Beau. "Ah, good men; what pity 'tis such proper gentlemen should ever be out of employment!"
Cour. But when the business is over, then every parish bawd that goes but to a conventicle twice a week, and pays but scot and lot to the parish, shall roar out, "Faugh, ye lousy red-coat rake-hells! hout, ye caterpillars, ye locusts of the nation! you are the dogs that would enslave us all, plunder our shops, and ravish our daughters, ye scoundrels!"
Beau. I must confess ravishing ought to be regulated; it would destroy commerce, and many a good sober matron about this town might lose the selling of her daughter's maidenhead, which were a great grievance to the people, and a particular branch of property lost. Fourbin!
Four. Your worship's pleasure?
Beau. Run, like a rogue as you are, and try to find Sir Jolly, and desire him to meet me at the Blue-Posts in the Haymarket about twelve; we'll dine together. [Exit Fourbin.] I must inquire farther into yesterday's adventure; in the mean time, Ned, here's half the prize, to be doing withal: old friends must preserve correspondence; we have shared good fortune together, and bad shall never part us.
Cour. Well, thou wilt certainly die in a ditch for this: hast thou no more grace than to be a true friend? nay, to part with thy money to thy friend? I grant you, a gentleman may swear and lie for his friend, pimp for his friend, hang for his friend, and so forth; but to part with ready money is the devil.
Beau. Stand aside; either I am mistaken, or yonder's Sir Jolly coming: now, Courtine, will I show thee the flower of knighthood. Ah, Sir Jolly!
Enter Sir Jolly Jumble.
Sir Jol. My hero! my darling! my Ganymede! how dost thou? Strong! wanton! lusty! rampant! ha, ah, ah! She's thine, boy! odd, she's thine; plump, soft, smooth, wanton! ha, ah, ah! Ah, rogue! ah, rogue! here's shoulders! here's shape! there's a foot and leg, here's a leg, here's a leg—Qua-a-a-a-a!
[Squeaks like a cat, and tickles Beaugard's legs.