Basil. Curse on thy ribald jests; keep them for the girls thou betrayest.  No, no, he knows nothing.

Wyck. Let me tell thee of the girl.  She loved a mean fellow that was her father’s apprentice, and perspired in good behaving.  A tremulous young man; with hissing red cheeks and a clump hand that looked through his fingers during evening prayers at the maid-servants, as they knelt; yet cried “Amen” with a reverence, and had the gift to find his own bedchamber afterward.  It was a mercy to pave her from him, for they had surely procreated fools.  Yet she liked not the sea, and one night she fell overboard in a calm, and the sharks had a white morsel.  She walked in her sleep.  I wish, though, she had left her ear-rings behind.

Basil. Hush! hush!

Wyck. Thus it is to be such a fellow as you.  You pretend to be so tender-hearted.  Well, I never wished to kill my brother.  If I had one I could love him, unless he were a damned scrupulous sinner, that makes faces at doing what he is always wishing.  Why, hark you, with your peccadilloes, you resemble a monkey over a hot dish of roasted chestnuts; you keep grinning round with your mouth watering, till they get cold, before you taste.

Basil. I tell thee that I hate him and fear him not.  Would that his blood might freeze upon my door-step on a December night!  If he were here now, I would stab him before thee.

Wyck. Ay, in the back.

Basil. But I have a plan that shall undo him most securely.  Come in here, and I will tell thee over a stoup of right claret.

Wyck. Now you speak reason; for I am but a dry rogue, and am never fit for much early in the morning, without I sit up all night. [Exeunt, L.]

SCENE III.

[Last Cut.] [2nd Grooves.]

A handsomely fitted Chamber in London.—­A practicable window in F.

Enter ARTHUR WALTON, FLORENCE, the LADY ELIZABETH CROMWELL.

Eliz. [To Arthur.] Urge not your suit through me, when she is here. 
Give half Love’s reasons that to me you gave,
Why she should not be cruel, and I think
You’ll hardly find her so—­[To Florence.]
Nay! be not scornful,
You know I can betray you—­[Goes to the window.]

Flor. Oh, be silent!

Arth. Dear cousin, will you forth to walk?  The day Is fine.

Eliz. [Running to the window.] I do protest it has been raining long.

Arth. To-morrow I must leave—­

Flor. To-morrow, really?  Shall you be absent long?  Adieu, then, sir.

[Going.]

Arth. Distraction!  I deserve not this unkindness.  Florence, why spurn my love thus?—­

Flor. Nay, I think But just escaped one brother’s persecution, ’tis Too bad another should annoy me.