Whisp. No, not I, Sir.
Sir Jeal. Sirrah, Sirrah, I'll have you set in the Stocks, if you don't tell me your Business immediately.
Whisp. Nay, Sir, my Business—is no great matter of Business neither; and yet 'tis Business of Consequence too.
Sir Jeal. Sirrah, don't trifle with me.
Whisp. Trifle, Sir, have you found him, Sir?
Sir Jeal. Found what, you Rascal.
Whisp. Why Trifle is the very Lap-Dog my Lady lost, Sir; I fancy'd I see him run into this House. I'm glad you have him— Sir, my Lady will be over-joy'd that 1 have found him.
Sir Jeal. Who is your Lady Friend?
Whisp. My Lady Love-puppy, Sir.
Sir Jeal. My Lady Love-puppy! then prithee carry thy self to her, for I know no other Whelp that belongs to her; and let me catch ye no more Puppy-hunting about my Doors, lest I have you prest into the Service, Sirrah.