Jolly. Remember our covenants, get them that can all friends; and be sure to despatch the plot to carry them into the country, lest the brace of newcome monsieurs get them.
Con. Those flesh-flies! I'll warrant thee from them: yet 'twas foolishly done of me to put on this gravity. I shall break out, and return to myself, if you put me to a winter's wooing.
Sad. A little patience does it, and I am content to suffer anything, till they're out of town. Secret says they think my pale face proceeds from my love.
Jolly. Does she? That shall be one hint to advance your designs and my revenge: for so she be cosened, I care not who does it, for scorning me, who (by this hand) lov'd her parlously.
Foot. Sir, what shall I do with the horses?
Sad. Carry them to Brumsted's.
Foot. What shall I do with your worship's?
Jolly. Mine? Take him, hamstring him, kill him, anything to make away with him; lest, having such a conveniency, I be betrayed to another journey into the country. Gentlemen, you are all welcome to my country house. Charing Cross, I am glad to see thee, with all my heart.
Con. What! not reconciled to the country yet?