cuckold! 'Twill be rare news for the alderman.

_Colonel S._ All this Sir Harry has occasioned; but he's brave, and will
afford me a just revenge.--Oh, this is the porter I sent the challenge
by----Well sir, have you found him?

_Clinch. sen._ What the devil does he mean now?

_Colonel S._ Have you given Sir Harry the note, fellow?

_Clinch. sen._ The note! what note?

_Colonel S._ The letter, blockhead, which I sent by you to Sir Harry
Wildair; have you seen him?

_Clinch. sen._ Oh, lord, what shall I say now? Seen him? Yes, sir--no,
sir.--I have, sir--I have not, sir.

_Colonel S._ The fellow's mad. Answer me directly, sirrah, or I'll break
your head.

_Clinch. sen._ I know Sir Harry very well, sir; but as to the note,
sir, I can't remember a word on't: truth is, I have a very bad memory.

_Colonel S._ Oh, sir, I'll quicken your memory. [_Strikes him._

_Clinch. sen._ Zouns, sir, hold!--I did give him the note.

_Colonel S._ And what answer?

_Clinch. sen._ I mean, I did not give him the note.

_Colonel S._ What, d'ye banter, rascal? [_Strikes him again._

_Clinch. sen._ Hold, sir, hold! He did send an answer.

_Colonel S._ What was't, villain?

_Clinch. sen._ Why, truly sir, I have forgot it: I told you that I had a
very treacherous memory.

_Colonel S._ I'll engage you shall remember me this month, rascal.
[_Beats him, and exit._

_Enter_ LUREWELL _and_ PARLY.

_Lady L._ Oh, my poor gentleman! and was it beaten?

_Clinch. sen._ Yes, I have been beaten. But where's my clothes? my
clothes?

_Lady L._ What, you won't leave me so soon, my dear, will ye?

_Clinch. sen._ Will ye!--If ever I peep into the colonel's tent again,
may I be forced to run the gauntlet. But my clothes, madam.

_Lady L._ I sent the porter down stairs with them: did not you meet him?

_Clinch. sen._ Meet him? No, not I.

_Parly._ No! He went out at the back door, and is run clear away, I'm
afraid.

_Clinch. sen._ Gone, say you, and with my clothes, my fine Jubilee
clothes?--Oh, the rogue, the thief!--I'll have him hang'd for
murder--But how shall I get home in this pickle?

_Parly._ I'm afraid, sir, the colonel will be back presently, for he
dines at home.

_Clinch. sen._ Oh, then I must sneak off. Was ever such an unfortunate
beau, To have his coat well thrash'd, and lose his coat also! [_Exit._

_Parly._ Methinks, madam, the injuries you hav