_Fri._ No, Sir, but dangerously wounded.

_Mer._ Not mortally, I hope; but whereabouts is he so desperately wounded? In his Arms, his Legs, or Body?

_Fri._ Neither, Sir, but in as perfect Health as when he left you.

_Mer._ Strange! sure thou art all o're a Mystery, and form'st these Riddles to try my Wit.

_Fri._ No, Sir, for all I have said, you in effect will surely find I told you he was wounded, did I not?

_Mer._ Yes, you did.

_Fri._ And so he is.

_Mer._ But where, whereabout, I ask you once again?

_Fri._ I see you force the unwilling Secret from me--Why, he's wounded.

_Mer._ He's wounded, he's wounded, but where, where is he wounded?

_Fri._ In his Fame, Honour and Reputation, more mortal than a thousand fleshy Wounds.

_For such slight Baubles, Cures are oft obtain'd; But injur'd Honour ne're can be regain'd._

_Mer._ How! how! how's this? wounded in his Honour, fay'll thou? Tell me the Villain that has defam'd him, and this good old Sword shall slit the Rascal's Wind-pipe.

_Fri._ O, Sir, your Daughter, your Daughter, Sir----

_Mer._ Ha! what's that? what's that? is she injur'd too?

_Fri._ No, no Sir, my falling Tears quite drown my feeble Voice, I cannot utter what I fain would speak--Your Daughter's false, false to her _Bonvile_! And by the help of her beloved _Summerfield_, has robb'd my Friend of all he cou'd call Dear, I mean his Fame.

[_Seems to weep._

_Mer._ A Pox o' your Crocodile's Tears. Why, Sirrah, Sirrah, do you call my Daughter Wh.o.r.e? Hey, Swords and Daggers, Blunderbusses and Pistols, shall I bear this? Hark you, you my Friend, and no Friend, what a Kin do you take me to be to this Gentlewoman, Heh?

_Fri._ Her Father, Sir.

_Mer._ Audacious Villain, O that I had thee in some private Corner, where none you'd either see or hear us, this Sword shou'd justify my Daughter's Honour; I'de Wh.o.r.e you with a Pox to you, so I wou'd.

_Fri._ Your Pardon, Sir, I only did inform you as a Friend, that by your fatherly Admonitions, you might refrain her from her undecent Course.

_Mer._ Pox o' your friendly Intelligence.

_Fri._ The Jewels which her Husband did present her, as the first Sign and Confirmation of the happy Contract, she to my certain Knowledg has given to----

_Mer._ To whom, to whom thou wicked Slanderer? tell me, Sarrah, quickly, quick, quick.

_Fri._ To _Summerfield_.

_Mer._ Ha, ha, ha, the Fool makes me laugh; Ha, ha, ha, why 'twas but just now that I saw e'm on her Neck and Arms.

_Fri._ She was no Woman, had she not the Sense to get them against her Husband's coming.

_Mer._ But pray tell me, how is't possible that she cou'd part with 'em, when they are lock't on, and the Key with her Husband?

_Fri._ O, Sir, that's no Question to be ask'd in these Times: Women _have found a way to make use of other Keys besides their Husbands: And no doubt but_ Summerfield _has got a Key will open your Daughter's lock as well as_ Bonvile's.

_Mer._ Sirrah you lie, you lie Sirrah; and I'le tell thee thou ly's, again and again, so I will. Nay, and I were to pay a 100 Pounds for every Lie I give thee, as Men do Twelve-pence for every Oath they swear, I wou'd spend all the Thousands I am worth, in giving thee the Lie. 'Tis likely indeed, that such a brave Gentleman as _Summerfield_, that fought at Sea like a Dragon to save my Life, should shorten my Days on Land in ruining my Daughter; therefore once more I tell you you Lie.

_Fri._ 'Tis very well.

_Me._ Do you hear Sir, have you told this Lie to any body else but me?

_Fri._ I am no Informer, Sir.

_Mer._ Why then for fear you shou'd, do ye see, draw, [_Draws_] Draw, I say, I am not so old but I can make a shift to cut your Throat still; I'le spoil your Carking, I'le warrant ye.

_Enter_ Bonvile _and_ Clara.

A Pox on't, here's my Son-in-Law come to hinder me, Duce take him cou'd he not stay a little longer? D'ye hear Sir, begon, leave this Place immediately, or I'le--I'le--I'le--Gad I cou'd find in my Heart, so I cou'd, but be gone.

_Fri._ _Bonvile_ here with _Clara_ too, excellent. This goes to _Arabella_, and may it encrease the Storm.

[_Exit_ Frie.

_Bon._ My Father in Anger.

_Mer._ O Son, Son, Son! dear Boy, welcome home, Od's bobs you are.

_Bon._ I humbly thank you, Sir; but am sorry to see you so disturb'd.

_Mer._ Nothing, nothing, only Mr. _Friendly_ and I have had a Word or two, that's all, that's all.

_Bon._ About my going with him, I suppose; but that's past, and I hope, Sir, you'l be so kind as at my Request to pardon him.

_Mer._ Indeed Son it was something else; By the Lord _Harry_ I can't forbear laughing at the c.o.xcomb, Ha, ha, ha; He told me, Ha, ha, ha, that one _Summerfield_, a very honest Fellow as ever liv'd, is grown exceeding familiar with my Daughter, your Wife.

_Bon._ Ha! my Wife.

_Mer._ Yes, your Wife, and that he had received Love-Tokens from her.

_Bon._ How, Love-Token from her!

_Mer._ Aye, aye, Love-Tokens I call'd 'em when I was a young Man: Nay, the Rogue was so impudent to tell me, that she had given him those Jewels which are lock'd about her Neck; Ha, ha, ha.

_Bon._ The Jewels about her Neck, said you?

_Mer._. Aye, what ails you Man that you change Colour so? 'Tis all a Lie Boy I warrant thee: And hadst thou not come just in the Nick of Time, I think o' my Conscience I shou'd have cut his Throat.