o hang my self two or three Hours at
one o' th' Main Yards, and so long thou shalt go drown thy self. Then
we'll meet in _White-Chappel-Fields_, as it were by chance, and woo and
wed again.

_Peg._ With all my Heart, kind Sir, fare you well.

_Comp._ Farewel Widow, remember Time and Place, and d' you hear, Put on
your Sabbath-day best Clothes.

_Peg._ I will, I will.

[_Exit Peg._

_Comp._ Sir, I am beholding to you for your good Counsel.

_Pett._ No, Sir, you have paid me for 't, but I hope you do not intend
to follow your own.

_Comp._ What is that?

_Pett._ Why, you said you'd hang your self.

_Camp._ No no, I have thought better on't, for I'll go drink my self
dead drunk, then wake again, wash my Face, and meet the Bride.

_Pett._ That's well said, and I'll accompany you, and wish you Joy.

_Comp._ Joy, Sir, I have it Sir already, in a good Estate got by a
Chopping Boy.

[_Exeunt._

SCENE II.

_Enter_ Friendly solus.

_Fri._ Was ever Fortune like to this of mine? Who for the Smile of a
vile simple Woman, have acted thus against my very Soul, all to please a
Creature, whose next Command perhaps will higher mount, it may be light
on my self, as now it did on _Bonvile_.

_Enter_ Clara.

_Cla._ Ha! _Friendly_ here alone. Now, now, my Fears begin.

[_Aside_.

So, Sir, you are return'd I see.

[_To him._

_Fri._ Madam, I am, and like those noble Knights in former times, after
subduing all their Ladies Foes, returning with the joyful News of
Conquest, receive her trembling to their longing Arms, and claim her as
their own, so I----.

_Cla._ What mean you, Sir?

_Fri._ Madam, You are obeyed, your hard Commands fulfilled; at your
Request I've kill'd my Friend, nay and my best of Friends.

_Cla._ How? kill'd your Friend for me.

_Fri._ Indeed 'tis true.

_Cla._ Then thou art truly wretched: But say, say quickly, who's this
unhappy Man whom thy Mistake hath thus untimely kill'd?

_Fri._ _Bonvile._

_Cla._ _Bonvile_ said you? My Blood with an unusual Course runs backward
from my Heart! Horror has seiz'd my Soul! A thick-black Mist has
overcast my Sight, and I am not the same: but speak, O speak again, Was
it _Bonvile_?

_Fri._ Why shou'd you seek to iterate my Guilt, by a Rehearsal of that
dreadful Name? Too sure, alas! It was: _Bonvile_'s the Friend I've
kill'd.

_Cla._ Curs'd be the Tongue that spoke it, but doubly curs'd the Hand
that did the barbarous Fact.

_Fri._ Why Madam,