Boy. No, Madam, I came over but in the last Ship.
Ran. What, from Newgate or Bridewell? from [shoveing the Tumbler], Sirrah, [lifting] or [filing the Cly]?
Boy. I don’t understand this Country Language, forsooth, yet.
Ran. You Rogue, ’tis what we transport from England first—go, ye Dog, go tell your Lady the Widow Ranter is come to dine with her— Exit Boy. I hope I shall not find that Rogue Daring here sniveling after Mrs. Chrisante: If I do, by the Lord, I’ll lay him thick. Pox on him, why shou’d I love the Dog, unless it be a Judgment upon me.
Enter Surelove and Chrisante.
—My dear Jewel, how do’st do?—as for you, Gentlewoman, you are my Rival, and I am in Rancour against you till you have renounc’d my Daring.
Chris. All the Interest I have in him, Madam, I resign to you.
Ran. Ay, but your House lying so near the Camp, gives me mortal Fears—but prithee how thrives thy Amour with honest Friendly?
Chris. As well as an Amour can that is absolutely forbid by a Father on one side, and pursued by a good Resolution on the other.
Ran. Hay Gad, I’ll warrant for Friendly’s Resolution, what though his Fortune be not answerable to yours, we are bound to help one another.—Here, Boy, some Pipes and a Bowl of Punch; you know my Humour, Madam, I must smoak and drink in a Morning, or I am maukish all day.