we know her.

_Chris._ Upon my Life, 'tis true.

_Dar._ Widow, I have a shreud Suspicion, that you your self may be this
dying Lady.

_Ran._ Why so, Coxcomb?

_Dar._ Because you took such Pains to put your self into my hands.

_Ran._ Gad, if your Heart were but half so true as your Guess, we should
conclude a Peace before _Bacon_ and the Council will--besides, this
thing whines for _Friendly_, and there's no hopes.
[To _Chrisante_.

_Dar._ Give me thy Hand, Widow, I am thine--and so entirely, I will
never--be drunk out of thy Company:--_Dunce_ is in my Tent,--prithee
let's in and bind the Bargain.

_Ran._ Nay, faith, let's see the Wars at an end first.

_Dar._ Nay, prithee take me in the humour, while thy Breeches are
on--for I never lik'd thee half so well in Petticoats.

_Ran._ Lead on, General, you give me good incouragement to wear them.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I. The _Sevana_ in sight of the Camp; the Moon rises.

Enter _Friendly_, _Hazard_ and _Boozer_, and a Party of Men.

_Friend._ We are now in sight of the Tents.

_Booz._ Is not this a rash Attempt, Gentlemen, with so small Force to
set upon _Bacon's_ whole Army?

_Haz._ Oh, they are drunk with Victory and Wine; there will be nought
but revelling to night.

_Friend._ Would we could learn in what Quarter the Ladies are lodg'd,
for we have no other business but to release them--But hark--who comes
here?

_Booz._ Some Scouts, I fear, from the Enemy.

Enter _Dull._ _Tim._ _Whim._ and _Whiff_, creeping as in the dark.

_Friend._ Let's shelter ourselves behind yonder Trees--lest we be
surpriz'd.

_Tim._ Wou'd I were well at home-Gad zoors, if e'er you catch me a
Cadeeing again, I'll be content to be set in the fore-front of the
Battle for Hawks-Meat.

_Whim._ Thou'rt afraid of every Bush.

_Tim._ Ay, and good reason too: Gad zoors, there may be Rogues
hid--prithee, Major, do thou advance.

_Dull._ No, no, go on--no matter of Ceremony in these cases of running
away.
[They advance.

_Friend._ They approach directly to us, we cannot escape them--their
numbers are not great--let us advance.
[They come up to them.

_Tim._ Oh! I am annihilated.

_Whiff._ Some of _Frightall's_ Scouts, we are lost Men.
[They push each other foremost.

_Friend._ Who goes there?

_Whim._ Oh, they'll give us no Quarter; 'twas long of you, Cornet, that
we ran away from our Colours.

_Tim._ Me--'twas the Major's Amb