Free. Nay, I would not hear you ill spoken of behind your back by my friend.
Man. Nay, then, thou'rt a friend, indeed.—But it were unreasonable to expect it from thee, as the world goes now, when new friends, like new mistresses, are got by disparaging old ones.
Enter Fidelia.
But here comes another, will say as much at least.—Dost thou not love me devilishly too, my little volunteer, as well as he or any man can?
Fid. Better than any man can love you, my dear captain.
Man. Look you there, I told you so.
Fid. As well as you do truth or honour, sir; as well.
Man. Nay, good young gentleman, enough, for shame! Thou hast been a page, by thy flattering and lying, to one of those praying ladies who love flattery so well they are jealous of it; and wert turned away for saying the same things to the old housekeeper for sweetmeats, as you did to your lady; for thou flatterest everything and everybody alike.
Fid. You, dear sir, should not suspect the truth of what I say of you, though to you. Fame, the old liar, is believed when she speaks wonders of you: you cannot be flattered, sir, your merit is unspeakable.