Among' their wives and (laughters. These
same roundheads, That crop their hair so short — a plague
upon 'em — Will cut your ears as close, if you 're caught meddling'. George. Why whai a heathen region have we come to. What a deuce, uncle, did you bring me
here for*? To shoot at bears and panthers ; pleasant
sport ; No women : zounds ; I '11 back to court
again — No women! Sir R. None : the old they burn for
witches, The young they keep clos'd up, (like flies
in amber) In adamantine ice. — George. They should be hang'd
For treason against nature. Let the old
ones Freeze, 'tis their charter; but youth should have fire. Sib R. They 've good laws here for gal- lants — t' other day They put a man i' the stocks because he
kiss'd His wife o' Sunday. George. They were in the right.
Kiss his own wife ! it is a work- day busi- ness; Play-days and holy-days are made for lovers. Sir R. To lay hands on a maid here's
present death. George. It might be so in London, and no lives lost : The law were a dead letter there — Sir R. And widows
May not be spoken to, under the pain Of fine and pillory. George. Uncle, let 's embark,
The' for the north pole ; this clime is too
cold — • Or to some catholic country, where a man May have flesh sometimes: here 'tis al- ways lent. Sir R. No: you must stay, your stomach
must endure it. George. I' faith, dear uncle, being a cava- lier, A gentleman of honour and of breeding, I marvel much you could come hither ; but The greater wonder is, you'd have me
with you. Knowing my humour. Sir R. Troth, my gentle nephew,
Knowing your humour, I could do no
better ^ Than take you from the sphere of
Charles's court; From Rochester, and his dissolute com- panions. To cool your blood here in the wilderness. George. Well ! there may come a time. Sir R. As for my voyage,
Perhaps it was a royal jest ; or haply My clothes had grown too rusty for the
court. Or Charles was tired of the old cavalier, Who had fought some battles for him,
and consum'd Some certain paltry acres — all he had — And having left no vacant place at court, He sent me here Ambassador. George. But uncle.
Is that your character'? Sir R. Much the same thing,
In Christian countries, nephew; I 'm a spy. George. The devil!
Sir R. Yes ; we read in ancient history.
Of Kings and Emperors, who have kept
the men Who help'd them to the Throne, (by
simply putting Their fathers out o' the way) — about
their, persons, As their prime friends. But Charles, be- ing advis'd That this was in bad taste, and took place
only In semi-barbarous courts, finds it decor- ous To grow a little angry with the persons That kill'd his father. And being told,
besides, That his most loving and beloved sub- jects This side the water — who, by the way, he
never Thought of before — had given food and
shelter To certain of the regicides, he sends me To— George. Well, Sir?
Sir R. Nothing. Come, 'tis growing
late. We must regain our cottage. In the
morning, We leave the village. George. 'Gad, with all my soul —
And so to England? Sir R. Not so fast, good Springal,
We must have patience yet. Come, let 's begone.
