Capt. Prythee, let me go: there's mischief a-broiling; and if thou shak'st me once more, thou wilt jumble a lie together I have been hammering this hour.
Care. A pox upon you! a-studying lies?
Capt. Why, then they are no lies, but something in the praise of an old lady's beauty: what do you call that?
Jolly. Who are those?
[They spy each other.
Sad. Is't not the captain and my friend?
[Jolly salutes them; then he goes to the Captain to embrace him: the Captain stands in a French posture,[209] and slides from his old way of embracing.
Jolly. Ned Wild! Tom Careless! what ail'st thou? dost thou scorn my embraces?
Capt. I see you have never been abroad, else you would know how to put a value upon those, whose careful observation brought home the most exquisite garb and courtship that Paris could sell us.
Jolly. A pox on this fooling, and leave off ceremony!