Chapter 12

Enter _Belvile_ in Rage, _Fred._ holding him, and _Willmore_ melancholy.

Will. Why, how the Devil shou’d I know _Florinda?_

Belv. Ah plague of your ignorance! if it had not been _Florinda_, must you be a Beast?—a Brute, a senseless Swine?

Will. Well, Sir, you see I am endu’d with Patience—I can bear—tho egad y’re very free with me methinks,—I was in good hopes the Quarrel wou’d have been on my side, for so uncivilly interrupting me.

Belv. Peace, Brute, whilst thou’rt safe—oh, I’m distracted.

Will. Nay, nay, I’m an unlucky Dog, that’s certain.

Belv. Ah curse upon the Star that rul’d my Birth! or whatsoever other Influence that makes me still so wretched.

Will. Thou break’st my Heart with these Complaints; there is no Star in fault, no Influence but Sack, the cursed Sack I drank.

Fred. Why, how the Devil came you so drunk?

Will. Why, how the Devil came you so sober?

Belv. A curse upon his thin Skull, he was always before-hand that way.

Fred. Prithee, dear Colonel, forgive him, he’s sorry for his fault.

60 Belv. He’s always so after he has done a mischief—a plague on all such Brutes.

Will. By this Light I took her for an errant Harlot.

Belv. Damn your debaucht Opinion: tell me, Sot, hadst thou so much sense and light about thee to distinguish her to be a Woman, and could’st not see something about her Face and Person, to strike an awful Reverence into thy Soul?

Will. Faith no, I consider’d her as mere a Woman as I could wish.

Belv. ’Sdeath I have no patience—draw, or I’ll kill you.

Will. Let that alone till to morrow, and if I set not all right again, use your Pleasure.

Belv. To morrow, damn it. The spiteful Light will lead me to no happiness. To morrow is _Antonio’s_, and perhaps Guides him to my undoing;—oh that I could meet This Rival, this powerful Fortunate.

Will. What then?

Belv. Let thy own Reason, or my Rage instruct thee.

Will. I shall be finely inform’d then, no doubt; hear me, Colonel—hear me—shew me the Man and I’ll do his Business.

Belv. I know him no more than thou, or if I did, I should not need thy aid.

Will. This you say is _Angelica’s_ House, I promis’d the kind Baggage to lie with her to Night. [Offers to go in.

Enter _Antonio_ and his Page. _Ant._ knocks on the Hilt of his Sword.

Ant. You paid the thousand Crowns I directed?

Page. To the Lady’s old Woman, Sir, I did.

Will. Who the Devil have we here?

Belv. I’ll now plant my self under _Florinda’s_ Window, and if I find no comfort there, I’ll die. [Ex. _Belv._ and _Fred._

61 Enter _Moretta_.

Moret. Page!

Page. Here’s my Lord.

Will. How is this, a Piccaroon going to board my Frigate! here’s one Chase-Gun for you. [Drawing his Sword, justles _Ant._ who turns and draws. They fight, _Ant._ falls.

Moret. Oh, bless us, we are all undone! [Runs in, and shuts the Door.

Page. Help, Murder! [_Belvile_ returns at the noise of fighting.

Belv. Ha, the mad Rogue’s engag’d in some unlucky Adventure again.

Enter two or three Masqueraders.

Masq. Ha, a Man kill’d!

Will. How! a Man kill’d! then I’ll go home to sleep. [Puts up, and reels out. _Ex._ Masquers another way.

Belv. Who shou’d it be! pray Heaven the Rogue is safe, for all my Quarrel to him. [As _Belvile_ is groping about, enter an Officer and six Soldiers.

Sold. Who’s there?

Offic. So, here’s one dispatcht—secure the Murderer.

Belv. Do not mistake my Charity for Murder: I came to his Assistance. [Soldiers seize on _Belvile_.

Offic. That shall be tried, Sir.—St. _Jago_, Swords drawn in the Carnival time! [Goes to _Antonio_.

Ant. Thy Hand prithee.

Offic. Ha, Don _Antonio!_ look well to the Villain there.—How is’t, Sir?

Ant. I’m hurt.

Belv. Has my Humanity made me a Criminal?

Offic. Away with him.

Belv. What a curst Chance is this! [Ex. Soldiers with _Belv._

Ant. This is the Man that has set upon me twice— 62 carry him to my Apartment till you have further Orders from me. [To the Officer. Ex. _Ant._ led.