Fred. Pox on’t be kind, in pity to me be kind, for I am to thrive here but as you treat her Friend.
Hell. Tell me what did you in yonder House, and I’ll unmasque.
Will. Yonder House—oh—I went to—a—to—why, there’s a Friend of mine lives there.
Hell. What a she, or a he Friend?
Will. A Man upon my Honour! a Man—A She Friend! no, no, Madam, you have done my Business, I thank you.
Hell. And was’t your Man Friend, that had more Darts in’s Eyes than Cupid carries in a whole Budget of Arrows?
Will. So—
Hell. Ah such a Bona Roba: to be in her Arms is lying in Fresco, all perfumed Air about me—Was this your Man Friend too?
Will. So—
Hell. That gave you the He, and the She—Gold, that begets young Pleasures.