e-- and
Gate-- my Humour, and my Youth have something more of Grandeur, have
they not?

_Gill._ Infinitely, an't please your Highness.

Enter _Page_.

_Page._ Madam, a Man without has the boldness to ask for your Honour.

_L. Lam._ Honour, Fool!

_Gill._ Her Highness, Blockhead.

_Page._ Saucily prest in, and struck the Porter for denying him entrance
to your-- Highness.

_L. Lam._ What kind of Fellow was't?

_Page._ A rude, rough, hectoring Swash, an't please your Highness; nay,
and two or three times, Gad forgive me, he swore too.

_L. Lam._ It must be he. [Aside.

_Page._ His Habit was something bad and Cavalierish-- I believe 'twas
some poor petitioning, begging Tory, who having been sequester'd, wou'd
press your Highness for some Favour.

_L. Lam._ Yes, it must be he-- ah, foolish Creature! and can he hope
Relief, and be a villanous Cavalier? out upon 'em, poor Wretches-- you
may admit him tho', for I long to hear how one of those things talk.

_Gill._ Oh, most strangely, Madam-- an please your Highness, I shou'd
say.

Enter _Loveless_.

_L. Lam._ 'Tis he, I'll swear, _Gilliflower_, these Heroicks are
punctual men-- how now, your Bus'ness with us, Fellow?

_Lov._ My Bus'ness, Madam?--

_L. Lam._ Hast thou ever a Petition to us?

_Lov._ A Petition, Madam?-- Sure this put-- on Greatness is to amuse her
Servants, or has she forgot that she invited me? or indeed forgot me?--
[Aside.

_L. Lam._ What art thou?

_Page._ Shall we search his Breeches, an't please your Highness, for
Pistol, or other Instruments?

_L. Lam._ No, Boy, we fear him not, they say the Powers above protect
the Persons of Princes.
[Walks away.

_Lov._ Sure she's mad, yet she walks loose about,
And she has Charms even in her raving Fit.

_L. Lam._ Answer me. What art thou?--
How shall I get my Servants hence with Honour? [Aside.

_Lov._ A Gentleman--
That could have boasted Birth and Fortune too,
Till these accursed Times, which Heaven confound,
Razing out all Nobility, all Virtue,
Has render'd me the rubbish of the World;
Whilst new rais'd Rascals, Canters, Robbers, Rebels,
Do lord it o'er the Free-born, Brave and Noble.

_L. Lam._ You're very confident, know you to whom you speak? but I
suppose you have lost your Estate, or some such trivial thing, which
makes you angry.

_Lov._ Yes, a trivial Estate of some five and twenty hundred Pound a
Year: but I hope to see that Rogue