L. Dunce. Will ye then leave this ruin on my hands?
Sir Dav. Pray, pray, my dear; I beseech you, neighbour, help to persuade her if it be possible.
Sir Jol. Faith, madam, do, try what you can do. I have a great fancy you may do him good; who can tell but you may have the gift of stroking? Pray, madam, be persuaded.
L. Dunce. I'll do whate'er's your pleasure.
Sir Dav. That's my best dear: I'll go to my closet and pray for thee heartily. Alas, alas, that ever this should happen! [Exit.
Beau. So, is he gone, madam, my angel?
Sir Jol. What, no thanks, no reward for old Jolly now? Come hither, hussy, you little canary-bird, you little hop-o'-my-thumb, come hither: make me a curtsey, and give me a kiss now, ha! give me a kiss, I say; odd, I will have a kiss, so I will, I will have a kiss if I set on't. Shoogh, shoogh, shoogh, get you into a corner when I bid you, shoogh, shoogh, shoogh—what, there already? [She goes to Beaugard.] Well, I ha' done, I ha' done; this 'tis to be an old fellow now.
Beau. And will you save the life of him you've wounded?
L. Dunce. Dare you trust yourself to my skill for a cure? [Sir Davy appears at a window above.
Sir Jol. Hist! hist! Close, close, I say again; yonder's Sir Davy, odds so!