University of Virginia Library

SCENA I.

Amante and Honorio meeting.
Aman.
Signior Honorio!

Hon.
Signior Amante! You are the Man
I wish'd to meet.

Aman.
Then we're both pleas'd.
I've worn out my Feet with seeking you.

Hon.
And I my Patience.

Aman.
I thought you better stor'd.

Hon.
You have most reason to believe so Signior.

Aman.
I cannot apprehend you.

Hon.
I shall explain my self. I understand
You have been a liberal detractor Sir,
Both of my honour, and my Sisters fame;
And as a Gentleman expect fair satisfaction.

Aman.
Ha, ha, ha, you are dispos'd to droll.
Italians seldom understand that Language.

Hon.
You speak French. Teach your Sword the Dialect.
And don't mistake my injuries for jests.

Aman.
Tho' I have alwayes made it my chief care
Neither to offer, nor receive a wrong,
And am as far from injuries to you,
As English Subjects from oppressive Laws:
Yet custom does so cruelly impose
Upon the Laws of Honour, she must give
Satisfaction, to the Capricio of each jealous brain.

Hon.
I am no common Duellist, nor make a living
From the price of blood. My temper
In your refusal of my Sisters Love
(After such long address) was too much shewn;
But then her tears did conquer my resentments,
Which fresher injuries have inflam'd a-new.
And if not false to Honour, as to Love,
You will this Night those injuries repair,
Or take his Life, whose fame you did not spare.

Aman.
'Twere not amiss I knew particulars,
The why and wherefore I must draw my Sword,
For I'me not so in love with the French garb,
T'expose my skin to pinking for the Mode.

Hon.
You shall—
Setting a part your late inconstancy, (which I am
Bound to pardon by an Oath) receive in short
My other injuries: y' have given out (thereby
To justifie your levity) my Sister was unchast,
And that the reason you forsook her Love;
That I (being conscious of my Sisters guilt)
Durst not confirm't to th'world by my revenge.

Aman.
Let me but know the inventor of these lyes,
These Hell-bred lyes, that I may punish him,
For I am more than equally concern'd.

Hon.
You must excuse me Sir, I swore concealment.

Aman.
Then give me leave to say you are unjust:
Tho' love, which all want Power to resist,
Compell'd my stubborn heart to feel a second flame;
Yet I was ne're so little generous, so destitute
Of Honour, or of Man-hood, as to asperse a Lady,
I once lov'd.

Hon.
Words are no balsom for the wounds of Honour:
I hope you'l meet me in Pantalonies Grove.

Aman.
To vindicate her Fame I will; but ne're
To justifie so black a Calumny.

Hon.
Y' are a Coward then, that wants a Soul
To own the injuries your malice vents.

Aman.
A Coward! Lend me your patience Gods!
'Tis all too little to allay the flame
That word has kindled here; Oh how it rages!
Now y' have given my anger a just Theam;
You shall soon know to whom the Coward's due:
Expect me about Six.

Hon.
I shall attend you with a second.
[Exit Honorio.

Aman.
Tho' he pretends fresh wrongs, 'tis evident
He seeks to punish my inconstancy,
A cause my Sword wou'd have defended weakly,
Had not his fury given 't an argument,
Too warrantable to admit dispute,
As to the justice of't, a Coward!
It is a Title of such Infamy;
Methinks his life is slender satisfaction!
And yet when I consider him my Friend,
Methinks that Title shou'd all quarrells end.

[Exit.