Scar. Yes, yes, what should I deliver else?
Ela. Well—and how does he?
Scar. Lord, how should he do? Why, what a laborious thing it is to be a Pimp? [Fanning himself with his Cap.
Ela. Why, well he shou’d do.
Scar. So he is, as well as a Night-adventuring Lover can be,—he has got but one Wound, Madam.
Ela. How! wounded say you? Oh Heavens! ‘tis not mortal.
Scar. Why, I have no great skill; but they say it may be dangerous.
Ela. I die with Fear, where is he wounded?
Scar. Why, Madam, he is run—quite through the Heart,—but the Man may live, if I please.
Ela. Thou please! torment me not with Riddles.