Will. Ha! I hope she did not hear.
Hell. What, afraid of such a Champion!
Will. Oh! you’re a fine Lady of your word, are you not? to make a Man languish a whole day—
Hell. In tedious search of me.
Will. Egad, Child, thou’rt in the right, hadst thou seen what a melancholy Dog I have been ever since I was a Lover, how I have walkt the Streets like a Capuchin, with my Hands in my Sleeves—Faith, Sweetheart, thou wouldst pity me.
Hell. Now, if I should be hang’d, I can’t be angry with him, he dissembles so heartily—Alas, good Captain, what pains you have taken—Now were I ungrateful not to reward so true a Servant.
Will. Poor Soul! that’s kindly said, I see thou bearest a Conscience—come then for a beginning shew me thy dear Face.
Hell. I’m afraid, my small Acquaintance, you have been staying that swinging stomach you boasted of this morning; I remember then my little Collation would have gone down with you, without the Sauce of a handsom Face—Is your Stomach so quesy now?
Will. Faith long fasting, Child, spoils a Man’s Appetite—yet if you durst treat, I could so lay about me still.
Hell. And would you fall to, before a Priest says Grace?