[Scene V.] A Grove near Madam Surelove’s.
Enter Surelove weeping, Well. Chrisante, Mrs. Flirt, Ranter as before, Down. Haz. Friend. Booz. Brag.
Well. How long, Madam, have you heard the News of Col. Surelove’s Death?
Sure. By a Vessel last Night arriv’d.
Well. You shou’d not grieve when Men so old pay their debt to Nature; you are too fair not to have been reserved for some young [Lover’s] Arms.
Haz. I dare not speak,—but give me leave to hope.
Sure. The way to oblige me to’t, is never [more] to speak to me of Love till I shall think it fit— Wellman speaks to Down.
Well. Come, you shan’t grant it—’tis a hopeful Youth.
Down. You are too much my Friend to be denied—Chrisante, do you love Friendly? nay, do not blush—till you have done a fault, your loving him is none—Here, take her, young Man, and with her all my Fortune—when I am dead, Sirrah—not a Groat before—unless to buy ye Baby-Clouts.
Friend. He merits not this Treasure, Sir, can wish for more.