ACT I.

I Tell thee, I am ſatisfy'd, I'm in Love enough to be ſuſpicious of every Body.

And yet methinks, Sir, you ſhould leave me out.

It may be ſo; I can't tell: but I'm not at Eaſe. If they don't make a Knave, at leaſt they'll make a Fool of thee.

I don't believe a Word on't: But good faith, Maſter▪ your Love makes ſomewhat of you; I don't know what 'tis; but methinks when you ſuſpect me, you don't ſeem [...] Man of half thoſe Parts I us'd to take you for. Look i [...] my Face, 'tis round and comely, not one hollow Line of [...] Villain in it: Men of my Fabrick don't uſe to be ſuſpecte [...] for Knaves; and when you take us for Fools, we never tak [...] you for wiſe men. For my Part, in this preſent Caſe, I tak [...] myſelf to be mighty deep. A Stander-by, Sir, ſees more than a Gameſter. You are pleas'd to be jealous of your poo [...] Miſtreſs without a Cauſe, ſhe uſes you but too well, in my humble Opinion; ſhe ſees you, and talks with you, till I am quite tir'd on't ſometimes; and your Rival that you are ſo [2]ſcar'd about, forces a Viſit upon her, about once in a Fort⯑night.

Alas, thou art ignorant in theſe Affairs: He that's the civill'ſt receiv'd is often the leaſt car'd for: Women ap⯑pear warm to one, to hide a Flame for another. Lorenzo in ſhort appears too compos'd of late to be a rejected Lover, and the Indifference he ſhews upon the Favours I ſeem to re⯑ceive from her, poiſons the Pleaſure I elſe ſhould taſte in them, and keeps me upon a perpetual Rack. No—I would fain ſee ſome of his jealous Tranſports, have him fire at the Sight o'me, contradict me whenever I ſpeak, affront me wherever he meets me, challenge me, fight me—

—Run you thro' the Guts.

But he's too calm, his Heart's too much at Eaſe, to leave me mine at Reſt.

For my Part, Maſter, I'm not ſo great a Philoſopher as you be, nor (thank my Stars) ſo bitter a Lover, but what I ſee—that I generally believe; and when Jacinta tells me ſhe loves me dearly, I have good Thoughts enough of my Perſon never to doubt the Truth on't. See, here the Baggage comes.

Hiſt! Jacinta! my Dear.

Who's that? Blunderbuſs! Where's your Maſter?

Hard by.

O, Sir, I'm glad I have found you at laſt; I be⯑lieve I have travell'd five Miles after you, and could neither find you at home, nor in the Walks, nor at Church, nor at the Opera, nor—

Nor any where elſe, where he was not to be found; if you had look'd for him where he was, 'twas ten to one but you had met with him.

I had, Jack-a-dandy!

But prithee, what's the Matter? Who ſent you after me?

One who's never well but when ſhe ſees you, I think; 'twas my Lady.

Dear Jacinta, I fain would flatter myſelf, but am not able; the Bleſſing's too great to be my Lot: Yet 'tis [3]not well to trifle with me; how ſhort ſoe'er I am in other Merit, the Tenderneſs I have for Leonora claims ſomething from her Generoſity; I ſhould not be deluded.

And why do you think you are? methinks ſhe's pretty well above board with you, what muſt be done more to ſatisfy you?

Why, Lorenzo muſt hang himſelf, and then we are content.

How! Lorenzo!

If leſs will do, he'll tell you.

Why, you are not mad, Sir, are you? Jealous of him! Pray which Way may this have got into your Head? I took you for a Man of Senſe before.—Is this your Do⯑ings. Log?

No forſooth, Pert, I'm not much given to Suſpi⯑cion, as you can tell, Mrs. Forward—If I were, I might find more Cauſe, I gueſs, than your Miſtreſs has given our Maſter here. But I have ſo many pretty Thoughts of my own Perſon, Houſewife, more than I have of yours, that I ſtand in dread of no Man.

That's the Way to proſper; however, ſo far I'll confeſs the Truth to thee; at leaſt if that don't do, nothing elſe will, Men are mighty ſimple in Love-matters, Sir: When you ſuſpect a Woman's falling off, you fall a plaguing her to bring her on again, attack her with Reaſon, and a ſour Face: Udſlife, Sir, attack her with a Fiddle, double your good Humour—give her a Ball—powder your Periwig at her, —let her cheat you at Cards a little, and I'll warrant all's right again.

Say no more; I have been to blame, but there ſhall be no more on't.

I ſhould puniſh you but juſtly however for what's paſt, if I carry'd back what I have brought you; But I'm good natur'd, ſo here 'tis; open it, and ſee how wrong you tim'd your Jealouſy.

Then I ſhall be what Man was never yet;

ten thouſand Bleſſings on thee for thy News, I could adore thee as a Deity.

True Fleſh and Blood, every Inch of her, for all that.

O haypy, happy Carlos! But what ſhall I ſay to thee for this welcome Meſſage?

Alas! I want Words— But let this ſpeak for me, and this, and this, and—

Hold, Sir; pray leave a little ſomething for our Board-Wages. You can't carry them all, I believe:

Shall I eaſe thee of this?

No; but you may carry—That, Sirrah.

the Jade's grown Purſe-proud already.

Well, dear Jacinta, ſay ſomething to your charming Miſtreſs, that I am not able to ſay myſelf: But above all, excuſe my late unpardonable Folly, and offer her my Life to expiate my Crime.

The beſt Plea for Pardon will be never to repeat the Fault.

If that will do, 'tis ſeal'd for ever.

Enough; but I muſt be gone: Succeſs attend you with the old Gentleman. Good-by t'ye, Sir.

Eternal Bleſſings follow thee.

I think ſhe has taken them all with her; the Jade has got her Apron full.

Is not that Lorenzo's Man coming this Way?

Yes, 'tis he. Shall I draw him on a Scotch Pair of Boots, Maſter, and make him tell all?

Some Queſtions I muſt aſk him; call him hither.

Hem, Lopez, hem!

Who calls?

I, and my Maſter.

I can't ſtay,

You can indeed, Sir.

Whither in ſuch Haſte, honeſt Lopez? What! upon ſome Love Errand!

Sir, your Servant; I aſk your Pardon, but I was going—

I gueſs where; but you need not be ſhy of me any more, thy Maſter and I are no longer Rivals, I have yielded up the Cauſe; the Lady will have it ſo, ſo I ſub⯑mit.

Is it poſſible, Sir? Shall I then live to ſee my Maſ⯑ter and you Friends again?

Yes; and what's better, thou and I ſhall be Friends too. There will be no more Fear of Chriſtian Bloodſhed, I give thee up Jacinta; ſhe's a ſlippery Houſewife, ſo Maſter and I are going to match ourſelves elſewhere.

But is it poſſible, Sir, your Honour ſhould be in Ear⯑neſt? I'm afraid you're pleas'd to be merry with your poor humble Servant.

I'm not at preſent much diſpos'd to Mirth, my In⯑difference in this Matter is not ſo thoroughly foem'd; but my Reaſon has ſo far maſter'd my Paſſion, to ſhew me 'tis in vain to purſue a Woman whoſe Heart is already another's. 'Tis what I have ſo plainly ſeen of late, I have rouz'd my Reſolution to my Aid, and broke my Chains for ever.

Well, Sir, to be plain with you, this is the joyfulleſt News I have heard this long Time; for I always knew you to be a mighty honeſt Gentleman, and good Faith it often went to the Heart o'me to ſee you ſo abuſed. Dear, dear, have I often ſaid to myſelf (when they have had a private Meeting juſt after you have been gone—

Ha!

Hold, Maſter, don't kill him yet.

I ſay I have ſaid to myſelf, what wicked Things are Women, and what Pity it is they ſhould be ſuffer'd in a [6]Chriſtian Country; what a Shame they ſhould be allow'd to play Will-in-the-Wiſp with Men of Honour, and lead them through Thorns and Briars and Rocks, and rugged Ways, till their Hearts are torn in Pieces, like an old Coat in a Fox⯑Chace? I ſay, I have ſaid to myſelf—

Thou haſt ſaid enough to thyſelf, but ſay a little more to me: Where were theſe ſecret Meetings thou talk'ſt of?

In ſundry Places, and by divers Ways; ſometimes in the Cellar, ſometimes in the Garret, ſometimes in the Court, ſometimes in the Gutter; but the Place where the Kiſs of Kiſſes was given was—

In Hell.

Sir!

Speak, Fury, what doſt thou mean by the Kiſs of Kiſſes?

The Kiſs of Peace, Sir; the Kiſs of Union; the Kiſs of Conſummation.

Thou ly'ſt, Villain.

I don't know but I may, Sir.—What the Devil's the Matter now?

There's not one Word of Truth in all thy curſed Tongue has utter'd.

No, Sir, I—I—believe there is not.

Why then didſt thou ſay it, Wretch?

O—only in Jeſt, Sir.

I am not in a jeſting Condition.

Nor I—at preſent, Sir.

Speak then the Truth, as thou wouldſt do it at the Hour of Death.

Yes, at the Gallows, and be turn'd off as ſoon as I've done.

What's that you murmur?

Nothing but a ſhort Prayer.

I am diſtracted, and fright the Wretch from telling me what I am upon the Rack to know.

Forgive me, Lopez, I am to blame to ſpeak thus harſhly to thee: Let this obtain thy Pardon.

Thou ſee'ſt I'm diſturb'd.

Yes, Sir; I ſee I have been led into a Snare; I have ſaid too much.

And yet thou muſt ſay more; nothing can leſſen my Torment, but a farther Knowledge of what cauſes my Miſe⯑ry. Speak then; Have I any Thing to hope?

Nothing; but that you may be a happier Batchelor, than my Maſter may probably be a married Man.

Married, ſay'ſt thou?

I did, Sir, and I believe he'll ſay ſo too in a Twelve-month.

O Torment!—But give me more on't: when, now, to who, where?

Yeſterday, to Leonora, by the Parſon in the Pantry.

Look to't, if this be falſe, thy Life ſhall pay the Torment thou haſt given me: Be gone.

With the Body and the Soul o'me.

Baſe News, Maſter.

Now my inſulting Rival's Smile ſpeaks out: O curſ⯑ed, curſed Women!

I'm come in Haſte to tell you, Sir, that as ſoon as the Moon's up, my Lady will give you a Meeting in the Cloſe-Walk by the Back-Door of the Garden; ſhe thinks ſhe has ſomething to propoſe to you will certainly get her Father's Conſent to marry you.

Paſt Sufferance! this Aggravation is not to be borne: go, thank her—with my Curſes: Fly—and let them blaſt her, while their Venom's ſtrong.

—Won't thou explain? What's this Storm for?

And dar'ſt thou aſk me Queſtions, ſmooth-fac'd Ini⯑quity, Crocodile of Nile, Syren of the Rocks? Go, carry back the too gentle Anſwer thou haſt receiv'd; only let me add with the Poet:

Am I awake!—I fancy not; a very idle Dream this. Well; I'll go talk in my Sleep to my Lady about it; and when I awake, we'll try what Interpretation we can make on't.

ACT II.

YOU ſee me as much enrag'd at it, as you are yourſelf, yet my Brain is roving after the Cauſe, for ſomething there muſt be; never Letter was receiv'd by Man with more Paſſion and Tranſport; I was almoſt as charming a Goddeſs as yourſelf, only for bringing it. Yet when in a Moment after I come with a Meſſage worth a dozen on't, never was Witch ſo handled; ſomething muſt have paſs'd between one and t'other, that's ſure.

Nothing cou'd paſs worth my enquiring after, ſince nothing cou'd happen that can excuſe his Uſage of me; he had a Letter under my Hand which own'd him Maſter of my Heart; and till I contradicted it with my Mouth, he ought not to doubt the Truth on't.

Nay I confeſs, Madam, I ha'nt a Word to ſay for him, I'm afraid he's but a Rogue at bottom, as well as my Shameleſs that attends him; we are bit, by my Troth, and haply well enough ſerv'd, for liſtning to the glib Tongues of the Raſcals.

Well: Let him laugh; let him glory in what he has done: He ſhall ſee I have a Spirit can uſe him as I ought.

And let one Thing be your Comfort by the Way, Madam, that in ſpight of all your dear Affections to him, you have had the Grace to keep him at Arms End. You han't thank'd me for't; but good Faith 'twas well I did not ſtir out of the Chamber that fond Night. For there are Times the ſtouteſt of us are in Danger, the Raſcals wheedle ſo.

In ſhort, my very Soul is ſir'd with this Treatment: and if ever that perfidious Monſter ſhould relent, tho' he ſhou'd crawl like a poor Worm beneath my Feet, nay plunge a Dagger in his Heart, to bleed for Pardon; I charge thee ſtrictly, charge thee on thy Life, thou do not urge a Look to melt me toward him, but ſtrongly buy me up in brave Reſentment; and if thou ſeeſt (which Heav'ns avert) a Glance of Weakneſs in me, rouſe to my Memory the vile Wrongs I have born, and blazon them with Skill in all their glaring Colours.

Madam, never doubt me; I'm charg'd to the Mouth with Fury, and if ever I meet that Traytor of mine, ſuch a Volly will I pour about his Ears—Now Heav'n prevent all haſty Vows; but in the Humour I am, methinks I'd carry my Maiden-Head to my cold Grave with me, before I'd let it ſimper at the Raſcal, but come, come Madam we'll be reveng'd on them never fear.

Repuls'd again! This is not to be borne. What tho' this Villain's Story be a Falſhood, was I to blame to hearken to it? This Uſage cannot be ſupported: How was it ſhe treated thee?

Never was Ambaſſado worſe receiv'd. Madam, my Maſter aſks ten thouſand Pardons, and humbly begs one Moment's Interview:—Be gone, you Raſcal you. Madam, what Anſwer ſhall I give my Maſter?— Tell him he's a Villain. Indeed, fair Lady, I think this is haſty Treatment—Here, my Footmen, toſs me this Fellow out at the Window; and away ſhe went to her De⯑votions.

Did you ſee Jacinta.

Yes; ſhe ſaluted me with half-a-ſcore Rogues and Raſcals too. I think our Deſtinies are much alike, Sir: And o'my Conſcience, a couple of ſcurvy Jades we are hamper'd with.

Ungrateful Women, to receive with ſuch Contempt ſo quick a Return of a Heart ſo juſtly alarm'd.

Ha, ha, ha.

What, no Allowance to be made to the firſt Tran⯑ſports of a Lover's Fury, when rous'd by ſo dreadful an Ap⯑pearance? As juſt as my Suſpicions were, have I long ſuf⯑fer'd them to arraign her?

No.

Have I waited for Oaths or Imprecations to clear her?

No.

Nay, even now is not the whole World ſtill in ſuſ⯑pence about her? whilſt I alone conclude her innocent.

'Tis very true.

She might, methinks, thro' this profound Reſpect, obſerve a Flame another would have cheriſh'd; ſhe might ſupport me againſt groundleſs Fears, and ſave me from a Ri⯑val's Tyranny; ſhe might releaſe me from theſe cruel Racks, and wou'd, no doubt, if ſhe cou'd, love as I do.

Ha, ha, ha

But ſince ſhe don't, what do I whining here? Curſe on the baſe Humilities of Love.

Right.

Let Children kiſs the Rod that fleas them, let Dogs lie down and lick the Shoe that ſpurns them.

Ay.

I am a Man by Nature meant for Power; the Scep⯑ter's given us to wield, and we betray our Truſt whenever we meanly lay it at a Woman's Feet.

True, we are Men, boo—Come, Maſter, let us both be in a Paſſion; here's my Scepter,

Subject Jacinta, look about you. Sir, was you ev [...]r in Muſ⯑covy? the Women there love the Men dearly; why? be⯑cauſe—

there's your Love-powder for you. Ah, Sir, were we but wiſe and ſtout, what Work ſhou'd we make with them; But this humble Love making ſpoils them all. A rare Way indeed to bring Matters about with them; we are perſuading them all Day they are Angels and Goddeſies, in Order to uſe them at Night like human Creatures; we are like to ſucceed truly.

For my Part, I never yet cou'd bear a Slight from any Thing, nor will I now. There's but one Way however to reſent it from a Woman; and that's to drive her bravely from your Heart, and place a worthier in her vacant Throne.

Now with Submiſſion to my Betters, I have another Way, Sir, I'll drive my Tyrant from my Heart, and place myſelf in her Throne. Yes; I will be Lord of my own Tenement, and keep my Houſhold in Order. Wou'd you, wou'd do ſo too, Maſter; for, look you, I have been Ser⯑vitour in a College at Salamancha, and read Philoſophy with the Doctors; where I found that a Woman, in all Times, has been obſerv'd to be an Animal hard to underſtand, and much inclin'd to Miſchief. Now as an Animal is always an Animal, and a Captain always a Captain, ſo a Woman is al⯑ways a Woman: Whence it is that a certain Greek ſays, her Head is like a Bank of Sand; or, as another, a ſolid Rock; or, according to a third, a dark Lanthorn. Pray, Sir, obſerve, for this is cloſe Reaſoning; and ſo as the Head is the Head of the Body; and that the Body without a Head, is like a Head without a Tail; and that where there is neither Head nor Tail, 'tis a very ſtrange Body: So I ſay a Woman is by Compariſon, do you ſee (for nothing explains things like Compariſons) I ſay by Compariſon, as Ariſtotle has often ſaid before me, one may compare her to the raging Sea; for as the Sea, when the Wind riſes, knits its Brows like an angry Bull, and that Waves mount upon Rocks, and Rocks mount upon Waves; that Porpuſſes leap like Trouts, and Whales ſkip about like Gudgeons; that Ships roll like Beer Barrels, and Mariners pray like Saints; juſt ſo, I ſay, a Woman—A Woman, I ſay, juſt ſo, when her Reaſon is ſhipwreck'd upon her Paſſion, and the Hulk of her Underſtanding lies thump, thump, thumping againſt the Rock of her Fury; then it is, I ſay, that by certain Immotions, which —um—cauſe, as one may ſuppoſe, a ſort of Convul⯑ſive—yes—hurricanious—um—like—in ſhort, a Woman is like the Devil. But here come the Cro⯑codiles to weep us into Mercy.

Maſter, let us ſhew ourſelves Men, and leave their briny Tears to waſh their dirty Faces.

It is not in the Power of Charms to move me.

Nor me, I hope; and yet I fear thoſe Eyes will ook out ſharp to ſnatch up ſuch a Prize.

He's coming to us, Madam, to beg Pardon; but ſure you'll never grant it him?

If I do, may Heav'n ne'er grant me mine.

That's brave.

You look, Madam, upon me, as if you thought I came to trouble you with my uſual Importunities; I'll eaſe you of that Pain, by telling you, my Buſineſs now is calmly to aſſure you, but I aſſure it you with Heav'n and Hell for Seconds; for may the Joys of one fly from me, whilſt the Pains of t'other overtake me, if all your Charms diſplay'd ever ſhake my Reſolution; I'll never ſee you more.

Bon.

You are a Man of that nice Honour, Sir, I know you'll keep your Word; I expected this Aſſurance from you, and came this Way only to thank you for't.

Very well.

You did, imperious Dame, you did: How baſe is Woman's Pride? How wretched are the Ingredients it is form'd of. If you ſaw Cauſe for juſt Diſdain, why did you not at firſt repulſe me? Why lead a Slave in Chains, that cou'd not grace your Triumphs? If I am thus to be con⯑temned, think on the Favours you have done the Wretch, and hide your Face for ever.

Well argued.

I own you have hit the only Fault the World can charge me with; the Favours I have done to you, I am in⯑deed aſham'd of; but ſince Women have their Frailties, you'll allow me mine.

'Tis well, extremely well, Madam. I'm happy how⯑ever, you at laſt ſpeak frankly. I thank you for it; from [13]my Soul I thank you: but don't expect me greveling at your Feet again; don't, for if I do—

You will be treated as you deſerve; trod upon.

Give me Patience;—but I don't want it; I am calm: Madam, farewel; be happy if you can; by Heav'ns I wiſh you ſo, but never ſpread your Net for me again; for if you do—

You'll be running into it.

Rather run headlong into Fire and Flames; rather be torn with Pincers Bit from Bit—But I am wrong; this ſounds like Paſſion, and Heaven can tell I am not angry: Madam, I think we have no farther Buſineſs together; your moſt humble Servant.

Farewel t'ye, Sir.

Come along.

Yet once more before I go (leſt you ſhould doubt my Reſo⯑lution) may I ſtarve, periſh, rot, be blaſted, dead, damn'd, or any other Thing that Men or Gods can think on, if on any Occaſion whatever; Civil or Military, Pleaſure or Buſi⯑neſs, Love or Hate, or any other Accident of Life, I, from this Moment, change one Word or Look with you

Content: Come away, Jacinta.

Yet one word, Madam, if you pleaſe; I have a lit⯑tle Thing here belongs to you, a fooliſh Bawble I once was fond of.

Will you accept a Trifle from your Servant?

Willingly, Sir; I have a Bawble too I think you have ſome Claim to; you'll wear it for my Sake.

Moſt thankfully; this too I ſhou'd reſtore you, if once was yours—

By your Favour, Madam—there is a Line or two in it, I think you did me once the Honour to write with your own fair Hand. Here it is.

Thus you have encourag'd me, and thus you have deceiv'd me.

Very true.

I have ſome faithful Lines too; I think I can pro⯑duce 'em.

There, Sir, take your Poetry again

'Tis not much the worſe for my wearing; 'till ſerve again upon a freſh Occaſion.

Well done.

I believe I can return the Preſent, Madam, with— a Pocket full of your Proſe—There—

Jacinta, give me his Letters. There, Sir, not to be behind hand with you.

And there, and there, and there, Sir.

'Cods my Life, we want Ammunition; but for a [...]hift—There, and there, you ſaucy Slut you.

I think, Madam, we have clearly the better on't.

For a Proof, I reſolve to keep the Field.

Have a Care he don't rally and beat you yet tho': pray walk off.

Fear nothing.

How the Armies ſtand and gaze at one another af⯑ter the Battle; What think you, Sir, of ſhewing yourſelf a great General, by making an honourable Retreat?

I ſcorn it.

Sir!

I ſcorn it.

Oh!

Oh Leonora! Leonora! A Heart like mine ſhould not be treated thus.

Carlos! Carlos! I have not deſerv'd this Uſage.

Barbarous Leonora! but 'tis uſeleſs to reproach you; ſhe that is capable of what you have done, is form'd too cruel ever to repent of it Go on then, Tyrant; make your Bliſs compleat; torment me ſtill, for ſtill, alas! I love enough to be tormented.

Ah Carlos! little do you know the tender Movements of that Thing you name; the Heart where Love preſides, admits no Thought againſt the Honour of its Ruler.

'Tis not to call that Honour into Doubt, if conſcious of our own Unworthineſs, we interpret every Frown to our Deſtruction.

When Jealouſy proceeds from ſuch humble Apprehen⯑ſions, it ſhews itſelf with more Reſpect than yours has done.

And where a Heart is guiltleſs, it eaſily forgives a greater Crime.

Forgiveneſs is not now in our Debate; if both have been in Fault, 'tis fit that both ſhould ſuffer for it; our Se⯑paration will do Juſtice on us.

But ſince we are ourſelves the Judges of our Crimes, what if we ſhould inflict a gentler Puniſhment?

'Twould but encourage us to ſin again.

And if it ſhould—

'Twould give a freſh Occaſion for the pleaſing Exer⯑ciſe of Mercy.

Right; and ſo we act the Part of Earth and Heav'n together, of Men and Gods, and taſte of both their Plea⯑ſures.

The Banquet's too inviting to refuſe it.

Then thus let us fall on, and feed upon't for ever.

Ah Woman! fooliſh, fooliſh Woman!

Very fooliſh indeed

But don't expect I'll follow her Example.

You wou'd, Mopſy, if I'd let you.

I'd ſooner tear my Eyes out; ah—that ſhe had a little of my Spirit in her.

I believe I ſhall ſind thou haſt a great deal of her Fleſh, my Charmer; but 'twont do; I am all Rock, hard Rock, very Marble.

A very Pumice-ſtone, you Raſcal you, if one wou'd try thee; but to prevent thy Humilities, and ſhew thee all Submiſſion would be in vain; to convince thee thou haſt nothing but Miſery and Deſpair before thee, here—take back thy paultry Thimble, and be in my Debt, for the Shirts I have made thee with it.

Nay, if y're at that 'port. Miſtreſs, I believe I ſhall loſe nothing by the Balance of thy Preſents. There take thy Tobacco-ſtopper, and ſtop thy—

Here—take thy Sattin Pincuſhion, with thy curious half Hundred of Pins in't, thou mad'ſt ſuch a va⯑pouring about Yeſterday: Tell them carefully, there's not one wanting.

There's thy Ivory-haſted Knife again, whet it well; 'tis ſo blunt 'twill cut nothing but Love.

And there's thy pretty Pocket Sciſſars, thou haſt honour'd me with, they'll cut off a Leg or an Arm, Heav'n bleſs them.

Here's the inchanted Handkerchief you were pleas'd to endear with your precious Blood, when the Violence of your Love at Dinner, t'other Day made you cut your Fin⯑gers.—There.

The Raſcal ſo provokes me, I won't even keep his paultry Garters from him. D'you ſee theſe? You piti⯑ful, beggarly Scoundrel you:—There, take 'em, there.

I have but one Thing more of thine.

I own 'tis the Top of all thy Preſents, and might be uſeful to me; but that thou may'ſt have nothing to up⯑braid me with, e'en take it again with the reſt of them.

Ah cruel Sancho!—Now beat me, Sancho, do.

And I my Sancho with Jacinta's Charms.