The guardian, a comedie acted before Prince Charls, His Highness at Trinity-Colledg in Cambridge, upon the twelfth of March, 1641
Cowley, Abraham, 1618-1667.

Act. 3. Scaen. 8.

Blade, Widow, Truman pater, Dogrel. Truman filius, Lucia, Puny.
Pun.

What a bevy o' men's here! ha! My little Load-stone, art thou here, my lit∣tle Diamond? I'll speak to your Uncle now; we'll have a Parson cry I Nicholas presently.

Luc.

You'r rude, Sir: what do you mean?

Pun.

I, so you said i'the garden, when I began to gather, you know what fruit: Come put on your vail, you'll blush else; and look like the picture of a red-rose i'the hangings. Captain, Salve, 'tis done.

Bla.

Done! What?

Pun.

I have her, i'faith.

Bla.

God give you joy, Sir.

Pun.

Nay, she's my own.

Bla

I am very glad of 't.

Pun.

I scal'd the walls, entered the Town, and left a garison there, I hope.

Bla.

I congratulate your Victory, Mr. Puny.

Pur.

You shall goe to my wedding, with me and thi fair Chorus. I'm as nimble as a Lybian Rabbit: Come, you must go, though you be as lame as a criple, that b••s at Westminster, or a Crow in a gutter with∣out her right leg. What d'ye wonder at? I tell you, she's my Penelope now.

Bla.

May I be so bold, Sir, as to ask, who 'tis you mean?

Pun.

'Slid, canst thou not see my mean∣ing? are your brains in a litter? I'm con∣tracted to your Neece, and have got upon her—Nay, never blush, we're as good as married, my dear Agat.

Bla.

Have you then lien with her?

Truman fil.

Ha! No figures nor similitudes, good Mr. Puny; be as open and naked with me, as you were with her.

Page  [unnumbered]
Pun.

As plain as a Scholars mourning-cloak. I ha' don't i'faith, but d'ye see? We broke this gold between us first, and will be married to day. Who's that? Truman, ha, ha; he looks like the Globe of the World, now: look how he scratcheth his poul.

Bla.

God give you joy, Sir: but she has not a farthing portion.

Pun.

How, Captain?

Bla.

Not so much as will buy ribbands: all s mine own: a lawful prize, i'faith.

Tru. fil.

Oh monster of her sex!

Luc.

Wilt thou, vile man—I cannot speak to him—Witness all these—

Weeps.

Bla.

So 'tis all forfeited to me. Will you try how your sons affection stands towards Aurelia?

Tru. p▪

Come, Dick, the Captain has forgiven you: never think of Lucia; she's not worth your thinking on; a scurvie girl: ne'er think o' her; thou shalt marry fair Aurelia: there's a wench, a wench worth gold i'faith.

Tru. f.

I can't marry.

Tru. p.

What can't you do, Sir?

Tru. f.

I can't marry.

Tru p.

Do you know who 'tis you speak to, Sir? you do'n't sure: Who am I, pray? you cant, when I bid you. Surely you know not who 'tis you speak to: you shall do't, or I'll know why you shall not.

Tru. f.

I won't marry.

Tru. p.

Get you out o' my sight: come within my doors no more; not within my doors, Sir.

Bla.

Take heed, M Truman, what you do.

Tru. f.

I wo'n't marry.

Luc.

Pray hear me all—

Bla.

Come, M. Truman, let's talk of these things within: come, Gentlemen.

Wid.

Hei-ho! I'll ne'er trust a wart o' the right cheek and a twinkling eye again whilst I breathe, for Mistress Lucia's sake. A man would, think, that sees her▪ that butter would not ha' melted in her mouth. Take heed, Tabytha; the still Sow eats up all the draff, I see.

Tru. p.

I'll never acknowledge him for my son again: I tell you, Captain, he's al∣ways thus; he's always with his may-be's and his wo'nots: I can't abide these wo'∣nots, not abide 'um.

Pun.

I ll follow him about the portion; he sha' not think to make an Asdrubal of me.

Dog.

Now my plot works.

Exeunt omnes praeter Tru. fil. & Lucia.