Part 22 (2/2)

SIR JO. How now, bully? What, melancholy because I'm in the lady's favour? No matter, I'll make your peace: I know they were a little smart upon you. But I warrant I'll bring you into the lady's good graces.

BLUFF. Pshaw, I have pet.i.tions to show from other-guess toys than she.

Look here; these were sent me this morning. There, read. [_Shows letters_]. That--that's a scrawl of quality. Here, here's from a countess too. Hum--No, hold--that's from a knight's wife--she sent it me by her husband. But here, both these are from persons of great quality.

SIR JO. They are either from persons of great quality, or no quality at all, 'tis such a d.a.m.ned ugly hand. [_While_ SIR JOSEPH _reads_, BLUFFE _whispers_ SETTER.]

SET. Captain, I would do anything to serve you; but this is so difficult.

BLUFF. Not at all. Don't I know him?

SET. You'll remember the conditions?

BLUFF. I'll give it you under my hand. In the meantime, here's earnest.

[_Gives him money_.] Come, knight, I'm capitulating with Mr. Setter for you.

SIR JO. Ah, honest Setter; sirrah, I'll give thee anything but a night's lodging.

SCENE VIII.

SHARPER _tugging in_ HEARTWELL.

SHARP. Nay, prithee leave railing, and come along with me. May be she mayn't be within. 'Tis but to yond corner-house.

HEART. Whither? Whither? Which corner-house.

SHARP. Why, there: the two white posts.

HEART. And who would you visit there, say you? (O'ons, how my heart aches.)

SHARP. Pshaw, thou'rt so troublesome and inquisitive. My, I'll tell you; 'tis a young creature that Vainlove debauched and has forsaken. Did you never hear Bellmour chide him about Sylvia?

HEART. Death, and h.e.l.l, and marriage! My wife! [_Aside_.]

SHARP. Why, thou art as musty as a new-married man that had found his wife knowing the first night.

HEART. h.e.l.l, and the Devil! Does he know it? But, hold; if he should not, I were a fool to discover it. I'll dissemble, and try him.

[_Aside_.] Ha, ha, ha. Why, Tom, is that such an occasion of melancholy? Is it such an uncommon mischief?

SHARP. No, faith; I believe not. Few women but have their year of probation before they are cloistered in the narrow joys of wedlock. But, prithee, come along with me or I'll go and have the lady to myself. B'w'y George. [_Going_.]

HEART. O torture! How he racks and tears me! Death! Shall I own my shame or wittingly let him go and wh.o.r.e my wife? No, that's insupportable. O Sharper!

SHARP. How now?

HEART. Oh, I am married.

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