Colonel S. I rely on your word and honour, Sir Harry.
Sir H. Then meet me half an hour hence at the Shakspeare; you must oblige me by taking a hearty glass with me toward the fitting me out for a certain project, which this night I undertake.
Colonel S. I guess, by the preparation, that woman's the design.
Sir H. Yes, 'faith.—I am taken dangerously ill with two foolish maladies, modesty and love: the first I'll cure with Burgundy, and my love by a night's lodging with the damsel. A sure remedy. Probatum est.
Colonel S. I'll certainly meet you, sir. [Exeunt severally.
Enter Clincher Junior and Dicky.
Clinch. jun. Ah, Dick, this London is a sad place, a sad vicious place: I wish that I were in the country again. And this brother of mine—I'm sorry he's so great a rake: I had rather see him dead than see him thus.
Dicky. Ay, sir, he'll spend his whole estate at this same Jubilee. Who d'ye think lives at this same Jubilee?
Clinch. jun. Who, pray?
Dicky. The Pope.