ee for this dear
lying Virtue-- Harkye, Child, hast thou nothing to say for thy self,
to help us out withal?--
[To _Aria._ aside.

_Aria._ I! I renounce ye-- false Man.

_Beau._ Yes, yes, I know she's innocent of this, for which I owe no
thanks to either of you, but to my self who mistook her in the dark.

_La Nu._ And you it seems mistook me for this Lady; I favour'd your
Design to gain your Heart, for I was told, that if this Night I lost
you, I shou'd never regain you: now I am yours, and o'er the habitable
World will follow you, and live and starve by turns, as Fortune pleases.

_Will._ Nay, by this Light, Child, I knew when once thou'dst try'd me,
thou'dst ne'er part with me-- give me thy Hand, no Poverty shall part
us.

[Kisses her.
--so-- now here's a Bargain made without the formal Foppery of Marriage.

_La Nu._ Nay, faith Captain, she that will not take thy word as soon as
the Parson's of the Parish, deserves not the Blessing.

_Will._ Thou art reform'd, and I adore the Change.

Enter the _Guardian_, _Blunt_, and _Fetherfool_.

_Guar._ My Nieces stol'n, and by a couple of the Seignior's Men! the
Seignior fled too! undone, undone!

_Will._ Hah, now's my Cue, I must finish this Jest. [Goes out.

Enter _Shift_ and _Giant_, _Hunt_ and _Dwarf_.

_Guar._ Oh impudence, my Nieces, and the Villains with 'em! I charge ye,
Gentlemen, to lay hold on 'em.

_Dwarf._ For what, good Uncle, for being so courageous to marry us?

_Guar._ How, married to Rogues, Rascals, _John Potages_!

_Blunt._ Who the Devil wou'd have look'd for jilting in such Hobgoblins?

_Feth._ And hast thou deceiv'd me, thou foul filthy Synagogue?

Enter _Willmore_ like a Mountebank as before.

_Blunt._ The Mountebank! oh thou cheating Quack, thou sophisticated
adulterated Villain.

_Feth._ Thou cozening, lying, Fortune-telling, Feetaking Rascal.

_Blunt._ Thou jugling, conjuring, canting Rogue!

_Will._ What's the matter, Gentlemen?

_Blunt._ Hast thou the Impudence to ask, who took my Money to marry me
to this ill-favour'd Baboon?

_Feth._ And me to this foul filthy o'ergrown Chronicle?

_Blunt._ And hast suffered Rogues, thy Servants, to marry 'em: Sirrah,
I will beat thee past Cure of all thy hard-nam'd Drugs, thy _Guzman
Medicines_.

_Feth._ Nay, I'll peach him in the Inquisition for a Wizard, and have
him hang'd for a Witch.

_Shift._ Sir, we are Gentlemen, and you shall have the thirds of their