SCENE III.--_The Entrance Hall in the same.

Sir JOLLY JUMBLE _and_ Lady DUNCE _discovered putting_ BEAUGARD _in order, as if he were dead_.

_Sir Jol._ Lie still, lie still, you knave, close, close, when I bid you: you had best quest,[46] and spoil the sport, you had!

_Beau._ But pray how long must I lie thus?

_L. Dunce._ I'll warrant you you'll think the time mighty tedious.

_Beau._ Sweet creature, who can counterfeit death when you are near him?

_Sir Jol._ You shall, sirrah, if a body desires you a little, so you shall; we shall spoil all else, all will be spoiled else, man, if you do not: stretch out longer, longer yet, as long as ever you can. So, so, hold your breath, hold your breath; very well.

_Enter_ Maid.

_Maid._ Madam, here comes Sir Davy.

_Sir Jol._ Odds so, now close again as I told you, close, you devil; now stir if you dare; stir but any part about you if you dare now; odd, I'll hit you such a rap if you do! Lie still, lie you still.

_Enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE.

_Sir Dav._ My dear, how dost thou do, my dear? I am come.

_L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, what is't you've done? you've ruined me; your family, your fortune, all is ruined; where shall we go, or whither shall we fly?

_Sir Dav._ Where shall we go! why, we'll go to bed, you little jackadandy: why, you are not a wench, you rogue, you are a boy, a very boy, and I love you the better for't: sirrah, hey!

_L. Dunce._ Ah, sir, see there.

_Sir Dav._ Bless us! a man! and bloody! what, upon my hall-table!

_L. Dunce._ Two ruffians brought him in just now, pronouncing the inhuman deed was done by your command: Sir Jolly came in the same minute, or sure I had died with my distracting fears. How could you think on a revenge so horrid?

_Sir Dav._ As I hope to be saved, neighbour, I only bargained with them to bastinado him in a way, or so, as one friend might do to another: but do you say that he is dead?

_Sir Jol._ Dead, dead as clay; stark stiff and useless all, nothing about him stirring, but all's cold and still. I knew him a lusty fellow once, a very mettled fellow; 'tis a thousand pities!

_Sir Dav._ What shall I do? I'll throw myself upon him, kiss his wide wounds, and weep till blind as buzzard.

_L. Dunce._ Oh, come not near him; there's such horrid antipathy follows all murders, his wounds would stream afresh should you but touch him.[47]

_Sir Dav._ Dear neighbour, dearest neighbour, friend, Sir Jolly, as you love charity, pity my wretched case, and give me counsel; I'll give my wife and all my estate to have him live again; or shall I bury him in the arbour, at the upper end of the garden?

_Sir Jol._ Alas-a-day, neighbour, never think on't, never think on't; the dogs will find him there, as they scrape holes to bury bones in; there is but one way that I know of.

_Sir Dav._ What is it, dear neighbour, what is it? You see I am upon my knees to you; take all I have and ease me of my fears.

_Sir Jol._ Truly the best thing that I can think of is putting of him to bed, putting him into a warm bed, and try to fetch him to life again; a warm bed is the best thing in the world. My lady may do much too, she's a good woman, and, as I've been told, understands a green wound well.

_Sir Dav._ My dear, my dear, my dear!

_L. Dunce._ Bear me away! oh, send me hence far off, where my unhappy name may be a stranger, and this sad accident no more remembered to my dishonour!

_Sir Dav._ Ah, but my love! my joy! are there no bowels in thee?

_L. Dunce._ What would you have me do?

_Sir Dav._ Pr'ythee do so much as try thy skill; there may be one dram of life left in him yet. Take him up to thy chamber, put him into thy own bed, and try what thou canst do with him; pr'ythee do: if thou canst but find motion in him, all may be well yet. I'll go up to my closet in the garret, and say my prayers in the mean while.

_L. Dunce._ Will ye then leave this ruin on my hands?

_Sir Dav._ Pray, pray, my dear; I beseech you, neighbour, help to persuade her if it be possible.

_Sir Jol._ Faith, madam, do, try what you can do. I have a great fancy you may do him good; who can tell but you may have the gift of stroking? Pray, madam, be persuaded.

_L. Dunce._ I'll do whate'er's your pleasure.

_Sir Dav._ That's my best dear: I'll go to my closet and pray for thee heartily. Alas, alas, that ever this should happen! [_Exit._

_Beau._ So, is he gone, madam, my angel?

_Sir Jol._ What, no thanks, no reward for old Jolly now? Come hither, hussy, you little canary-bird, you little hop-o'-my-thumb, come hither: make me a curtsey, and give me a kiss now, ha! give me a kiss, I say; odd, I will have a kiss, so I will, I will have a kiss if I set on't. Shoogh, shoogh, shoogh, get you into a corner when I bid you, shoogh, shoogh, shoogh--what, there already? [_She goes to_ BEAUGARD.] Well, I ha' done, I ha' done; this 'tis to be an old fellow now.

_Beau._ And will you save the life of him you've wounded?

_L. Dunce._ Dare you trust yourself to my skill for a cure? [Sir DAVY _appears at a window above_.

_Sir Jol._ Hist! hist! Close, close, I say again; yonder's Sir Davy, odds so!

_Sir Dav._ My dear! my dear! my dear!

_L. Dunce._ Who's that calls? my love, is't you?

_Sir Dav._ Ay, some comfort or my heart's broke! are there any hopes yet? I've tried to say my prayers, and cannot: if he be quite dead, I shall never pray again! Neighbour, no hopes?

_Sir Jol._ Truly little or none; some small pulse I think there is left, very little: there's nothing to be done if you don't pray: get you to prayers whatever you do. Get you gone; nay, don't stay now, shut the window, I tell you.

_Sir Dav._ Well, this is a great trouble to me; but good-night. [_Retires._

_Sir Jol._ Good-night to you, dear neighbour.--Get ye up, get ye up, and begone into the next room presently, make haste. [_To_ BEAUGARD _and_ Lady DUNCE.] But don't steal away till I come to you; be sure ye remember, don't ye stir till I come--pish, none of this bowing and fooling, it but loses time; I'll only bolt the door that belongs to Sir Davy's lodgings, that he may be safe, and be with you in a twinkle. Ah--so, now for the door; very well, friend, you are fast.

[_Bolts the door and sings._

Bonny lass, gan thoo wert mine, And twonty thoosand poonds aboot thee, &c. [_Exeunt._

FOOTNOTES:

[41] Louis XIV.

[42] Take it off.

[43] This probably refers to the supposed murder, in 1678, of Sir Edmundsbury Godfrey, the magistrate before whom Titus Oates made his incredible depositions concerning the alleged Popish plot. Many believed it was a case of suicide. He was found pierced through with his own sword on Primrose Hill. But the infamous Bedloe, a convicted felon, and accomplice of Titus Oates, accused Queen Catharine's Catholic servants of murdering Godfrey in Somerset House, where the queen then resided, and so struck at the queen herself. Oates and he afterwards accused her of conspiring to murder the king. But Charles was not so mad and bad as to believe them. Godfrey had warned one of the denounced persons, Coleman, and the murder, if it was one, is now generally attributed to the Ultra-Protestant faction. At any rate, they used the incident to inflame the public mind against the Roman Catholics.

[44] Algiers.

[45] _i.e._ Drink to him.

[46] Sporting dogs used to be called "questing hounds" (see Malory, for instance), and a hound may run forward in pursuit at the wrong moment. This is evidently the allusion here.

[47] An allusion to the common superstition that if the murderer touched the dead body the wounds would commence to bleed afresh.

ACT THE FIFTH.