_Sharp_. Faith, Sir, that's but a poor Revenge, and which every Footman
may take of his Lady, who has turn'd him away for filching--You know,
Sir, Windows are frail, and will yield to the lusty Brickbats; 'tis an
Act below a Gentleman.

Sir _Tim_. That's all one, 'tis my Recreation; I serv'd a Woman so the
other night, to whom my Mistress had a Pique.

_Sham_. Ay, Sir, 'tis a Revenge fit only for a Whore to take--And the
Affront you receiv'd to Night, was by mistake.

Sir _Tim_. Mistake! how can that be?

_Sham_. Why, Sir, did you not mind, that he that drew upon _Bellmour_,
was in the same Dress with you.

Sir _Tim_. How shou'd his be like mine?

_Sham_. Why, by the same Chance, that yours was like his--I suppose
sending to the Play-house for them, as we did, they happened to send
him such another Habit, for they have many such for dancing Shepherds.

Sir _Tim_. Well, I grant it a Mistake, and that shall reprieve the
Windows.

_Sharp_. Then, Sir, you shew'd so much Courage, that you may bless the
Minute that forc'd you to fight.

Sir _Tim_. Ay, but between you and I, 'twas well he kick'd me first,
and made me angry, or I had been lustily swing'd, by Fortune--But thanks