Colonel S. I have ne'er a servant here; what shall I do?
Vizard. There's Tom Errand, the porter, that plies at the Blue Posts, one who knows Sir Harry and his haunts very well; you may send a note by him.
Colonel S. Here, you, friend.
Vizard. I have now some business, and must take my leave; I would advise you, nevertheless, against this affair.
Colonel S. No whispering now, nor telling of friends, to prevent us. He, that disappoints a man of an honourable revenge, may love him foolishly like a wife, but never value him as a friend.
Vizard. Nay, the devil take him, that parts you, say I. [Exit.
Enter Tom Errand.
Tom. Did your honour call porter?
Colonel S. Is your name Tom Errand?
Tom. People call me so, an't like your worship.