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126 Or meet the rock, as destiny determines, Spile of our feeble efforts. Mary, too! These thouuhts are not in season. Here 's my man.

{Enter George Egerton, hastily.)

Well met, sir. George. Sir, I kiss your hands. I' faith, I 've had a race to get here. My wise

uncle Hung- round me like a bride in the first

month — Or rather like a wife in the second year, When jealousy commences. — Come on, sir. Charles. Best breathe awhile; I have the

advantage of you. George. You will not keep it long. My greater skill Will give me still the odds. Charles. It may be so.

Yet you may be deceived. My masters

flattei^d Or I, too, have some science. George. I 'm glad of it ;

For you 're a pretty fellow, and deserve To fall with credit. Come, sir, to your

guard. We shall be interrupted. Charles. Better so,

Than that we fight unfairly. You pant still, sir. George. You are a soul of honour, and, were 't possible — But no ; the person of an Egerton Must never be profan'd. Come, Sir, en garde. Charles. If you will have it so. George. I will.

Charles. Come on then.

[They fight. George is wounded.) George. I 'm pink'd egad ; who would have thought it? ^S' death! I 'm out of practice. Charles. Here, Sir, on this bank.

Your head against this tree — Your

wound 's not deep I hope. How feel you now? George. I' faith, but faintly.

{Enter Edward.)

Edw. There is a gentleman approaching.

Sir. George. It is my uncle, like a keen old sportsman. In at the death. Pry'thee begone, my

friend, 'T were well you were not known. Charles. This handkerchief —

So, press it close — I '11 haste to send you

aid.— But for the lady's fame, and your own

honour. The cause of this our meeting is a secret. George. It shall be so : I thank you. But

away!

{Exeunt Charles and Edward.) That's a fine lad. But where i' the

devil's name, Leam'd he to fence? I wonder, now I

think on 't, Who '11 write my epitaph. My uncle

can't, He has no genius. I would do 't myself. Had I an amanuensis: let me see — Hie jacet — {Faints.)

{Enter Sir Reginald.)

Sir R. Gracious Heav'n, what is this !

My nephew bleeding, dead! no, he but faints.

With loss of blood. Soft, he revives; why, nephew —

My poor mad George, how fares it? George. How d' ye, uncle ?

Is 't day or night ? Faith my eyes twin- kle strangely. Sir R. Cheerly, George, cheerly, we '11 do well enough, —

What shall I do? — But how came this about?

Was't fairly done? George. According to the rules.

Should I die, uncle, and my adversary

E'er be discover'd, testify for him —

He kill'd me like a gentleman and Chris- tian. Sir R. a duel! ah, George, George. But zounds! do the roundheads

Fight duels too ! a pretty school I 've chosen

To teach you prudence in! will no one come!

{Enter Two Men, with a Bier.)

Ah, you are welcome, set it down, so, so. George. A pretty ominous conveyance,

this. Sir R. I pry'thee hold thy peace, and get

thee in. George. A gTain of opium now, were worth a jewel, Uncle, I '11 never fight again without it. Sir R. Be quiet, George — you waste your strength. So, so. {The men take him up and are about moving.)