The comical revenge, or, Love in a tub acted at His Highness the Duke of York's Theatre in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.

SCEN. IV.

Scene, A Field.

Enter Bruce and Lovis, and traverse the Stage.

Then enter four or five men in disguises.

1 Man.

This way they went; besure you kill the Villain; Let pity be a stranger to your breasts.

2 Man.

We have been bred, you know, unacquainted with Compassion.

3 Man.

But why, Colonel, shou'd you so eagerly Pursue his life? he has the report of A gallant Man.

1 Man.

He murder'd my Father.

3 Man.

I have heard he kill'd him fairly in The Field at Nasby.

1 Man.

He kill'd him, that's enough; and I my self. Was witness: I accus'd him to the Protector, and subborn'd Witness To have taken away his life by form Of Law; but my Plot was discover'd, and He yesterday releas'd; since which I've Watch'd an opportunity, without the Help of seeming Justice, for my Revenge. Strike home.—

3 Man.

We are your hired slaves; and since You'l have it so, we'l shed his blood, And never spare our own.

Exeunt, drawing their swords.

Enter Beaufort and Sir Frederick, and traverse the Stage.

Enter Bruce and Lovis at another door.

Bruce.

Your Friendship, noble Youth, 's too prodigal; For one already lost you venture all; Your present happiness, your future joy; You for the hopeless your great hopes destroy.

Lovis.

What can I venture for so brave a friend? I have no hopes but what on you depend. Shou'd I your Friendship and my Honour rate Below the value of a poor Estate, A heap of dirt! Our Family has been To blame, my blood most here atone the sin.

Enter the five Villains with drawn Swords.

Heav'ns! what is there an Ambuscado laid! Draw, dearest Friend, I fear we are betray'd.

I Vill.

Bruce, look on me, and then prepare to die.

Pulling off his Vizard.

Bruce.

O Treacherous Villain!

I Vill.

Fall on, and sacrifice his blood to my Revenge.

Lovis.

More hearts then one shall bleed, if he must die.

They fight.

Enter Beaufort and sir Frederick.

Beauf.

Heav'ns! what's this I see! Sir Fredrick, draw; Their blood's too good to grace such Villains Swords. Courage, brave men; now We can match their Force.

Lovis.

We'l make you, slaves, repent

The Villains run.

This Treachery.

Beauf.

So.

Bruce.

They are not worth pursuit; we'l let them go. Brave men! this action makes it well appear 'Tis Honour and not Envy brings you here.

Beauf.

We come to conquer, Bruce, and not to see Such Villains rob us of our Victory. Your lives our fatal swords claim as their due; W'ad wrong'd our selves had we not righted you.

Bruce.

Your gen'rous courage has oblig'd us so, That to your succour we our safety owe.

Lovis.

Y'ave done what men of Honour ought to do, What in your cause we wou'd have done for you.

Beauf.

You speak the truth, w'ave but our duty done; Prepare: Duty's no obligation.

He strips.

Bruce.

My Honour is dis-satisfi'd; I must,

Lovis and Sir Frederick strip.

My Lord, consider whether it be just To draw my Sword against that life which gave Mine, but e'en now, protection from the grave.

Beauf.

None come into the Field to weigh what's right; This is no place for Councel, but for Fight. Dispatch.

Bruce.

I am resolv'd I will not fight.

Beauf.

Did I come hither then only to fright A company of fearful slaves away; My Courage stoops not at so mean a prey: Know, Bruce, I hither come to shed thy blood.

Bruce.

Open this bosom, and let out a flood.

Beauf.

I come to Conquer bravely in the Field, Not to take poor revenge on such as yield. Has nothing pow'r, too backward man, to move Thy Courage? Think on thy neglected Love: Think on the beauteous Graciana's Eyes; 'Tis I have robb'd thee of that glorious prize.

Br.

There are such charms in Graciana's Name,

Strips hastily.

My scrup'lous Honour must obey my Flame: My lazy Courage I with shame condemn: No thoughts have power streams of blood to stem.

Sir Fred.

Come, Sir, out of kindness to our Friends

You and I must pass a small complement On each other.

They all fight.

Beaufort after many Passes closes with Bruce; they fall; Beaufort disarms him.

Beauf.

Here, live.

Giving Bruce his Sword again.

Bruce.

My Lord, y'ave gain'd a perfect Victory; Y'ave vanquish'd and oblig'd your enemy.

Beauf.

Hold, gallant men.

Bruce and Beaufort part Lovis and Sir Fred.

Lovis.

Before we bleed! Do we here fight a Prize, Where handsom proffers may for Wounds suffice? I am amaz'd! What means this bloodless Field?

Bruce.

The stoutest heart must to his fortune yield. Brave Youth! here Honour did with Courage vie;

To Beauf.

And both agree to grace your Victory. Heave with such a Conquest favours few: 'Tis easier to destroy then to subdue. Our bodies may by bruitish force be kill'd; But noble Minds alone to Virtue yield. My Lord, I've twice receiv'd my life from you; Much is to both those gen'rous actions due: The noble Giver I must highly prize, Though I the Gift, heav'n knows, as much despise. Can I desire to live, when all the Joy Of my poor life its Ransom does destroy! No, no, Graciana's loss I'le ne'r survive; I pay too dear for this unsought Reprieve.

Falls on his Sword, and is desperately wounded.

Beauf.

Hold gallant man! Honour her self does bleed;

Running to him, takes him in his arms.

All gen'rous hearts are wounded by this deed.

Lovis.

He does his blood for a lost Mistress spend; And shall not I bleed for so brave a Friend?

Lovis offers to fall on his Sword, but is hindred by sir Frederick

Sir Fred.

Forbear, Sir; the Frollick's not to go round, as I Take it.

Beauf.

Twere greater Friendship to assist me here: I hope the wound's not mortal, though I fear—

Bruce.

My Sword, I doubt, has fail'd in my relief; 'Thas made a vent for blood, but not for grief.

Bruce strugling, Lovis and S^t Fred▪ help to hold him.

Let me once more the unkind Weapon try. Will you prolong my pain? oh cruelty!

Lovis.

Ah, dearest Bruce, can you thus careless be Of our great friendship, and your Loyalty! Look on your Friend; your drooping Country view; And think how much they both expect from you. You for a Mistress waste that precious blood Which shou'd be spent but for our Masters good.

Sir Fred,

Expence of blood already makes him faint; Let's carry him to the next house, till we can Procure a chair to convey him to my Lord Bevill's, The best place for accommodation.

They all take him up.

Beauf.

Honour has plaid an after-game; this Field The Conq'rour does unto the Conquer'd yield,

Exeunt.