Sir Sim. A pox! I must be using the words in fashion, though I never have any luck with 'em. Mrs. Joyner, help me off.
Mrs. Joyn. I suppose, madam, he means the gentlemen wanted not inclination to your company, but confidence to desire so great an honour; therefore he forced 'em.
Dap. What makes this bawd here? Sure, mistress, you bawds should be like the small cards, though at first you make up a pack, yet, when the play begins, you should be put out as useless.
Mrs. Joyn. Well, well, gibing companion: you would have the pimps kept in only? you would so?
Vin. What, they are quarrelling!
Ran. Pimp and bawd agree now-a-days like doctor and apothecary.
Sir Sim. Try, madam, if they are not civil gentlemen; talk with 'em, while I go lay the cloth—no waiter comes here.—[Aside.] My mother used to tell me, I should avoid all occasions of talking before my mistress, because silence is a sign of love as well as prudence. [Lays the cloth.
L. Flip. Methinks you look a little yellow on't, Mr. Dapperwit. I hope you do not censure me because you find me passing away a night with this fool:—he is not a man to be jealous of, sure.
Dap. You are not a lady to be jealous of, sure.
L. Flip. No, certainly.—But why do you look as if you were jealous then?