Chris. Pray, when did you see me last at the Park, playhouse, or Exchange?
Ran. Some two, three days, or a week ago.
Chris. I have not been this month out of this chamber.
Lyd. That is to delude me. [Aside.
Chris. I knew you were mistaken.
Ran. You'll pardon a lover's memory, madam.—[Aside.] A pox! I have hanged myself in my own line. One would think my perpetual ill-luck in lying should break me of the quality; but, like a losing gamester, I am still for pushing on, till none will trust me.
Chris. Come, sir, you run out of one error into a greater: you would excuse the rudeness of your mistake, and intrusion at this hour into my lodgings, with your gallantry to me,—more unseasonable and offensive.
Ran. Nay, I am in love I see, for I blush and have not a word to say for myself.
Chris. But, sir, if you will needs play the gallant, pray leave my house before morning, lest you should be seen go hence, to the scandal of my honour. Rather than that should be, I'll call up the house and neighbours to bear witness I bid you begone.
Ran. Since you take a night visit so ill, madam, I will never wait upon you again but by day. I go, that I may hope to return; and, for once, I wish you a good night without me.