r _Cred._ Why, what shall I do, he will not affront me before Company?
hah!

_Lod._ Not in our House, Sir,--bear up and take no notice on't.
[_Lod._ whispers _Lean._

Sir _Cred._ No notice, quoth he? why, my very Fears will betray me.

_Lean._ Let me alone--_Lodwick_, I met just now with an _Italian_
Merchant, who has made me such a Present!

_Lod._ What is't prithee?

_Lean._ A Sort of specifick Poison for all the Senses, especially for
that of smelling; so that had I a Rival, and I should see him at any
reasonable distance, I could direct a little of this Scent up to his
Brain so subtlely, that it shall not fail of Execution in a day or two.

Sir _Cred._ How--Poison!
[Shewing great Signs of Fear, and holding his Nose.

_Lean._ Nay, shou'd I see him in the midst of a thousand People, I can
so direct it, that it shall assault my Enemy's Nostrils only, without
any effects on the rest of the Company.

Sir _Cred._ Oh,--I'm a dead Man!

_Lod._ Is't possible?

_Lean._ Perhaps some little sneezing or so, no harm; but my Enemy's a
dead Man, Sir, kill'd.

Sir _Cred._ Why, this is the most damn'd _Italian_ Trick I ever heard
of; why, this outdoes the famous Poisoner Madam _Brenvilliers_; well,
here's no jesting, I perceive that, _Lodwick_.

_Lod._ Fear nothing, I'll secure you. [Aside to him.

Enter _Wittmore_.

--_Wittmore!_ how is't, Friend! thou lookest cloudy.

_Wit._ You'll hardly blame me, Gentlemen, when you shall know what a
damn'd unfortunate Rascal I am.

_Lod._ Prithee what's the matter?

_Wit._ Why, I am to be marry'd, Gentlemen, marry'd to day.

_Lod._ How, marry'd! nay, Gad, then thou'st reason; but to whom prithee?

_Wit._ There's the Devil on't again, to a fine young fair, brisk Woman,
that has all the Temptations Heaven can give her.

_Lod._ What pity 'tis they shou'd be bestow'd to so wicked an end! Is
this your Intrigue, that has been so long conceal'd from your Friends?

_Lean._ We thought it had been some kind Amour, something of Love and
Honour.

_Lod._ Is she rich? if she be wondrous rich, we'll excuse thee.

_Wit._ Her Fortune will be suitable to the Jointure I shall make her.

_Lod._ Nay then 'tis like to prove a hopeful Match; what a Pox can
provoke thee to this, dost love her?

_Wit._ No, there's another Plague, I am cursedly in love elsewhere; and
this was but a false Address, to hide that real one.

_Lod._ How, love another? in what quality and manner?