_Sir H._ I know your cousin does live here, and Vizard's cousin, and every body's cousin----Harkye, sir, I shall return immediately; and if you offer to touch her till I come back, I shall cut your throat, rascal. [_Exit._ _Clinch. jun._ Why, the man's mad, sure! _Dicky._ Mad, sir! Ay----Why, he's a beau. _Clinch. jun._ A beau! What's that? Are all madmen beaux? _Dicky._ No, sir; but most beaux are madmen.--But now for your cousin. Remember your three scrapes, a kiss, and your humble servant. [_Exeunt._ SCENE III. _A Street._ _Enter_ SIR HARRY WILDAIR, COLONEL STANDARD _following_. _Colonel S._ Sir Harry! Sir Harry! _Sir H._ I am in haste, Colonel; besides, if you're in no better humour than when I parted with you in the park this morning, your company won't be very agreeable. _Colonel S._ You're a happy man, Sir Harry, who are never out of humour. Can nothing move your gall, Sir Harry? _Sir H._ Nothing but impossibilities, which are the same as nothing. _Colonel S._ What impossibilities? _Sir H._ The resurrection of my father to disinherit me, or an act of parliament against wenching. A man of eight thousand pounds _per annum_ to be vexed! No, no; anger and spleen are companions for younger brothers. _Colonel S._ Suppose one called you a son of a whore behind your back. _Sir H._ Why, then would I call him rascal behind his back; so we're even. _Colonel S._ But suppose you had lost a mistress. _Sir H._ Why, then I would get another. _Colonel S._ But suppose you were discarded by the woman you love; that would surely trouble you. _Sir H._ You're mistaken, Colonel; my love is neither romantically honourable, nor meanly mercenary; 'tis only a pitch of gratitude: while she loves me, I love her; when she desists, the obligation's void. _Colonel S._ But to be mistaken in your opinion, sir; if the Lady Lurewell (only suppose it) had discarded you--I say, only suppose it----and had sent your discharge by me. _Sir H._ Pshaw! that's another impossibility. _Colonel S._ Are you sure of that? _Sir H._ Why, 'twere a solecism in nature. Why, we are finger and glove, sir. She dances with me, sings with me, plays with me, swears with me, lies with me. _Colonel S._ How, sir? _Sir H._ I mean in an honourable way; that is, she lies for me. In short, we are as like one another as a couple of guineas. _Colonel S._ Now that I have raised you to the highest pinnacle of vanity, will I give you so mortifying a fall, as shall dash your hopes to pieces.--I pray your honour to peruse these papers. [_Gives him the Packet._ _Sir H._ What is't, the muster-roll of your regiment, colonel? _Colonel S._ No, no, 'tis a list of your forces in your last love campaign; and, for your comfort, all disbanded. _Sir H._ Pr'ythee, good metaphorical colonel, what d'ye mean? _Colonel S._ Read, sir, read; these are the Sibyl's leaves, that will unfold your destiny.