The cheats a comedy : written in the year, M.DC. LXII.

ACT. IV. SCE. 1.

Enter Bilboe, and Titere Tu, fighting; Bilboe drives Titere Tu, round the Stage.

Bil.

I'll make a Rogue of you, Sirrah!

T. T.

Why Major—Nay, good Major—Have a care.

Bil.

Thou Son of a Woman;—Do'st think men are Bulls, and get their money by roaring?—Cheat me of my share, you Dog?—

[T. T. has one leg over.]

Are you earthing, you Rogue?—I'll unkennel you.

T. T.

Nay Major—Major—What d'you mean?—Nay—Nay—Nay—Flesh, and blood is not able to endure this:—

[He takes his Sword in both hands, winks, and runs at t'other; Bilboe runs off:—]

Nay, I am bound to follow no man;—Do you think I'm oblig'd, to fight you by the Mile?

[Bilboe peeps in.]

Bil.

The Rogue's afraid, or he had mischieft me:—

[He comes on again.]

—Sa—Sa—Sa—Sa—

T. T.

Hold, Major, hold;—'fore George, you might have spoil'd a man so.

Bil.

Why Sirrah—You stinking, lousie, Totterdemallion; you Raggamuffin, Tanarag Rogue—Who made you a Captain?—Was it not I?—Speak.

T. T.

No troth was it not;—'Twas ev'n the Box-keeper of the three Kings, and the Fleece Link-boyes, made us both:—You, a Major, and me, a Capitain.

Bil.

Why thou Rotterdam Villain—Deny it if thou canst;—Did not I pick thee up, at a three-penny Ordinary, brought you into Gentlemens company; Dub'd you a Knight of the Blade; Taught you the method of making new plots, and borrowing half a Crown of your Landlady, upon the hopes of 'um; And after all this, sign'd your Certificate, to make you capable, of those Arrears, you never fought for; And do you now forget your Patroon, sirrah? Do you forget your Patroon?

T. T.

And good Major, recollect your self too, if you please—Do'nt you know, that I know, That you were never above a Corpo∣ral, in all your life; And that too, not till fighting was quite out of fashion?—Bow the stick on t'other side, and 'twill be strait.

Bil.

I must kill the Rogue:—

(They fight again, as before.)

'Twas bravely fought:—Thou hast acquitted thee like a man of mettle?—Let's breath.

T. T.

Did not I (if you are yet cool enough to hear truth) teach you, your Top, your Palm, and your Slur?—Shew'd you the mystery, of your Jack in a Box, and the frail Dye?—Taught you the use of Up-hills, Down-hills, and Petarrs?—The Waxt, the Grav'd, the Slipt, the Goad, the Fullam, the Flat, the Bristle, the Bar; And generally, instructed you from Prick-penny, to Long Lawrence? And is the question now, Who is beholding?

Bil.

That ever friends, should fall out about trisles!

(They drop their Swords, and embrace.)

'Prithee let's discourse the business quietly, between our selves; And since 'tis gone so far, as to be ta∣ken notice of in the Town, Cross, and Pile between us, who shall wear his Arm in a Scarf.

T. T.

Agreed—But hold—The Devil a Cross have I.

Bil.

Or I:—Then knots, and slats—Our Swords shall serve;—This knots—That, slats;—Ioy knots.

T. T.

And I flats;—'Twirle up:—

(Bil twirles up his Sword.)

'Tis flats;—Tis yours Major—All thine own Boy!

Bil.

Well—It can't be helpt—A man's nev'r the worse man, for a mischance:—But heark you Captain—Upon Honour, no talking.

T. T.

No—No—No—First blood, first blood:—And now Major, you think I cheated you:—By this good Morglay! The Rogue was resolv'e to fight, and I had no reason but to suffer it to be taken up:—I'll be sworn, I got not so much, as a Reconciliation Supper by't.

Bil.

This is it, when men must manage their business by them∣selves:—All cover, and all lose:—You think you are well e∣nough, if you can but say your Gamut by Rote, though you are not able to prove a Note of't:—Come, come, I must tell you, there is more requir'd, to be a Rogue, than to say, I will be a Rogue:—A man would have thought, one of your Years, and Education, might have easily guest, who would fight, and who not.

T. T.

Pox on't, 'tis past:—

(Enter Tyro.)

'Prithee let's hear No more of't:—See!—Here comes my Squire, I told you of:—Noble Squire!—Your servant;—Pray Major, be pleas'd to know my friend.

(Bilboe and Tyro salutes.)

Ty.

Oh Captain, I have been all about to look you:—Not fighting, I hope?

T. T.

No—The Major, and I, have been only measuring blades—Here's the pretty'st thing, you ever handled—Hey dash—

(He soines at Tyro:—)

Toledo, to an inch—right Thomas de Ayala;—Upon my credit, but two of 'um came over in three Ships:—Do but see how finely 'tis mounted!—Sa—Sa—Observe—how true it bends!—Ah! for a pass in Flanconade now—

(At Tyro again.—)

'Tis a trusty steel, and has been the death of—

Bil.

A thousand Froggs.

(A side.)

T. T.

—More than I'll speak of; or, to tell you truth, dare:—But heark you Squire, hast thou any noble Archievements for thy man of Mars? Must the great Turk dye?—Speak;—His breath, hangs upon thy lips.

Ty.

Why truly Captain, I came to ask your Advice:—I have been most lamentablie abus'd; Nay, in the presence of my Mistress too.

T. T.

Send him a Chartel Boy, send him a Chartel, and I'll carrie it:—Is he of mortal Race?

Ty.

Why trulie Captain I cannot well tell what he is;—But this I am sure, he had a good material hand, and hoof.

Bil.

How Captain!—This Gentleman is your friend?

T. T.

He is; And I'm engag'd in honour to see him righted.

Bil.

'Twas bravelie spoke;—And pray think of no Second, but my self:—Good Sir—

(To Tyro.—)

Set forth the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; it may be matter of life.

Ty.

Then—So't please you, thus—I was entertaining my Mistress, with this little bauble—

(He shews the Flagilett.)

Bil.

'Tis somewhat beneath the standard, I must confess:—But pray on.

Ty.

—When of a sudden, a rude, roaring, Roister—

Bil.

His name good Sir.

Ty.

Trulie I could not learn that:—It being in the City, 'tis pro∣bable, it was some Merchant or other, got drunk.

Bil.

Not unlikelie—proceed.

Ty.

I say then, this rude Fellow, without scarce saying a word, gives me a good sound box—

Bil.

Not to interrupt you Sir—Was it the Bucketoon, or the Bucketadoe?—Logicallie, or Rhetoricallie?—That is to say, with the Clunch-fist, or open Palm?

Ty.

Why trulie, neither:—But as near as I can remember, it was with the back of the hand, upon the Cheek; for with the same mo∣tion, he strook off my Hat—Thus Major—

(He strikes off Bil∣boes Hat; Bilboe stoops, takes it up, and rubs it.)

Bil.

O Ho;—The De rere main;—Why then the question will be singlie this—Whither a blow, with the back of the hand, upon the Cheek, may be call'd, a box on the ear;—For my part, I am clearlie of opinion—not.

T. T.

To take it literallie, I grant it you;—But then answer me, whither it were not a probable box o' the ear; I take it, 'twas.

Bil.

So far I agree with you Captain—But pray Sir, the rest.

Ty.

Then, as if his foot, had kept time with his hand, he gave me such a kick in Ano, that to avoid him, I had almost beaten out my brains against a post.

Bil.

This last of the Post, was your own Act, and may by no means be call'd his:—However, upon the whole matter, you are wrong'd, and we'll see you righted.

Ty.

Thank you good Major—I am beholding to you.

T. T.

D' you hear me—Squire—You see what pains the Ma∣jor has taken in your business—You must present him.

Ty.

'Tis my intention—Pray let's meet here about an hour hence, and we'll further consider of 't.

T. T.

We'll attend you—Your servant.—

(Exeunt severally.