Gerv. Think on't, however, sir; debauchery is upon its last legs in England: Witty men began the fashion, and now the fops are got into it, 'tis time to leave it.
Enter Aldo.
Aldo. Son Woodall, thou vigorous young rogue, I congratulate thy good fortune; thy man has told me the adventure of the Italian merchant.
Wood. Well, they are now retired together, like Rinaldo and Armida, to private dalliance; but we shall find a time to separate their loves, and strike in betwixt them, daddy. But I hear there's another lady in the house, my landlady's fair daughter; how came you to leave her out of your catalogue?
Aldo. She's pretty, I confess, but most damnably honest; have a care of her, I warn you, for she's prying and malicious.
Wood. A twang of the mother; but I love to graff on such a crab-tree; she may bear good fruit another year.
Aldo. No, no, avoid her; I warrant thee, young Alexander, I will provide thee more worlds to conquer.
Gerv. [Aside.] My old master would fain pass for Philip of Macedon, when he is little better than Sir Pandarus of Troy.
Wood. If you get this keeper out of doors, father, and give me but an opportunity—
Aldo. Trust my diligence; I will smoke him out, as they do bees, but I will make him leave his honey-comb.