_Boy._ I don’t understand this Country Language, forsooth, yet. _Ran._ You Rogue, ‘tis what we transport from _England_ first--go, ye Dog, go tell your Lady the Widow _Ranter_ is come to dine with her-- [Exit _Boy_.] I hope I shall not find that Rogue _Daring_ here sniveling after Mrs. _Chrisante_: If I do, by the Lord, I’ll lay him thick. Pox on him, why shou’d I love the Dog, unless it be a Judgment upon me. Enter _Surelove_ and _Chrisante_. --My dear Jewel, how do’st do?--as for you, Gentlewoman, you are my Rival, and I am in Rancour against you till you have renounc’d my _Daring_. _Chris._ All the Interest I have in him, Madam, I resign to you. _Ran._ Ay, but your House lying so near the Camp, gives me mortal Fears--but prithee how thrives thy Amour with honest _Friendly_? _Chris._ As well as an Amour can that is absolutely forbid by a Father on one side, and pursued by a good Resolution on the other. _Ran._ Hay Gad, I’ll warrant for _Friendly’s_ Resolution, what though his Fortune be not answerable to yours, we are bound to help one another.--Here, Boy, some Pipes and a Bowl of Punch; you know my Humour, Madam, I must smoak and drink in a Morning, or I am maukish all day. _Sure._ But will you drink Punch in a Morning? _Ran._ Punch! ‘tis my Morning’s Draught, my Table-drink, my Treat, my Regalio, my every thing; ah, my dear _Surelove_, if thou wou’d but refresh and cheer thy Heart with Punch in a Morning, thou wou’dst not look thus cloudy all the day. Enter Pipes and a great Bowl, she falls to smoaking. _Sure._ I have reason, Madam, to be melancholy, I have receiv’d a Letter from my Husband, who gives me an account that he is worse in _England_ than when he was here, so that I fear I shall see him no more, the Doctors can do no good on him. _Ran._ A very good hearing. I wonder what the Devil thou hast done with him so long? an old fusty weatherbeaten Skeleton, as dried as Stock-fish, and much of the Hue.--Come, come, here’s to the next, may he be young, Heaven, I beseech thee. [Drinks. _Sure._ You have reason to praise an old Man, who dy’d and left you worth fifty thousand Pound. _Ran._ Ay, Gad--and what’s better, Sweetheart, dy’d in good time too, and left me young enough to spend this fifty thousand Pound in better Company--rest his Soul for that too. _Chris._ I doubt ‘twill be all laid out in _Bacon’s_ mad Lieutenant General _Daring_. _Ran._ Faith, I think I could lend it the Rogue on good Security. _Chris._ What’s that, to be bound Body for Body? _Ran._ Rather that he should love no body’s Body besides my own; but my fortune is too good to trust the Rogue, my Money makes me an Infidel. _Chris._ You think they all love you for that. _Ran._ For that, ay, what else? if it were not for that, I might sit still and sigh, and cry out, a Miracle! a Miracle! at sight of a Man within my Doors. Enter _Maid_. _Maid._ Madam, here’s a young Gentleman without wou’d speak with you.