Colonel S. But to be mistaken in your opinion, sir; if the Lady Lurewell (only suppose it) had discarded you—I say, only suppose it——and had sent your discharge by me.
Sir H. Pshaw! that's another impossibility.
Colonel S. Are you sure of that?
Sir H. Why, 'twere a solecism in nature. Why, we are finger and glove, sir. She dances with me, sings with me, plays with me, swears with me, lies with me.
Colonel S. How, sir?
Sir H. I mean in an honourable way; that is, she lies for me. In short, we are as like one another as a couple of guineas.
Colonel S. Now that I have raised you to the highest pinnacle of vanity, will I give you so mortifying a fall, as shall dash your hopes to pieces.—I pray your honour to peruse these papers.
[Gives him the Packet.
Sir H. What is't, the muster-roll of your regiment, colonel?
Colonel S. No, no, 'tis a list of your forces in your last love campaign; and, for your comfort, all disbanded.