The Street.
Enter Colonel Standard and Vizard.
Colonel S. I bring him word where she lodged? I the civilest rival in the world? 'Tis impossible.
Vizard. I shall urge it no farther, sir. I only thought, sir, that my character in the world might add authority to my words, without so many repetitions.
Colonel S. Pardon me, dear Vizard. Our belief struggles hard, before it can be brought to yield to the disadvantage of what we love. But what said Sir Harry?
Vizard. He pitied the poor credulous colonel, laughed heartily, flew away with all the raptures of a bridegroom, repeating these lines:
| A mistress ne'er can pall her lover's joys, |
| Whose wit can whet, whene'er her beauty cloys. |
Colonel S. A mistress ne'er can pall! By all my wrongs he whores her, and I am made their property.——Vengeance——Vizard, you must carry a note for me to Sir Harry.
Vizard. What, a challenge? I hope you don't design to fight?
Colonel S. What, wear the livery of my king, and pocket an affront? 'Twere an abuse to his sacred Majesty: a soldier's sword, Vizard, should start of itself, to redress its master's wrong.
Vizard. However, sir, I think it not proper for me to carry any such message between friends.