ior-- _un Portavera Poco palanca_.
[Dresses himself.

_Harl._ Seignior.

_Feth._ _Entende vos Signoria Englesa?_

_Harl._ _Em Poco, em Poco_, Seignior.

_Feth._ _Per quelq arts_, did your Seigniorship escape Cudgeling?

_Harl._ _La art de transformatio._

_Feth._ _Transformatio_-- Why, wert thou not born a Man?

_Harl._ No, Seignior, _un vieule Femme_.

_Feth._ How, born an old Woman?

_Blunt._ Good Lord! born an old Woman! And so by transformation became
invulnerable.

_Feth._ Ay-- in-- invulnerable-- what would I give to be invulnerable?
and egad, I am almost weary of being a Man, and subject to beating:
wou'd I were a Woman, a Man has but an ill time on't: if he has a mind
to a Wench, the making Love is so plaguy tedious-- then paying is to my
Soul insupportable. But to be a Woman, to be courted with Presents, and
have both the Pleasure and the Profit-- to be without a Beard, and sing
a fine Treble-- and squeak if the Men but kiss me-- 'twere fine-- and
what's better, I am sure never to be beaten again.

_Blunt._ Pox on't, do not use an old Friend so scurvily; consider the
Misery thou'lt indure to have the Heart and Mind of a jilting Whore
possess thee: What a Fit of the Devil must he suffer who acts her Part
from fourteen to fourscore! No,'tis resolv'd thou remain _Nicholas
Fetherfool_ still, shalt marry the Monster, and laugh at Fortune.

_Feth._ 'Tis true, should I turn Whore to the Disgrace of my Family--
what would the World say? who wou'd have thought it, cries one? I cou'd
never have believ'd it, cries another. No, as thou say'st, I'll remain
as I am-- marry and live honestly.

_Blunt._ Well resolv'd, I'll leave you, for I was just going to serenade
my Fairy Queen, when I met thee at the Door-- some Deeds of Gallantry
must be perform'd, Seignior, _Bonus Nochus_.
[Ex. _Blunt_.

Enter _Shift_ with Light.

_Feth._ Hah, a Light, undone!

_Harl._ _Patientia, Patientia_, Seignior.

_Shift._ Where the Devil can this Rogue _Hunt_ be? Just now all things
are ready for marrying these two Monsters; they wait, the House is
husht, and in the lucky Minute to have him out of the way: sure the
Devil owes me a spite.
[Runs against _Harlequin_, puts out his Candle.

_Harl._ _Qui est la?_

_Shift._ 'Tis _Harlequin_: Pox on't, is't you?

_Harl._ Peace, here's _Fetherfool_, I'll secure him, whilst you go about
your Affair.
[Ex. _Shift_.

_Feth._ Oh, I hear a Noise, dear _Harlequin_