ILF. In troth you may:
Your life's my life, your death my dying-day.
SIS. Sir, the commendations I have received from Butler of your birth and worth, together with the judgment of mine own eye, bids me believe and love you.
ILF. O, seal it with a kiss. Bless'd hour! my life had never joy till this.
Enter WENTLOE and BARTLEY beneath.
BAR. Hereabout is the house, sure.
WEN. We cannot mistake it; for here's the sign of the Wolf, and the bay-window.
Enter BUTLER above.
BUT. What, so close? 'Tis well I have shifted away your uncles, mistress. But see the spite of Sir Francis! if yon same couple of smell-smocks, Wentloe and Bartley, have not scented after us.
ILF. A pox on them! what shall we do then, butler?
BUT. What, but be married straight, man?