Wel. Sir, I have lent my Lodgings to a Stranger of Quality, or I wou’d offer you a single Bed—but for once you may dispense with a Bedfellow.
Oliv. I will not put you to that trouble, Sir.
Wel. Do you design to make me your Friend, and use me with Ceremony? Who waits there?
Enter Footman.
Oliv. ’Slife, what shall I do? I cou’d even consent, to prevent his going to Mirtilla—besides, I have no home to go to—
Wel. Come, no more Scruples—here—a Night-Gown and a Cap for the Gentleman.
Oliv. What shall I do?—I have a little urgent Business, Sir.
Wel. If there be absolute necessity, I’ll see you to your Lodgings.
Oliv. Oh, by no means, Sir. ’Sdeath, whither can I go?
Wel. Why do you pause? Deal freely with me, Sir, I hope you do not take me for a Lover of my own Sex— Come, come to bed.