Page. Sir, I am sure of it; and I am going to bespeak Musick for the Ball anon.
Sir Tim. What hast thou there—a Letter to the Divine Celinda?
A dainty Boy—there’s Money for to buy thee Nickers.
Page. I humbly thank you.
[Exit.
Sharp. Well, Sir, if this be true, Celinda will be glad of you again.
Sir. Tim. Ay, but I will have none of her—For, look you, Sham, there is but two sorts of Love in this World—Now I am sure the Rogue did love her; and since it was not to marry her, it was for the thing you wot on, as appears by his writing to her now—But yet, I will not believe what this Boy said, till I see it.
Sham. Faith, Sir, I have thought of a thing, that may both clear your doubt, and give us a little Mirth.
Sir Tim. I conceive thee.
Sham. I know y’are quick of Apprehension, Sir Timothy.
Sir Tim. O, your Servant, dear Sham—But to let thee see, I am none of the dullest, we are to Jig it in Masquerade this Evening, hah.
Sham. Faith, Sir, you have it, and there you may have an Opportunity to court Bellmour’s Sister.