-- where, oh what shall I do?--
my Clothes, my Sword and Money.

_Aur._ Quickly, _Sancho_, tie a Sheet to the Window, and let him slide
down by that-- Be speedy, and we'll throw your Clothes out after ye.
Here, follow me to the Window.

_Feth._ Oh, any whither, any whither. That I could not be warn'd from
whoring in a strange Country, by my Friend _Ned Blunt's_ Example-- if I
can but keep it secret now, I care not.
[Exeunt.

Scene, the Street, a Sheet tyd to the Balcony, and _Feth._ sitting
cross to slide down.

_Feth._ So-- now your Neck, or your Throat, chuse ye either, wise Mr.
_Nicholas Fetherfool_-- But stay, I hear Company. Now dare not I budg an
Inch.

Enter _Beaumond_ alone.

_Beau._ Where can this Rascal, my Page, be all this while? I waited in
the Piazza so long, that I believed he had mistook my Order, and gone
directly to _La Nuche's_ House-- but here's no sign of him--

_Feth._ Hah-- I hear no noise, I'll venture down.
[Goes halfway down and stops.

Enter _Abevile_, _Harlequin_, Musick and _Willmore_.

_Will._ Whither will this Boy conduct me?-- but since to a Woman,
no matter whither 'tis.

_Feth._ Hah, more Company; now dare not I stir up nor down, they may be
Bravoes to cut my Throat.

_Beau._ Oh sure these are they--

_Will._ Come, my Heart, lose no time, but tune your Pipes.
[_Harlequin_ plays on his Guittar, and sings.

_Beau._ How, sure this is some Rival.
[Goes near and listens.

_Will._ Harkye, Child, hast thou ne'er an amorous Ditty, short and
sweet, hah--

_Abev._ Shall I not sing that you gave me, Sir?

_Will._ I shall spoil all with hard Questions-- Ay, Child-- that that.
[_Abev._ sings, _Beau._ listens, and seems angry the while.

SONG.
_A Pox upon this needless Scorn!
_Silvia_, for shame the Cheat give o'er;
The end to which the fair are born,
Is not to keep their Charms in store,
But lavishly dispose in haste,
Of Joys-- which none but Youth improve;
Joys which decay when Beauty's past:
And who when Beauty's past will love?

When Age those Glories shall deface,
Revenging all your cold Disdain,
And _Silvia_ shall neglected pass,
By every once admiring Swain;
And we can only Pity pay,
When you in vain too late shall burn:
If Love increase, and Youth delay,
Ah, _Silvia_, who will make return?

Then haste, my _Silvia_, to the Grove,
Where all the Sweets of _May_ conspire,
To teach us ev