Brass. But seriously, Sir, are you very much in love with her?
Gripe. As mortal man has been.
Brass. I'm sorry for't.
Gripe. Why so, dear Brass?
Brass. If you were never to see her more now? Suppose such a thing, d'ye think 'twou'd break your heart?
Gripe. Oh!
Brass. Nay, now I see you love her; wou'd you did not.
Gripe. My dear friend.
Brass. I'm in your interest deep: you see it.
Gripe. I do: but speak, what miserable story hast thou for me?