Joll.
And we have brought the fault along too, that your Wor∣ship may see it, you will be the better able to judge of the of∣fenders.
Pars.
Ha! What do I see? my wife in Master Justices Lap?
Want.
What has the poor fellow done?
Capt.
Why Madam, he has been taken a Bed with this woman, anothers mans wife.
Want.
In bed with her? and do you raise him to punish him? Master Constable, if you would afflict him, Command them to lie together again; Is not the man mad?
Pars.
This is fine Roguery, I find who rules the roast.
VVild.
Well, to the business; you say, he was taken in bed with another mans wife.
Capt.
Yes, and't like your Worship.
VVild.
Make his Mittimus to the Hole at New-gate.
VVant.
Sure I have seen this Fellows face.—Friend, have I ne∣ver seen your face before?
Pars.
If I mistake not, I have seen one very like your Ladyships too, she was a Captains cast-whore in the Town. I shall have a time to be reveng'd.
Wild.
How now, Sirrah? are you threatning? away with him.
Capt.
I'll fetch a stronger Watch, Sir, and return presently.
Wild.
Do, Master Constable, and give the poor Woman some∣thing, and set her free; for I dare say 'twas his wickedness, she lookes like one that ne're thought on such a thing.
Baud.
God bless your Worship, I am innocent; he never left making Love till I consented.
[Enter Captain in his own shape.
Pars.
Oh miserable! miserable!
Capt.
How now, what's the news here? my honoured Friend, and Master Parson, what makes you here at this time of night? Why I should have thought this a time to have envy'd you for your fair Brides embraces, do you give these favours? are these your Bride-laces? It's a new way.
Playes with the cord that bindes his Armes.
Capt.
Wanton, is this your plot to endear your Husband to you?
Pars.
No, 'tis thy plot, poor beaten Captain, but I shall be reveng'd.
Capt.
Yes, faith, it was my plot, and I glory in't, to undermine my Machiavell, which so greedily swallowed that sweet bait that had this hook.
Capt.
But my anger ends not here. Remember the base language you gave me, Son of a thousand Fathers, Captain of a tame band, and one that got my living by the long staffe-speeches; for which, and thy former Treacheries, I'll ruine thee, Slave; I'll have no more Mercy on thee, then old women on blind puppies; I'll bring you to your Commendations in Latine Epistles again, nor leave thee any thing to live on, no, not Bread, but what thou earn'st by raking Gentlewomens names in Anagrams; and Master Justice, if ever you'll oblige me, stand to me now, that I may procure the whipping of him from the Reverend Bench.