Sir John. You lye——I'm not disguis'd; for I am drunk barefac'd.
Watch. Look you there again—This is a mad Parson, Mr. Constable; I'll lay a Pot of Ale upon 's Head, he's a good Preacher.
Constab. Come, Sir, out of respect to your Calling, I shan't put you into the Round-house; but we must secure you in our Drawing-room till Morning, that you may do no Mischief. So, come along.
Sir John. You may put me where you will, Sirrah, now you have overcome me——But if I can't do Mischief, I'll think of Mischief—in spite of your Teeth, you Dog, you.
[Exeunt.
SCENE, A Bed-Chamber.
Enter Heartfree solus.
What the Plague ails me?——Love? No, I thank you for that, my Heart's Rock still——Yet 'tis Belinda that disturbs me; that's positive——Well, what of all that? Must I love her for being troublesome? At that rate I might love all the Women I meet, I'gad. But hold!—Tho' I don't love her for disturbing me, yet she may disturb me, because I love her——Ay, that may be, 'faith. I have dreamt of her, that's certain——Well, so I have of my Mother; therefore what's that to the purpose? Ay, but Belinda runs in my Mind waking—and so does many a damn'd thing that I don't care a Farthing for——Methinks, tho', I would fain be talking to her, and yet I have no Business——Well, am I the first Man that has had a Mind to do an impertinent thing?
Enter Constant.
Const. How now, Heartfree? What makes you up and dress'd so soon? I thought none but Lovers quarrell'd with their Beds; I expected to have found you snoring, as I us'd to do.