_Englishman_.
_Sir John._ What's that to you, Sir, whether I am an _Englishman_ or a
_Frenchman_?
_Col. Bully._ Zoons, you are not angry, Sir?
_Sir John._ Zoons, I am angry, Sir----for if I'm a free-born
_Englishman_, what have you to do even to talk of my Privileges?
_Lord Rake._ Why, pr'ythee, Knight, don't quarrel here; leave private
Animosities to be decided by Day-light; let the Night be employ'd
against the publick Enemy.
_Sir John._ My Lord, I respect you because you are a Man of Quality.
But I'll make that Fellow know, I am within a Hair's breadth as
absolute by my Privileges, as the King of _France_ is by his
Prerogative. He by his Prerogative takes Money where it is not his
due; I by my Privilege refuse paying it where I owe it. Liberty and
Property, and _Old England_, Huzza!
_All._ Huzza!
[_Exit Sir ~John~ reeling, all following him._
+SCENE+, _A Bed-Chamber._
_Enter ~Lady Brute~ and ~Belinda~._
_Lady Brute._ Sure 'tis late, _Belinda_; I begin to be sleepy.
_Bel._ Yes, 'tis near Twelve. Will you go to Bed?
_Lady Brute._ To Bed, my Dear? And by that time I am fallen into a
sweet Sleep (or perhaps a sweet Dream, which is better and better) Sir
_John_ will come home roaring drunk, and be overjoy'd he finds me in a
Condition to be disturb'd.
_Bel._ O, you need not fear him; he's in for all Night. The Servants
say he's gone to drink with my Lord _Rake_.
_Lady Brute._ Nay, 'tis not very likely, indeed, such suitable Company
should part presently. What Hogs Men turn, _Belinda_, when they grow
weary of Women!
_Bel._ And what Owls they are, whilst they are fond of 'em!
_Lady Brute._ But That we may forgive well enough, because they are so
upon our accounts.
_Bel._ We ought to do so, indeed; but 'tis a hard matter. For when a
Man is really in love, he looks so unsufferably silly, that tho' a
Woman lik'd him well enough before, she has then much ado to endure
the Sight of him: And this I take to be the Reason why Lovers are so
generally ill-us'd.
_Lady Brute._ Well, I own, now, I'm well enough pleased to see a Man
look like an Ass for me.
_Bel._ Ay, I'm pleas'd he should look like an Ass, too;--that is, I'm
pleased with myself for making him look so.
_Lady Brute._ Nay, truly, I think if he'd find some other way to
express his Passion, 'twould be more to his advantage.
_Bel._ Yes; for then a Woman might like his Passion and him too.
_Lady Brute._ Yet, _Belinda_, after all, a Woman's Life would be but
a dull Business, if it were not for Men; and Men that can look like
Asses, too. We shou'd never blame Fate for the shortness of our Days;
our Time would hang wretchedly upon our Hands.
_Bel._ Why, truly, they do help us off with a good share on't: For
were there no Men in the World, o'my Conscience, I shou'd be no longer
a-dressing than I'm a-saying my Prayers; nay, tho' it were Sunday: For
you know that one may go to Church without Stays on.
_Lady Brute._ But don't you think Emulation might do something? For
every Woman you see desires to be finer than her Neighbour.
_Bel._ That's only that the Men may like her better than her Neighbour.
No, if there were no Men, adieu fine Petticoats, we should be weary of
wearing 'em.
_Lady Brute._ And adieu Plays, we should be weary of seeing 'em.
_Bel._ Adieu _Hyde Park_, the Dust would choak us.
_Lady Brute._ Adieu _St. James_'s, walking would tire us.
_Bel._ Adieu _London_, the Smoke would stifle us.
_Lady Brute._ And adieu going to Church, for Religion wou'd ne'er
prevail with us.
_Both._ Ha! ha! ha! ha! ha!
_Bel._ Our Confession is so very hearty, sure we merit Absolution.
_Lady Brute._ Not unless we go thro' with't, and confess all. So,
pr'ythee, for the Ease of our Consciences, let's hide nothing.
_Bel._ Agreed.
_Lady Brute._ Why, then, I confess, that I love to sit in the
Fore-front of a Box; for if one sits behind, there's two Acts gone,
perhaps, before one's found out. And when I am there, if I perceive the
Men whispering and looking upon me, you must know I cannot for my Life
forbear thinking they talk to my Advantage; and that sets a thousand
little tickling Vanities on foot----
_Bel._ Just my Case, for all the World; but go on.
_Lady Brute._ I watch with Impatience for the next Jest in the Play,
that I might laugh, and shew my white Teeth. If the Poet has been
dull, and the Jest be long a-coming, I pretend to whisper one to my
Friend, and from thence fall into a little small Discourse, in which I
take occasion to shew my Face in all Humours, brisk, pleas'd, serious,
melancholy, languishing----Not that what we say to one another causes
any of these alterations. But----
_Bel._ Don't trouble yourself to explain. For if I'm not mistaken, you
and I have had some of these necessary Dialogues before now with the
same Intention.
_Lady Brute._ Why, I swear, _Belinda_, some People do give strange
agreeable Airs to their Faces in speaking. Tell me true--Did you never
practise in the Glass?
_Bel._ Why, did you?
_Lady Brute._ Yes, 'faith, many a time.
_Bel._ And I too, I own it; both how to speak myself, and how to look
when others speak. But my Glass and I could never yet agree what Face I
should make when they come blunt out with a nasty thing in a Play: For
all the Men presently look upon the Women, that's certain: so laugh we
must not, tho' our Stays burst for't, because that's telling Truth, and
owning we understand the Jest. And to look serious is so dull, when the
whole House is a laughing--
_Lady Brute._ Besides, that looking serious does really betray our
Knowledge in the matter, as much as laughing with the Company would do:
For if we did not understand the thing, we shou'd naturally do like
other People.
_Bel._ For my part, I always take that occasion to blow my Nose.
_Lady Brute._ You must blow your Nose half off, then, at some Plays.
_Bel._ Why don't some Reformer or other be at the Poet for't?
_Lady Brute._ Because he is not so sure of our private Approbation,
as of our publick Thanks. Well, sure there is not upon Earth so
impertinent a thing as Women's Modesty.
_Bel._ Yes: Men's Fantasque, that obliges us to it. If we quit our
Modesty, they say we lose our Charms: and yet they know that very
Modesty is Affectation, and rail at our Hypocrisy.
_Lady Brute._ Thus, one would think 'twere a hard matter to please 'em,
Niece; yet our kind Mother Nature has given us something that makes
amends for all. Let our Weakness be what it will, Mankind will still
be weaker; and whilst there is a World, 'tis Woman that will govern
it. But, pr'ythee, one Word of poor _Constant_ before we go to bed, if
it be but to furnish matter for Dreams: I dare swear he's talking of
me now, or thinking of me at least, tho' it be in the middle of his
Prayers.
_Bel._ So he ought, I think; for you were pleas'd to make him a good
round Advance to-day, Madam.
_Lady Brute._ Why, I have e'en plagu'd him enough to satisfy any
reasonable Woman: He has besieg'd me these two Years, to no purpose.
_Bel._ And if he besieg'd you two Years more, he'd be well enough
pay'd, so he had the plundering of you at last.
_Lady Brute._ That may be; but I'm afraid the Town won't be able to
hold out much longer: for to confess the Truth to you, _Belinda_, the
Garrison begins to grow mutinous.
_Bel._ Then the sooner you capitulate, the better.
_Lady Brute._ Yet, methinks, I wou'd fain stay a little longer to see
you fix'd too, that we might start together, and see who cou'd love
longest. What think you, if _Heartfree_ shou'd have a Month's Mind to
you?
_Bel._ Why, 'faith, I cou'd almost be in love with him for despising
that foolish, affected Lady _Fancyfull_; but I'm afraid he's too cold
ever to warm himself by my Fire.
_Lady Brute._ Then he deserves to be froze to death. Wou'd I were a Man
for your sake, dear Rogue! [_Kissing her._]
_Bel._ You'd wish yourself a Woman again for your own, or the Men are
mistaken. But if I cou'd make a Conquest of this Son of _Bacchus_, and
rival his Bottle, what shou'd I do with him? He has no Fortune, I can't
marry him: and sure you wou'd not have me commit Fornication?
_Lady Brute._ Why, if you did, Child, 'twould be but a good friendly
part; if 'twere only to keep me in countenance whilst I commit--you
know what.
_Bel._ Well, if I can't resolve to serve you that way, I may perhaps
some other, as much to your Satisfaction. But pray how shall we
contrive to see these Blades again quickly?
_Lady Brute._ We must e'en have recourse to the old way; make 'em an
Appointment 'twixt Jest and Earnest; 'twill look like a Frolick, and
that you know 's a very good thing to save a Woman's Blushes.
_Bel._ You advise well; but where shall it be?
_Lady Brute._ In _Spring Garden_. But they shan't know their Women,
till their Women pull off their Masks; for a Surprize is the most
agreeable thing in the World: And I find myself in a very good Humour,
ready to do 'em any good turn I can think on.
_Bel._ Then pray write 'em the necessary Billet, without farther delay.
_Lady Brute._ Let's go into your Chamber, then, and whilst you say your
Prayers I'll do it, Child.
[_Exeunt._
[Illustration]
+ACT+ IV.
+SCENE+, _Covent Garden_.
_Enter Lord ~Rake~, Sir ~John~, &c. with Swords drawn._
_Lord Rake._ Is the Dog dead?
_Col. Bully._ No, damn him, I heard him wheeze.
_Lord Rake._ How the Witch his Wife howl'd!
_Col. Bully._ Ay, she'll alarm the Watch presently.
_Lord Rake._ Appear, Knight, then; come, you have a good Cause to fight
for--there's a Man murder'd.
_Sir John._ Is there? Then let his Ghost be satisfy'd; for I'll
sacrifice a Constable to it presently, and burn his Body upon his
wooden Chair.
_Enter a Taylor, with a Bundle under his Arm._
_Col. Bully._ How now? What have we got here? A Thief.
_Taylor._ No, an't please you, I'm no Thief.
_Lord Rake._ That we'll see presently: Here, let the General examine
him.
_Sir John._ Ay, ay, let me examine him, and I'll lay a hundred Pound I
find him guilty, in spite of his Teeth--for he looks--like a--sneaking
Rascal. Come, Sirrah, without Equivocation or mental Reservation, tell
me of what Opinion you are, and what Calling; for by them----I shall
guess at your Morals.
_Taylor._ An't please you, I'm a Dissenting Journeyman Taylor.
_Sir John._ Then, Sirrah, you love Lying by your Religion, and Theft
by your Trade: And so, that your Punishment may be suitable to your
Crimes--I'll have you first gagg'd--and then hang'd.
_Tayl._ Pray, good worthy Gentlemen, don't abuse me: indeed I'm an
honest Man, and a good Workman, tho' I say it, that should not say it.
_Sir John._ No Words, Sirrah, but attend your Fate.
_Lord Rake._ Let me see what's in that Bundle.
_Tayl._ An't please you, it is the Doctor of the Parish's Gown.
_Lord Rake._ The Doctor's Gown!----Hark you, Knight, you won't stick at
abusing the Clergy, will you?
_Sir John._ No, I'm drunk, and I'll abuse any thing--but my Wife; and
her I name--with Reverence.
_Lord Rake._ Then you shall wear this Gown, whilst you charge the
Watch; that tho' the Blows fall upon you, the Scandal may light upon
the Church.
_Sir John._ A generous Design----by all the Gods----give it me.
[_Takes the Gown, and puts it on._
_Tayl._ O dear Gentlemen, I shall be quite undone, if you take the Gown.
_Sir John._ Retire, Sirrah; and since you carry off your Skin--go home
and be happy.
_Tayl._ [_Pausing._] I think I had e'en as good follow the Gentleman's
friendly Advice; for if I dispute any longer, who knows but the Whim
may take him to case me? These Courtiers are fuller of Tricks than they
are of Money; they'll sooner cut a Man's Throat, than pay his Bill.
[_Exit ~Taylor~._
_Sir John._ So, how do you like my Shapes now?
_Lord Rake._ This will do to a Miracle; he looks like a Bishop going to
the Holy War. But to your Arms, Gentlemen, the Enemy appears.
_Enter Constable and Watch._
_Watch._ Stand! Who goes there? Come before the Constable.
_Sir John._ The Constable is a Rascal----and you are the Son of a Whore.
_Watch._ A good civil Answer for a Parson, truly!
_Constab._ Methinks, Sir, a Man of your Coat might set a better Example.
_Sir John._ Sirrah, I'll make you know----there are Men of my Coat can
set as bad Examples----as you can do, you Dog, you.
[_Sir ~John~ strikes the Constable. They knock him down,
disarm him, and seize him. Lord Rake, &c. run away._
_Constab._ So, we have secur'd the Parson, however.
_Sir John._ Blood, and Blood----and Blood.
_Watch._ Lord have mercy upon us! How the wicked Wretch raves of Blood!
I'll warrant he has been murdering some body to-night.
_Sir John._ Sirrah, there's nothing got by Murder but a Halter: My
Talent lies towards Drunkenness and Simony.
_Watch._ Why, that now was spoke like a Man of Parts, Neighbours; 'tis
pity he shou'd be so disguised.
_Sir John._ You lye----I'm not disguis'd; for I am drunk barefac'd.
_Watch._ Look you there again--This is a mad Parson, Mr. _Constable_;
I'll lay a Pot of Ale upon 's Head, he's a good Preacher.
_Constab._ Come, Sir, out of respect to your Calling, I shan't put you
into the Round-house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-room till
Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.
_Sir John._ You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have
overcome me----But if I can't do Mischief, I'll think of Mischief--in
spite of your Teeth, you Dog, you.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _A Bed-Chamber._
_Enter ~Heartfree~ solus._
What the Plague ails me?----Love? No, I thank you for that, my
Heart's Rock still----Yet 'tis _Belinda_ that disturbs me; that's
positive----Well, what of all that? Must I love her for being
troublesome? At that rate I might love all the Women I meet, I'gad. But
hold!--Tho' I don't love her for disturbing me, yet she may disturb me,
because I love her----Ay, that may be, 'faith. I have dreamt of her,
that's certain----Well, so I have of my Mother; therefore what's that
to the purpose? Ay, but _Belinda_ runs in my Mind waking--and so does
many a damn'd thing that I don't care a Farthing for----Methinks, tho',
I would fain be talking to her, and yet I have no Business----Well, am
I the first Man that has had a Mind to do an impertinent thing?
_Enter ~Constant~._
_Const._ How now, _Heartfree_? What makes you up and dress'd so soon? I
thought none but Lovers quarrell'd with their Beds; I expected to have
found you snoring, as I us'd to do.
_Heart._ Why, 'faith, Friend, 'tis the Care I have of your Affairs,
that makes me so thoughtful; I have been studying all Night how to
bring your matter about with _Belinda_.
_Const._ With _Belinda_?
_Heart._ With my Lady, I mean: And, 'faith, I have mighty Hopes
on't. Sure you must be very well satisfied with her Behaviour to you
yesterday?
_Const._ So well, that nothing but a Lover's Fears can make me doubt of
Success. But what can this sudden Change proceed from?
_Heart._ Why, you saw her Husband beat her, did you not?
_Const._ That's true: A Husband is scarce to be borne upon any terms,
much less when he fights with his Wife. Methinks, she shou'd e'en have
cuckolded him upon the very spot, to shew that after the Battle she was
Master of the Field.
_Heart._ A Council of War of Women wou'd infallibly have advis'd her
to't. But, I confess, so agreeable a Woman as _Belinda_ deserves better
Usage.
_Const._ _Belinda_ again!
_Heart._ My Lady, I mean. What a Pox makes me blunder so to-day?
[_Aside._] A Plague of this treacherous Tongue!
_Const._ Pr'ythee, look upon me seriously, _Heartfree_--Now answer me
directly: Is it my Lady, or _Belinda_, employs your careful Thoughts
thus?
_Heart._ My Lady, or _Belinda_?
_Const._ In Love; by this Light, in Love.
_Heart._ In Love!
_Const._ Nay, ne'er deny it; for thou'lt do it so aukwardly, 'twill but
make the Jest sit heavier about thee. My dear Friend, I give thee much
Joy.
_Heart._ Why, pr'ythee, you won't persuade me to it, will you?
_Const._ That she's Mistress of your Tongue, that's plain; and I know
you are so honest a Fellow, your Tongue and Heart always go together.
But how, but how the Devil? Pha, ha, ha, ha--
_Heart._ Hey-dey! Why, sure you don't believe it in earnest?
_Const._ Yes, I do, because I see you deny it in jest.
_Heart._ Nay, but look you, _Ned_--a----deny in jest----a----gadzooks,
you know I say----a----when a Man denies a thing in jest--a--
_Const._ Pha, ha, ha, ha, ha.
_Heart._ Nay, then we shall have it: What, because a Man stumbles at a
Word: did you never make a Blunder?
_Const._ Yes; for I am in Love, I own it.
_Heart._ Then, so am I--Now laugh till thy Soul's glutted with Mirth.
[_Embracing him._] But, dear _Constant_, don't tell the Town on't.
_Const._ Nay, then, 'twere almost pity to laugh at thee, after so
honest a Confession. But tell us a little, _Jack_, by what new-invented
Arms has this mighty Stroke been given?
_Heart._ E'en by that unaccountable Weapon call'd _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_:
For every thing that can come within the Verge of Beauty, I have seen
it with indifference.
_Const._ So in few Words, then, the _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ has been too hard
for the quilted Petticoat.
_Heart._ I'gad, I think the _Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ is in the quilted
Petticoat; at least 'tis certain, I ne'er think on't without----a----a
_Je-ne-sçai-quoy_ in every Part about me.
_Const._ Well, but have all your Remedies lost their Virtue? Have you
turn'd her inside out yet?
_Heart._ I dare not so much as think on't.
_Const._ But don't the two Years Fatigue I have had discourage you?
_Heart._ Yes: I dread what I foresee; yet cannot quit the Enterprize.
Like some Soldiers, whose Courage dwells more in their Honour, than
their Nature--on they go, tho' the Body trembles at what the Soul makes
it undertake.
_Const._ Nay, if you expect your Mistress will use you as your
Profanations against her Sex deserve, you tremble justly. But how do
you intend to proceed, Friend?
_Heart._ Thou know'st I'm but a Novice; be friendly, and advise me.
_Const._ Why, look you, then: I'd have you--Serenade and a----write
a Song----Go to Church; Look like a Fool----Be very officious; Ogle,
write and lead out: And who knows but in a Year or two's time you may
be----call'd a troublesome Puppy, and sent about your Business.
_Heart._ That's hard.
_Const._ Yet thus it oft falls out with Lovers, Sir.
_Heart._ Pox on me for making one of the Number!
_Const._ Have a care: Say no saucy things; 'twill but augment your
Crime; and if your Mistress hears on't, increase your Punishment.
_Heart._ Pr'ythee say something, then, to encourage me; you know I
help'd you in your Distress.
_Const._ Why, then, to encourage you to Perseverance, tho' you may be
thoroughly ill-us'd for your Offences; I'll put you in mind, that even
the coyest Ladies of 'em all are made up of Desires, as well as we; and
tho' they do hold out a long time, they will capitulate at last. For
that thundering Engineer, Nature, does make such havock in the Town,
they must surrender at long run, or perish in their own Flames.
_Enter a Footman._
_Foot._ Sir, there's a Porter without with a Letter; he desires to give
it into your own Hands.
_Const._ Call him in.
_Enter Porter._
_Const._ What, _Joe_! Is it thee?
_Porter._ An't please you, Sir, I was order'd to deliver this into your
own Hands by two well-shap'd Ladies, at the _New Exchange_. I was at
your Honour's Lodgings, and your Servants sent me hither.
_Const._ 'Tis well; are you to carry any Answer?
_Porter._ No, my noble Master. They gave me my Orders, and whip they
were gone, like a Maidenhead at Fifteen.
_Const._ Very well; there.
[_Gives him Money._
_Porter._ God bless your Honour!
[_Exit Porter._
_Const._ Now let's see what honest, trusty _Joe_ has brought us.
_Reads._
_If you and your Play-Fellow can spare time from your Business and
Devotions, don't fail to be at ~Spring-Garden~ about Eight in the
Evening. You'll find nothing there but Women, so you need bring no
other Arms than what you usually carry about you._
So, Play-fellow: here's something to stay your Stomach till your
Mistress's Dish is ready for you.
_Heart._ Some of our old batter'd Acquaintance. I won't go, not I.
_Const._ Nay, that you can't avoid; there's Honour in the Case; 'tis a
Challenge, and I want a Second.
_Heart._ I doubt I shall be but a very useless one to you; for I'm so
dishearten'd by this Wound _Belinda_ has given me, I don't think I
shall have Courage enough to draw my Sword.
_Const._ O, if that be all, come along; I'll warrant you find Sword
enough for such Enemies as we have to deal withal.
[_Exeunt._
+SCENE+, _A Street_.
_Enter Constable, &c. with Sir ~John~._
_Constab._ Come along, Sir; I thought to have let you slip this
Morning, because you were a Minister; but you are as drunk and as
abusive as ever. We'll see what the Justice of the Peace will say to
you.
_Sir John._ And you shall see what I'll say to the Justice of the
Peace, Sirrah.
[_They knock at the Door._
_Enter Servant._
_Constab._ Pray, acquaint his Worship, we have got an unruly Parson
here: We are unwilling to expose him, but don't know what to do with
him.
_Serv._ I'll acquaint my Master.
[_Exit Serv._
_Sir John._ You----Constable--What damn'd Justice is this?
_Constab._ One that will take Care of you, I warrant you.
_Enter Justice._
_Just._ Well, Mr. Constable, what's the Disorder here?
_Constab._ An't please your Worship----
_Sir John._ Let me speak, and be damn'd: I'm a Divine, and can unfold
Mysteries better than you can do.
_Just._ Sadness, sadness! A Minister so overtaken! Pray, Sir, give the
Constable leave to speak, and I'll hear you very patiently: I assure
you, Sir, I will.
_Sir John._ Sir----You are a very civil Magistrate! Your most humble
Servant.
_Constab._ An't please your Worship, then, he has attempted to beat the
Watch to-night, and swore----
_Sir John._ You lye.
_Just._ Hold, pray, Sir, a little.
_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant.
_Constab._ Indeed, Sir, he came at us without any Provocation, call'd
us Whores and Rogues, and laid us on with a great Quarter-staff. He was
in my Lord _Rake_'s Company: They have been playing the Devil to-night.
_Just._ Hem----Hem----Pray, Sir----may you be Chaplain to my Lord?
_Sir John._ Sir----I presume----I may if I will.
_Just._ My meaning, Sir, is----Are you so?
_Sir John._ Sir--You mean very well.
_Just._ He, hem----hem----Under Favour, Sir, pray answer me directly.
_Sir John._ Under Favour, Sir----Do you use to answer directly when you
are drunk?
_Just._ Good lack, good lack! Here's nothing to be got from him: Pray,
Sir, may I crave your Name?
_Sir John._ Sir----My Name's----[_He hiccups._] Hiccup, Sir.
_Just._ Hiccup? Doctor _Hiccup_, I have known a great many Country
Parsons of that Name, especially down in the _Fenns_. Pray where do you
live, Sir?
_Sir John._ Here----and there, Sir.
_Just._ Why, what a strange Man is this! Where do you preach, Sir? Have
you any Cure?
_Sir John._ Sir----I have----a very good Cure----for a Clap, at your
Service.
_Just._ Lord have mercy upon us!
_Sir John._ [_Aside._] This Fellow asks so many impertinent Questions,
I believe, I'gad, 'tis the Justice's Wife in the Justice's Clothes.
_Just._ Mr. Constable, I vow and protest, I don't know what to do with
him.
_Constab._ Truly, he has been but a troublesome Guest to us all Night.
_Just._ I think, I had e'en best let him go about his Business; for I'm
unwilling to expose him.
_Constab._ E'en what your Worship thinks fit.
_Sir John._ Sir----not to interrupt Mr. Constable, I have a small
Favour to ask.
_Just._ Sir, I open both my Ears to you.
_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant. I have a little urgent
Business calls upon me; and therefore I desire the Favour of you to
bring Matters to a Conclusion.
_Just._ Sir, if I were sure that Business were not to commit more
Disorders, I wou'd release you.
_Sir John._ None----By my Priesthood!
_Just._ Then, Mr. Constable, you may discharge him.
_Sir John._ Sir, your very humble Servant. If you please to accept of a
Bottle--
_Just._ I thank you, kindly, Sir; but I never drink in a Morning.
Good-by t'ye, Sir, good-by t'ye.
_Sir John._ Good by t'ye, good Sir. [_Exit Justice._] So----now, Mr.
Constable, shall you and I go pick up a Whore together?
_Constab._ No, thank you, Sir; my Wife's enough to satisfy any
reasonable Man.
_Sir John._ [_Aside._] He, he, he, he--the Fool is married, then. Well,
you won't go?
_Constab._ Not I, truly.
_Sir John._ Then I'll go by myself; and you and your Wife may be
damn'd.
[_Exit Sir ~John~._