Scar. Harlequin was left in the Garden, I’ll tell him the News of Mopsophil. [Going forward, tumbles over him. Ha, what’s here? Harlequin dead! [Heaving him up, he flies into a Rage.
Har. Who is’t that thus wou’d rob me of my Honour?
Scar. Honour, why I thought thou’dst been dead.
Ha. Why, so I was, and the most agreeably dead.
Scar. I came to bemoan with thee the mutual loss of our Mistress.
Har. I know it, Sir, I know it, and that thou art as false as she: Was’t not a Covenant between us, that neither shou’d take advantage of the other, but both shou’d have fair play, and yet you basely went to undermine me, and ask her of the Doctor; but since she’s gone, I scorn to quarrel for her—But let’s like loving Brothers, hand in hand, leap from some Precipice into the Sea.
Scar. What, and spoil all my Clothes? I thank you for that; no, I have a newer way: you know I lodge four pair of Stairs high, let’s ascend hither, and after saying our Prayers—
Har. Prayers! I never heard of a dying Hero that ever pray’d.
Scar. Well, I’ll not stand with you for a Trifle—Being come up, I’ll open the Casement, take you by the Heels, and sling you out into the Street; after which, you have no more to do, but to come up and throw me down in my turn.
Har. The Atchievement’s great and new; but now I think on’t, I’m resolv’d to hear my Sentence from the Mouth of the perfidious Trollop, for yet I cannot credit it.