No spleen, no trouble, shall my time destroy: Life's but a span, I'll ev'ry inch enjoy. [_Exit._ ACT THE THIRD. SCENE I. _The Street._ _Enter_ COLONEL STANDARD _and_ VIZARD. _Colonel S._ I bring him word where she lodged? I the civilest rival in the world? 'Tis impossible. _Vizard._ I shall urge it no farther, sir. I only thought, sir, that my character in the world might add authority to my words, without so many repetitions. _Colonel S._ Pardon me, dear Vizard. Our belief struggles hard, before it can be brought to yield to the disadvantage of what we love. But what said Sir Harry? _Vizard._ He pitied the poor credulous colonel, laughed heartily, flew away with all the raptures of a bridegroom, repeating these lines: A mistress ne'er can pall her lover's joys, Whose wit can whet, whene'er her beauty cloys. _Colonel S._ A mistress ne'er can pall! By all my wrongs he whores her, and I am made their property.----Vengeance----Vizard, you must carry a note for me to Sir Harry. _Vizard._ What, a challenge? I hope you don't design to fight? _Colonel S._ What, wear the livery of my king, and pocket an affront? 'Twere an abuse to his sacred Majesty: a soldier's sword, Vizard, should start of itself, to redress its master's wrong. _Vizard._ However, sir, I think it not proper for me to carry any such message between friends. _Colonel S._ I have ne'er a servant here; what shall I do? _Vizard._ There's Tom Errand, the porter, that plies at the Blue Posts, one who knows Sir Harry and his haunts very well; you may send a note by him. _Colonel S._ Here, you, friend. _Vizard._ I have now some business, and must take my leave; I would advise you, nevertheless, against this affair. _Colonel S._ No whispering now, nor telling of friends, to prevent us. He, that disappoints a man of an honourable revenge, may love him foolishly like a wife, but never value him as a friend. _Vizard._ Nay, the devil take him, that parts you, say I. [_Exit._ _Enter_ TOM ERRAND. _Tom._ Did your honour call porter? _Colonel S._ Is your name Tom Errand? _Tom._ People call me so, an't like your worship. _Colonel S._ D'ye know Sir Harry Wildair? _Tom._ Ay, very well, sir; he's one of my best masters; many a round half crown have I had of his worship; he's newly come home from France, sir. _Colonel S._ Go to the next coffee-house, and wait for me.----Oh, woman, woman, how blessed is man, when favoured by your smiles, and how accursed when all those smiles are found but wanton baits to sooth us to destruction. [_Exeunt._ _Enter_ SIR H. WILDAIR, _and_ CLINCHER SENIOR, _following_. _Clinch. sen._ Sir, sir, sir, having some business of importance to communicate to you, I would beg your attention to a trifling affair, that I would impart to your understanding. _Sir H._ What is your trifling business of importance, pray, sweet sir?