Lop. A most admirable way to make up Accounts, truly!
Don John. A Son of a Whore! s'death, I did not care Sixpence for the Slut before, but now I'll have her Maidenhead in a Week, for fear the Rogue shou'd marry her in ten Days.
Lop. Mum; here's her Father: I'll warrant this old Spark comes to correct our Way of living too.
Enter Don Felix.
Don Fel. Don John!
Don John. Don Felix! do I see you in my poor Dwelling? Pray, to what lucky Accident do I owe this Honour?
Don Fel. That I may speak to you without Constraint, pray send away your Servant.
Lop. What the Pox have I done to 'em, they are all so uneasy at my Company?
[Aside.