SCENE the Out-side of Sir Jealous Traffick's House,
Patch peeping out of Door.
Enter Whisper.
Whisp.
HA, Mrs. Patch, this is a lucky Minute, to find you so readily, my Master dies with Impatience.
Patch. My Lady imagin'd so, and by her Orders I have been scouting this hour in search of you, to inform you that Sir Jealous has invited some Friends to Supper with him to Night, which gives an Opportunity to your Master to make use of his Ladder of Ropes: The Closet Window shall be open, and Isabinda ready to receive him; bid him come immediately.
Whisp. Excellent, He'll not disappoint I warrant him: But hold, I have a Letter here, which I'm to carry an Answer of: I can't think what Language the Direction is.
Patch. Pho, 'tis no Language, but a Character which the Lovers invented to avert Discovery: Ha, I hear my old Master coming down Stairs, it is impossible you shou'd have an Answer; away, and bid him come himself for that—begone we are ruined if you're seen, for he has doubl'd his Care since the last Accident.
Whisp. I go, I go.
[Exit.
Patch. There, go thou into my Pocket. [Puts it besides, and it falls down.] Now I'll up the back Stairs, lest I meet him. Well, a dexterous Chamber-maid is the Ladies best Utensil, I say.