Fran.  What, on all the sixscore, my Lord?

Guil.  All, all; sa, sa, quoth I, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa, sa.
                                         [Fences him round the Stage.

Fran.  Hold, hold, my Lord, I am none of the sixscore.

Guil.  And run ’em all through the Body!

Fran.  Oh Heavens! and kill’d ’em all.

Guil.  Not a Man,—­only run ’em through the body a little, that’s all, my two Boys were by, my Pages here.

Isa.  Is it the fashion, Sir, to be attended by Pages so big?

Guil.  Pages of Honour always;—­these were stinted at nurse, or they had been good proper Fellows.

Fran.  I am so frighted with this relation, that I must up to my

Wife’s Chamber for a little of that strong Cordial that recovered her this morning.
                 [Going out Guil. stays him.

Guil.  Why, I’ll tell you, Sir, what an odd sort of a Wound I received

in a Duel the other day,—­nay, Ladies, I’ll shew it you; in a very odd place—­in my back parts.
              [Goes to untuck his Breeches, the Ladies squeak.

Isa.  Ah.

Page.  Shew a Wound behind, Sir! the Ladies will think you are a Coward.

Guil.  Peace, Child, peace, the Ladies understand Dueling as little as my self; but, since you are so tender-hearted, Ladies, I’ll not shew you my wound; but faith, it spoiled my dancing.

    Page comes in.

Page.  My Lord, now you talk of dancing, here’s your Baggage brought from a-board the Gally by your Seamen, who us’d to entertain you with their rustick Sports.

Guil.  Very well; Sir, with your permission, I am resolved whether you will or no, to give the Ladies some divertisement,—­bid ’em come in; nay, Sir, you stir not. [Ex.  Page.  ’Tis for your delight, Sir, I do’t; for, Sir, you must understand, a Man, if he have any thing in him, Sir, of Honour, for the case, Sir, lies thus, ’tis not the business of an Army to droll upon an Enemy—­truth is, every man loves a whole skin;—­but ’twas the fault of the best Statesmen in Christendom to be loose in the hilts,—­you conceive me.

Fran.  Very well, my Lord, I’ll swear he’s a rare spoken man;—­why,
what a Son-in-law shall I have?  I have a little business, my Lord, but
I’ll wait on you presently.
                      [Going out.

Guil.  Sir, there is nothing like your true jest; a thing once well done, is twice done, and I am the happiest Man in the World in your Alliance; for, Sir, a Nobleman if he have any tolerable parts,—­is a thing much above the Vulgar;—­oh,—­here comes the Dancers.

Enter Dancers.

Come, sit down by me.

Fran.  ’Tis my duty to stand, my Lord.