_ It holds, they will go thither.

_Cler._ To their Summer-house?

_Din._ Thither i'th' evening, and which is the most infliction,
Only to insult upon our miseries.

_Cler._ Are you provided?

_Din._ Yes, yes.

_Cler._ Throughly?

_Din._ Throughly.

_Cler._ Basta, enough, I have your mind, I will not fail you.

_Din._ At such an hour.

_Cler._ Have I a memory?
A Cause, and Will to do? thou art so sullen--

_Din._ And shall be, till I have a fair reparation.

_Cler._ I have more reason, for I scaped a fortune,
Which if I come so near again: I say nothing,
But if I sweat not in another fashion--
O, a delicate Wench.

_Din._ 'Tis certain a most handsome one.

_Cler._ And me thought the thing was angry with it self too
It lay so long conceal'd, but I must part with you,
I have a scene of mirth, to drive this from my heart,
And my hour is come.

_Din._ Miss not your time.

_Cler._ I dare not. [_Exeunt severally._

_Enter_ Sampson, _and a Gentleman_.

_Gent._ I presume, Sir, you now need no instruction,
But fairly know, what belongs to a Gentleman;
You bear your Uncles cause.

_Sam._ Do not disturb me,
I understand my cause, and the right carriage.

_Gent._ Be not too bloody.

_Sam._ As I find my enemy; if his sword bite,
If it bite, Sir, you must pardon me.

_Gent._ No doubt he is valiant,
He durst not undertake else,

_Sam._ He's most welcome,
As he is most valiant, he were no man for me else.

_Gent._ But say he should relent.

_Sam._ He dies relenting,
I cannot help it, he must di[e] relenting,
If he pray, praying, _ipso facto_, praying,
Your honourable way admits no prayer,
And if he fight, he falls, there's his _quietus_.

_Gent._ Y'are nobly punctual, let's retire and meet 'em,
But still, I say, have mercy.

_Samp._ I say, honour. [_Exeunt._

_Enter_ Champernel, Lamira, Anabel, Beaupre, Verdone,
Charlote _and a Servant_.

_Lam._ Will not you go sweet-heart?

_Champ._ Go? I'le fly with thee.
I stay behind?

_Lam._ My Father will be there too,
And all our best friends.

_Beau._ And if we be not merry,
We have hard luck, Lady.

_Verd._ Faith let's have a kind of play.

_Cham._ What shall it be?

_Verd._ The story of _Dinant_.

_Lam._ With the merry conceits of _Cleremont_,
His Fits and Feavers.

_Ana._ But I'le lie still no more.

_Lam._ That, as you make the Play, 'twill be rare sport,
And how 'twill vex my gallan