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Show The Beaux Stratagem. 3 5 Chains are eafie, there a Ranfom may redeem me, but from your Fetters 1 never lhall get free. Mrs. Sull. Alas, Sir! W h y fhou'd you complain to m e of your Captivity, who a m in Chains m y felf? You know, <ir, that I a m bound, nay, muft be tied up in that particular that might give you eafe: I a m like you, a Prifoner of W a r ' Of W a r , indeed:- 1 have given m y Parole of Ho- , mour ; wou'd you break yours to gain your Liberty ? " Count. Moft certainly I wou'd, were I a Prifoner among the Turks; dis is your Cafe; you're a Slave, Madam, Slave ' to the worft of Turks, a Husband. Mrs. Sull. There lies m y Foible, I confefs,'no Fortifications, no Courage, Conduct, nor Vigilancy can pretend to , defend a Place, where the Cruelty of the Governour forces the "Garrifon to Mutiny. Count. And where de Befieger is refolv'd to die before de Place Here will I fix; [Kneels.] With Tears, Vows, and Prayers afTault your Heart, and never rife till you furrender j or if I muft florin Love and St. Michael->-And fo I begin the Attack. Mrs. Sull. Stand off Sure he hears m e not And I cou'd almoft wifh he-did not. The Fellow makes love very prettily. [Afide.] But, Sir, why fhou'd you put fuch a 'Value upon m y Perfon, when you fee it defpis'd by one that knows it fo much better. Count. He knows it not, tho' he pofTefTes it; if he but knew the Value of the Jewel he is Mafter of, he wou'd always wear it next his Heart, and fleep with it in his Arms. Mrs. Sull. But fince he throws m e unregarded from him. Count. And one that knows your Value well, comes by, and takes you up, is it not Juftice? (Goes to lay hold on her. Enter Sullen with his Sword drawn. Sull. Hold, Villain, hold. Mrs. Sull. [Prefenting a Piftol.] D o you hold ? Sull. W h a t ! Murther your Husband, to defend your Bully. Mis.Sull. Bully! For fhame, Mr. Sullen; Bullies wear long Swords, the Gentleman has none, he's a Prifoner, you know 1 was aware of your Outrage, and prepar'd this to receive your Violence; and, if occafion were, to preferve m y felf againft the Force of this other Gentleman. Count. O, Madam, your Eyes be bettre Fire Arms than your Piftol, they nevre miff. Hh Sull. |