Howard! shouldst carry it as senior cornet. Thou
wouldst be like curly-headed David with the spoils
of the Philistine drum-major Goliah. Led on by
its light we'd march direct to Whitehall, our trumpets
sending dismay to the virtue of the starched coifs of
the round rosy rogues of London.

_A Cav._ [_Arranging his love-lock._] Plague on't, I
don't think their virtue would tremble at the chance.

_Anoth. Cav._ Lord! what rumpling of sober
dimities! Poor little plump partridges, they cannot help
their forced puritanism.--But all women are for king
and cavalier in their hearts.

[_Two Cavaliers advance with angry gestures to
the front of the stage._]

_1st Cav._ I tell thee, Wilmington! 'twas I she did regard.

_2nd Cav._ And I tell thee that thou thinkest wrong.
I know she loves me.

_1st Cav._ Did she tell thee so?

_2nd Cav._ This kerchief was hers.

_1st Cav._ Bah! Thou didst steal it from thy
mother, boy! Go home and return it to her.