Sir Tim. Love him! No, Sir, she neither does, nor shall love him.
Sir Anth. How, Sir, nor shall love him! By George, but she shall, and lie with him too, if I please, Sir.
Sir Tim. How, Sir! lie with a rich City-Widow, and a Lady, and to be married to a fine Reverend old Gentleman within a day or two?
Sir Anth. His Name, Sir, his Name; I’ll dispatch him presently.
[Offers to draw.
Sir Tim. How, Sir, dispatch him!—Your Servant, Sir.
[Offers to go.
Sir Anth. Hold, Sir! by this abrupt departure, I fancy you the Boy’s Rival: Come, draw. [Draws.
Sir Tim. How, draw, Sir!
Sir Anth. Ay, draw, Sir; not my Nephew have the Widow!
Sir Tim. With all my Soul, Sir; I love and honour your Nephew. I his Rival! alas, Sir, I’m not so fond of Cuckoldom. Pray, Sir, let me see you and Sir Charles at my House, I may serve him in this business; and so I take my leave, Sir—Draw quoth-a! Pox upon him for an old Tory-rory. [Aside.
[Exit.