_George_ upon a sign would grow more sensible. If the name of
Honour were for ever to be lost, these were the most sufficient men to do
it in all the world; and yet they are but young, what will they rise to?
They're as full of fire as' a frozen Glow-worms rattle, and shine as
goodly: Nobility and patience are match'd rarely in these three Gentlemen,
they have right use on't; they'll stand still for an hour and be beaten.
These are the Anagrams of three great Worthies.

_Mir_. They will infect my house with cowardize, if they breath longer in
it; my roof covers no baffl'd Monsieurs, walk and air your selves; as I
live they stay not here. White-liver'd wretches, without one word to ask a
reason why. Vanish, 'tis the last warning, and with speed; for if I take
ye in hand, I shall dissect you, and read upon your flegmatick dull
Carcases. My Horse again there: I have other business, which you shall
hear hereafter, and laugh at it. Good-night _Charles_, fair goodness to
your dear Lady; 'tis late, 'tis late.

_Ang_. Pray, Sir, be careful of us.

_Mir_. It is enough, my best care shall attend ye. [_Exeunt_.

ACTUS IV. SCENA IV.

_Enter_ Andrew.

_And_. Are you come, old Master? Very good, your Horse is well set up; but
ere you part, I'll ride you, and spur your Reverend Justiceship such a
question, as I shall make the sides of your Reputation bleed, truly I
will. Now must I play at Bo-peep--A Banquet--well, Potatoes and Eringoes,
and, as I take it, Cantharides--Excellent, a Priapism follows, and as I'll
handle it, it shall, old Lecherous Goat in Authority. Now they begin to
Bill; how he slavers her! Gramercy _Lilly_, she spits his kisses out, and
now he offers to fumble, she falls off, (that's a good Wench) and cries
fair play above board. Who are they in the corner? As I live, a covy of
Fidlers; I shall have some Musick yet at my making free o'th' Company of
_Horners_; there's the comfort, and a Song too! He beckons for one--Sure
'tis no Anthem, nor no borrow'd Rhymes out of the School of Vertue; I will
listen-- [_A Song_.
This was never penn'd at _Geneva_, the Note's too sprightly. So, so, the
Musick's paid for, and now what follows? O that Monsieur _Miramont_ would
but keep his word; here were a Feast to make him fat with laughter; at the
most 'tis not six minutes riding from his house, nor will he break, I
hope--O are you come, Sir? the prey is in the Net, and will break in upon
occasion.

_Mir_. Th