Cour. You have five thousand pound, you say?
Sylv. Yes.
Cour. Faith, child, to deal honestly, I know well enough who 'tis I wish for; but, sweetheart, before I tell you my inclinations, it were but reasonable that I knew yours.
Sylv. Well, sir, because I am confident you will stand my friend in the business, I'll make a discovery; and to hold you in suspense no longer, you must know I have a month's mind[51] to an arm-full of your dearly-beloved friend and brother captain; what say you to't?
Cour. Madam, your humble servant; good-bye, that's all.
Sylv. What, thus cruelly leave a lady that so kindly took you in, in your last night's pickle, into her lodging? whither would you rove now, my wanderer?
Cour. Faith, madam, you have dealt so gallantly in trusting me with your passion, that I cannot stay here without telling you, that I am three times as much in love with an acquaintance of yours, as you can be with any friend of mine.
Sylv. Not with my waiting-woman, I hope, sir.
Cour. No, but it is with a certain kinswoman of thine, child; they call her my Lady Dunce, and I think this is her house too; they say she will be civil upon a good occasion, therefore, pr'ythee be charitable, and show the way to her chamber a little.
Sylv. What, commit adultery, captain? fie upon't! what, hazard your soul?