Mode. Thy man, lovey; and what then?

Aura. Why, then, Sir, on the behalf of that fair one, I demand the honourable amends, Sir. To use violence to a lady is an affront not to be put up; to tear the boughs and offer to hale down the fruit before it was consenting, kindly ripe-If you had climbed up the ladder of her affections, and gathered it regularly with the consent of the owner, there had been no harm done.

Mode. Ha! thou art a very pretty metaphorical prigster. Hark ye, child, go home presently, or I will gather a handful of nettles under that hedge, and whip thee most unmercifully.

Aura. Huh, huh! Goliah the second. How he struts and bounces! Sir, I shall whip you thro' the guts, or "make a pair of bellows of your lungs, for this ar

rogance. Know, Sir, that what I want in nerve "and bone, I make up in vigour and youth." What are your weapons?

Mode. Nettle-tops, infant, nettle-tops.

Aura. What, are you for your country diversions of this sort? Flails, cudgels, scythes, back-swords, oaken-towels, or wrestling?

"Mode. Wouldst thou have me wrestle with a bul "rush?

"Aura. Ah!" I have brought many a stouter man than you down, before now, with my Cornish hug. Or are you for the town gallantries, single rapier, sword and dagger, sword and pistol, single pistol, blunderbuss, demi-cannon, culverin, howitzer, mor

tar-piece, or barrel of gunpowder? I am ready, at any of these weapons, to wait your commands.

Mode. Look thee, thou impertinent insect, thou may'st be troublesome, tho' thou canst not be hurtful; therefore, if thou fliest about my face thus, I shall be forced to pat thee down with my hand, and tread thee

out.

Aura. Humph!- -You're very pert.

Mode. I am so. Pray, tell me, tho', what interest have you in this lady, that she has engaged your haughty littleness in her affairs?

Aura. Who, I, Sir? oh, I have been her premier minister a great while. “She is a fine woman really, "considering she has been rusticated from her birth "too; her only fault is, poor creature, she is doat"ingly fond of me; I dress her; I undress her;" by her good will, she would not suffer any living thing to stick a pin about her besides me.

Mode. Indeed! and so thou art her play-fellow, her gentle refreshment, her pretty pillow-boy, her afternoon's cordial, and her tea at breakfast, her evening's slumber and her morning's indolence.

Aura. You are superlatively smart. Sir, I shall give you to understand instantly, that the reputation of a lady is not thus impiously to be sported withOons, eat your words; down with them again this moment, or I'll ram the insolent epithets back again with the hilt of my sword.

Mode. Cool thyself, Narcissus, cool thyself, child; relieve thy reason with a dram of reflection. 'Tis

the town-talk: the whole village, and all the parishes round ring of it. I am sure thou wouldst not die a martyr to falsehood. Why, thy engagements there are known to every body; 'tis no secret, my pretti

ness.

Aura. Ay, Sir, 'tis true; but 'tis not so gallant to enter into particularities of that sort. Tho', as you say, indeed, I am sensible 'tis no secret. The affair has made a noise; the fury of the poor creature's passion did now and then blind her discretion. I think this is the seventh duel I have engaged in for her and Flora The seventh; no, the eighth-there were three justices, two excisemen, a parson, and yourself

Mode. Thou art a terrible little squib. What had Flora to do in this quarrel? What! you have had her too, hah?

Aura. Ah, Sir, she; but she is married. I am glad of it, faith, very glad of it. Poor man! your friend, I mean. I hope he is not apt to be jealous? "In troth, I believe she is enceint." If his son and heir steps into the world a month or two before the usual time, I could wish he would rather impute it to the forwardness of his boy, than the ill conduct of his wife.

Mode. Thou art the most impudent, wicked, little, bragging, lying son of a whore that ever I met

with.

Aura. Demme, Sir, son of a whore in your teeth!What! because I have reprieved you, suffered you

to breathe a minute or two longer, while I diverted you with my gallantries---you grow insolent.

Mode. Ha, ha! thou art a very potgun charged with

air.

Aura. And thou art a wooden blunderbuss without any charge at all; a mere pasteboard giant. What! "I am not such a pigeon neither, to be scared with a goat's hair beard and a dagger of lath."

Mode. Thou most insignificant teasing terrier, thou ferret of a coney-warren---by heavens, if thou dost provoke me, I will cut thee into minced meat, and have thee dished up for thy mistress's wedding dinner.

[Modely draws, and advances towards Aura. Aura. [Advancing too, and presenting a pistol] Put up your sword; put it up, I say-Death, Sir, this instant, or you die! [Modely puts up his sword] So,

SO

Mode. Hah! What have you these tricks too, my little bully?

Aura. Very well; now you have obeyed me, I'll use you like a gentleman. You have a longer reach than I, and therefore it may not be so reasonable to engage with single sword. Here, take one of these; this, or this; which you please: [Presenting pistols] You may change it, or draw it and recharge it, if you suspect my honour.

Mode. How are they loaded?

Aura. Equally, Sir, with a brace of balls.

Mode. What can be the meaning of all this? Sure the young dog is not in earnest.

[Aside.

Enter FREEHOLD.

Free. Hey, my brave boy! my cock o' the game! my lad of mettle! my Cupid in arms! there, he stands his ground to an inch. I told you he would find you sport, my Covent-Garden friend-- -All I can say is, he shoots flying finely.

Mode. Hah! I am glad you are come, farmer; we were just going to be serious here. This little huffbluff Hector will let nobody lie with your family but himself, it seems: pr'ythee let us make up this affair, old gentleman. Egad, if I am in the wrong-whymethinks it might be better—I don't knowcan't fancy this cool way of murder, with a flash and a pop

-I

Free. Oh, Sir, he is a perfect Spaniard with an English heart. I know him-nothing will satisfy him but your blood.

Aura. No, Sir-nothing but your blood—your blood, Sir!

Mode. Say you so? Why then if nothing else will do, have at you, my boy" I'll burn your fair per"riwig, i'faith."

Free. Look at your flint and your prime are they in right order?

Aura. I warrant you. Please to stand wide a little, Sir; a ball may graze. [To Freehold.] Now, come on, Sir. For want of a cloak let us retreat from each other five yards, then turn round upon our heels at one motion, and let fly. Are you ready?