but that her
    Favour may make my services as meritorious
    As his lordship's, and can engage as much blood and
    Fame for't.

    +Pir.+ You know him of a noble breast, and one
    That will not flatter weak pretences into truths;
    Nor let 'em work with such impressions on his soul,
    Did not his honour bleed in't. Sir, I come,
    As one that ever honour'd your great parts,
    And wish that you could think on't o'er again.
    Think how black you must expect that morn to rise
    Upon your wishes, when you lead her to the altar;
    Where the faint lights with blue and ghastly flames
    Will receive ye; and all the things of holy ceremony
    Present pale glimmerings to your eyes, to fright your bride
    Back unto her first vows. And then, methinks,
    Each tear and groan the fair Cleara sends
    To overtake ye, should show a speaking fury
    To untwine your trembling hands.

    +Des.+ No; nor all the squadrons hell can spare
    To aid them--though her brother led them on,
    And you brought up the rear!

    +Pir.+ Sir!

    +Des.+ Pish! the meanest thought Claudilla
    Pleases to bestow here (under this humble guard)
    Must be without the affright (my lord) of all the
    Dangers in his muster, stare they like giants
    On me, and in armies. As for Cleara,
    If she held flattering glasses to her thoughts
    Which render'd 'em wide and airy, they must not forfeit
    Me. You may deserve her better. I'll not start, sir,
    A scruple from his demands and yours. Expect it,
    And so farewell.                                       [_Going off._

    +Pir.+ Farewell.----The time?

    +Des.+ I shall think on't.

    +Pir.+ Shall? It must not so tamely be thought on.

    +Des.+ How?

    +Pir.+ I spoke it, sir.

    +Des.+ Are you sent to own the quarrel?

    +Pir.+ No; but look on't with so much soul, as I think't
    An honour to wear a sword in't.

    +Des.+ Go, go hang it in your mistress's chamber!
    It stinks, sir, of perfume.

    +Pir.+ It may, sir (for destiny has many ways