_L. Dunce._ And are you that passionate adorer of our sex, who cannot live a week in London without loving? Are you the shark that sends your picture up and down to longing ladies, longing for a pattern of your person? _Beau._ Yes, madam, when I receive so good hostages as these are--[_Shows the gold_]--that it shall be well used. Could you find nobody but me to play the fool withal? _Sir Jol._ Alack-a-day! _L. Dunce._ Could you pitch upon nobody but that wretched woman that has loved you too well to abuse you thus? _Sir Jol._ That ever I was born! _Beau._ Here, here, madam, I'll return you your dirt; I scorn your wages, as I do your service. _L. Dunce._ Fie for shame! what, refund? that is not like a soldier, to refund: keep, keep it to pay your sempstress withal. _Sir Jol._ His sempstress! who the devil is his sempstress? Odd, what would I give to know that now! [_Aside._ _L. Dunce._ There was a ring too, which I sent you this afternoon; if that fit not your finger, you may dispose of it some other way, where it may give no occasion of scandal, and you'll do well. _Beau._ A ring, madam? _L. Dunce._ A small trifle; I suppose Sir Davy delivered it to you, when he returned you your miniature. _Beau._ I beseech you, madam!-- _L. Dunce._ Farewell, you traitor. _Beau._ As I hope to be saved, and upon the word of a gentleman-- _L. Dunce._ Go, you are a false, ungrateful brute; and trouble me no more. [_Exit._ _Beau._ Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly. _Sir Jol._ Ah, thou rebel! _Beau._ Some advice, some advice, dear friend, ere I'm ruined. _Sir Jol._ Even two pennyworth of hemp for your honour's supper, that's all the remedy that I know. _Beau._ But pr'ythee hear a little reason. _Sir Jol._ No, sir, I ha' done; no more to be said, I ha' done; I am ashamed of you, I'll have no more to say to you; I'll never see your face again, good-b'w'ye. [_Exit._ _Beau._ Death and the devil! what have my stars been doing to-day? A ring! delivered by Sir Davy--what can that mean? Pox on her for a jilt, she lies, and has a mind to amuse and laugh at me a day or two longer. Hist, here comes her beast once more; I'll use him civilly, and try what discovery I can make. _Re-enter_ Sir DAVY DUNCE. _Sir Dav._ Ha, ha, ha! here's the captain's jewel; very well: in troth, I had like to have forgotten it. Ha, ha, ha!--how damnable mad he'll be now, when I shall deliver him his ring again, ha, ha!--Poor dog, he'll hang himself at least, ha, ha, ha!--Faith, 'tis a very pretty stone, and finely set: humph! if I should keep it now?--I'll say I have lost it--no, I'll give it him again o' purpose to vex him, ha, ha, ha!