And I all Burnings in a youthful Fire.
Sir Cred. Bless us, the Man’s in a Rapture!
Wit. Damnation on them both.
Sir Cred. Well, to the point, Man: what didst do all this while?
Lean. Faith, I fancy he did not sleep, Sir Credulous.
Lod. No, Friend, she had too many Charms to keep me waking.
Sir Cred. Had she so? I shou’d have beg’d her Charms pardon, I tell her that though.
Wit. Curse on my Sloth, Oh, how shall I dissemble? Aside.
Lean. Thy Adventure was pretty lucky—but, Wittmore, thou dost not relish it.
Wit. My Mind’s upon my Marriage, Sir; if I thought he lov’d Isabella, I wou’d marry her to be reveng’d on him, at least I’ll vex his Soul, as he has tortur’d mine.—Well, Gentlemen, you’ll dine with me,—and give me your opinion of my Wife.