VANE. So this is the mysterious rencontre—pray, Sir Charles, what is it you want to forget in my arms?
POM. In your arms! (Aside. Confounds himself with his wife.) Perhaps you had better explain, my friend?
TRIP. Nay, sir—be yours the pleasing duty!
VANE. In one word, Sir Charles Pomander, why are you here? and for what purpose am I sent for?
POM. In two words my dear fellow, I don’t choose to tell you why I am here—and ’twas not I who sent for you.
VANE (to Triplet). Speak, sirrah—your riddling message!
TRIP. There’s nothing for it but the truth. Then, sir—the friend I expected you would find here was Mrs.——
POM. (to Trip.). Stop, my deplorable-looking friend: (to Vane) when the answer to such a question begins with a mistress, I think you had better not enquire further: (to Trip.) Don’t complete the name.
VANE. I command you to complete it, or——
TRIP. Gentlemen, gentlemen, how am I to satisfy both of you?