough when I've my belly full: Wilt thou be private
and silent?

_And_. By all means, I'll only have a Ballad made of't, sung to some lewd
Tune, and the name of it shall be _Justice Trap_; it will sell rarely with
your Worships name, and _Lilly_'s on the top.

_Bri_. Seek not the ruine o' my reputation, _Andrew_.

_And_. 'Tis for your credit, Monsieur _Brisac_, printed in Capital
Letters, then pasted upon all the posts in _Paris_.

_Bri_. No mercy, _Andrew_?

_And_. O, it will proclaim you from the City to the Court, and prove Sport
Royal.

_Bri_. Thou shalt keep thy Farm.

_Mir_. He does afflict him rarely.

_And_. You trouble me. Then his intent arriving, the vizard of his
hypocrisie pull'd of[f] to the Judge criminal.

_Bri_. O I am undone.

_And_. He's put out of Commission with disgrace, and held uncapable of
bearing Office ever hereafter. This is my revenge, and this I'll put in
practice.

_Bri_. Do but hear me.

_And_. To bring me back from my Grammar to my Hornbook, it is
unpardonable.

_Bri_. Do not play the Tyrant; accept of composition.

_Lil_. Hear him, _Andrew_.

_And_. What composition?

_Bri_. I'll confirm thy Farm, and add unto it a hundred Acres more,
adjoyning to it.

_And_. Umb, this mollifies; but y'are so fickle, and will again deny this,
there being no witness by.

_Bri_. Call any witness, I'll presently assure it.

_And_. Say you so? troth there's a friend of mine, Sir, within hearing,
that's familiar with all that's past, his testimony will be authentical.

_Bri_. Will he be secret?

_And_. You may tie his tongue up, as you would do your purse-strings.

_Bri_. _Miramont_!

_Mir_. Ha-ha-ha!

_And_. This is my witness. Lord how you are troubled! sure you have an
Ag[u]e, you shake so with choler: Here's your loving Brother, Sir, and
will tell no body but all he meets, that you have eat a Snake, and are
grown young, gamesome, and rampant.

_Bri_. Caught thus?

_And_. If he were one that would make jests of you, or plague ye, with
making your Religious gravity ridiculous to your Neighbours, then you had
some cause to be perplex'd.

_Bri_. I shall become discourse for Clowns and Tapsters.

_And_. Quick, _Lilly_, quick, he's now past kissing, between point and
point. He swounds, fetch him some Cordial--Now put in, Sir.

_Mir_. Who may this be? sure this is some mistake: let me see his face,
wears he not a false beard? it cannot be _Brisac_ that worthy Gentleman,
the Pillar and the Patron of his Country; he is too prudent, and too
cautelous, experience hath taught him t'avoid these fooleries, he is the
punisher, and not the doer; besides he's old and cold, unfit for Woman:
This is some counterfeit, he shall be whipt for't, some base abuser of my
worthy Brother.

_Bri_. Open the doors; will ye imprison me? are ye my Judges?

_Mir_. The man raves! this is not judicious _Brisac_: yet now I think
on't, h'has a kind of Dog look like my Brother, a guilty hanging face.

_Bri_. I'll suffer bravely, do your worst, do, do.

_Mir_. Why, it's manly in you.

_Bri_. Nor will I rail nor curse, you slave, you whore, I will not meddle
with you; but all the torments that e're fell on men, that fed on
mischief, fall heavily on you all. [_Exit_.

_Lil_. You have given him a heat, Sir.

_Mir_. He will ride you the better, _Lilly_.

_And_. We'll teach him to meddle with Scholars.

_Mir_. He shall make good his promise t'increase thy Farm, _Andrew_, or
I'll jeer him to death. Fear nothing, _Lilly_, I am thy Champion. This
jeast goes to _Charles_, and then I'll hunt him out, and Monsieur
_Eustace_ the gallant Courtier, and laugh heartily to see 'em mourn
together.

_And_. 'Twill be rare, Sir. [_Exeunt_.

_ACTUS QUINTUS. SCENA PRIMA._

_Enter_ Eustace, Egremont, Cowsy.

_Eust_. Turn'd out of doors and baffled!

_Egre_. We share with you in the affront.

_Cow_. Yet bear it not like you with such dejection.

_Eust_. My Coach and Horses made the ransom of our Cowardize!

_Cow_. Pish, that's nothing, 'tis _damnum reparabile_, and soon recover'd.

_Egre_. It is but feeding a Suitor with false hopes, and after squeeze him
with a dozen of Oaths, You are new rigg'd, and this no more remembred.

_Eust_. And does the Court, that should be the Example and Oracle of the
Kingdom, read to us no other Doctrine?

_Egre_. None that thrives so well as that, within my knowledge.

_Cow_. Flattery rubs out; but since great men learn to admire themselves,
'tis something crest-faln.

_Egre_. To be of no Religion, argues a subtle, moral understanding, and it
is often cherish'd.

_Eust_. Piety then, and valour, nor to do and suffer wrong, are they no
virtues?

_Egre_. Rather vices, _Eustace_; Fighting! what's fighting? it may be in
fashion among provant swords, and Buff-jerkin men: But w'us that swim in
choice of Silks and Tissues; though in defence of that word Reputation,
which is indeed a kind of glorious nothing, to lose a dram of blood must
needs appear as coarse as to be honest.

_Eust_. And all this you seriously believe?

_Cow_. It is a faith that we will die in, since from the black Guard to
the grim Sir in Office, there are few hold other Tenets.

_Eust_. Now my eyes are open, and I behold a strong necessity that keeps
me knave and coward.

_Cow_. Y'are the wiser.

_Eust_. Nor can I change my copy, if I purpose to be of your society.

_Egre_. By no means.

_Eust_. Honour is nothing with you?

_Cow_. A meer bubble; for what's grown common, is no more regarded.

_Eust_. My sword forc'd from me too, and still detain'd, you think 'tis no
blemish.

_Egre_. Get me a Batton, 'tis twenty times more Court-like, and less
trouble.

_Eust_. And yet you wear a sword.

_Cow. Yes, and a good one, a _Milan_ hilt, and a _Damasco_ blade for
ornament, not use, the Court allows it.

_Eust_. Will't not fight of it self?

_Cow_. I ne'er tri'd this, yet I have worn as fair as any man; I'm sure
I've made my Cutler rich, and paid for several weapons, _Turkish_ and
_Toledo's_, two thousand Crowns, and yet could never light upon a fighting
one.

_Eust_. I'le borrow this, I like it well.

_Cow_. 'Tis at your service, Sir, a Lath in a Velvet Scabbard will serve
my turn.

_Eust_. And now I have it, leave me; y'are infectious, the plague and
leprosie of your baseness spreading on all that do come near you; such as
you render the Throne of Majesty, the Court, suspected and contemptible;
you are Scarabee's that batten in her dung, and have no palats to taste
her curious Viands; and like Owles, can only see her night deformities,
but with the glorious splendor of her beauties, you are struck blind as
Moles, that undermine the sumptuous Building that allow'd you shelter: you
stick like running ulcers on her face, and taint the pureness of her
native candor, and being bad Servants, cause your Masters goodness to be
disputed of; you make the Court, that is the abstract of all Academies, to
teach and practise noble undertakings, (where courage sits triumphant
crown'd with Lawrel, and wisdom loaded with the weight of honour) a School
of Vices.

_Egre_. What sudden rapture's this?

_Eust_. A heavenly one, that raising me from sloth and ignorance, (in
which your conversation long hath charm'd me) carries me up into the air
of action, and knowledge of my self; even now I feel, but pleading only in
the Court's defence (though far short of her merits and bright lustre) a
happy alteration, and full strength to stand her Champion against all the
world, that throw aspersions on her.

_Cow_. Sure he'll beat us, I see it in his eyes.

_Egre_. A second _Charles_; pray look not, Sir, so furiously.

_Eust_. Recant what you have said, ye Mungrils, and lick up the vomit ye
have cast upon the Court, where you unworthily have had warmth and
breeding, and swear that you, like Spiders, have made poison of that which
was a saving Antidote.

_Egre_. We will swear any thing.

_Cow_. We honour the Court as a most sacred place.

_Egre_. And will make oath, if you enjoyn us to't, nor knave, nor fool,
nor coward living in it.

_Eust_. Except you two, you Rascals.

_Cow_. Yes, we are all these, and more, if you will have it so.

_Eust_. And that until you are again reform'd and grown new men, you
ne'ere presume to name the Court, or press into the Porter's Lodge but for
a penance, to be disciplin'd for your roguery, and this done with true
contrition.

_Both_. Yes, Sir.

_Eust_. You again may eat scraps, and be thankful.

_Cow_. Here's a cold breakfast after a sharp nights walking.

_Eust_. Keep your oaths, and without grumbling vanish.

_Both_. We are gone, Sir. [_Exeunt_.

_Eust_. May all the poorness of my spirit go with you: the fetters of my
thraldom are fil'd off, and I at liberty to right my self; and though my
hope in _Angellina's_ little, my honour (unto which compar'd she's
nothing) shall, like the Sun, disperse those lowring Clouds that yet
obscure and dim it; not the name of Brother shall divert me, but from him,
that in the world's opinion ruin'd me, I will seek reparation, and call
him unto a strict accompt. Ha! 'tis near day, and if the Muses friend,
Rose-cheek'd _Aurora_, invite him to this solitary Grove, as I much hope
she will, he seldome missing to pay his vows here to her, I shall hazard
to hinder his devotions--The door opens, 'tis he most certain, and by's
side my Sword. Blest Opportunity.

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