LORD FROTH. Oh yes, sometimes; but I never laugh. MEL. No? LORD FROTH. Oh no; never laugh indeed, sir. CARE. No! why, what d'ye go there for? LORD FROTH. To distinguish myself from the commonalty and mortify the poets; the fellows grow so conceited, when any of their foolish wit prevails upon the side-boxes. I swear,--he, he, he, I have often constrained my inclinations to laugh,--he, he, he, to avoid giving them encouragement. MEL. You are cruel to yourself, my lord, as well as malicious to them. LORD FROTH. I confess I did myself some violence at first, but now I think I have conquered it. BRISK. Let me perish, my lord, but there is something very particular in the humour; 'tis true it makes against wit, and I'm sorry for some friends of mine that write; but, i'gad, I love to be malicious. Nay, deuce take me, there's wit in't, too. And wit must be foiled by wit; cut a diamond with a diamond, no other way, i'gad. LORD FROTH. Oh, I thought you would not be long before you found out the wit. CARE. Wit! In what? Where the devil's the wit in not laughing when a man has a mind to't? BRISK. O Lord, why can't you find it out? Why, there 'tis, in the not laughing. Don't you apprehend me? My lord, Careless is a very honest fellow, but harkee, you understand me, somewhat heavy, a little shallow, or so. Why, I'll tell you now, suppose now you come up to me--nay, prithee, Careless, be instructed. Suppose, as I was saying, you come up to me holding your sides, and laughing as if you would--well--I look grave, and ask the cause of this immoderate mirth. You laugh on still, and are not able to tell me, still I look grave, not so much as smile. CARE. Smile, no, what the devil should you smile at, when you suppose I can't tell you! BRISK. Pshaw, pshaw, prithee don't interrupt me. But I tell you, you shall tell me at last, but it shall be a great while first. CARE. Well, but prithee don't let it be a great while, because I long to have it over. BRISK. Well then, you tell me some good jest or some very witty thing, laughing all the while as if you were ready to die, and I hear it, and look thus. Would not you be disappointed? CARE. No; for if it were a witty thing I should not expect you to understand it. LORD FROTH. Oh, foy, Mr. Careless, all the world allows Mr. Brisk to have wit; my wife says he has a great deal. I hope you think her a judge. BRISK. Pooh, my lord, his voice goes for nothing; I can't tell how to make him apprehend. Take it t'other way. Suppose I say a witty thing to you? CARE. Then I shall be disappointed indeed. MEL. Let him alone, Brisk, he is obstinately bent not to be instructed. BRISK. I'm sorry for him, the deuce take me. MEL. Shall we go to the ladies, my lord? LORD FROTH. With all my heart; methinks we are a solitude without 'em. MEL. Or what say you to another bottle of champagne?