_Sir Dav._ Poor fool! No, dear, I am not jealous, nor never will be jealous of thee; do what thou wilt, thou shalt not make me jealous: I love thee too well to suspect thee. _L. Dunce._ Ah, but how long will you do so? _Sir Dav._ How long? as long as I live, I warrant thee, I--don't talk to a body so: I cannot hold if thou dost, my eyes will run over, poor fool! poor birdsnies! poor lambkin! _L. Dunce._ But will you be so kind to me to answer my desires? will you once more endeavour to make that traitor sensible that I have too just an esteem of you not to value his addresses as they deserve? _Sir Dav._ Ay, ay, I will. _L. Dunce._ But don't stay away too long, dear; make what haste you can; I shall be in pain till I see you again. _Sir Dav._ My dear, my love, my babby, I'll be with thee in a moment. How happy am I above the rest of men! Neighbour, dear neighbour, walk in with my wife, and keep her company till I return again. Child, don't be troubled, pr'ythee don't be troubled.--Was there ever such a wife? well, da, da, da: don't be troubled, pr'ythee don't be troubled, pr'ythee don't be troubled, da, da. [_Exeunt_ Sir DAVY _and_ VERMIN. _L. Dunce._ Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly, Sir Jolly. _Sir Jol._ Don't be troubled, pr'ythee don't be troubled, da, da. _L. Dunce._ But, Sir Jolly, can you guess whereabout my wandering officer may be probably found now? _Sir Jol._ Found, lady? he is to be found, madam--he is to be at my house presently, lady; he's certainly one of the finest fellows in the world. _L. Dunce._ You speak like a friend, Sir Jolly. _Sir Jol._ His friend, lady? no, madam, his foe, his utter enemy; I shall be his ruin, I shall undo him. _L. Dunce._ You may, if you please, then come both and play at cards this evening with me for an hour or two; for I have contrived it so, that Sir Davy is to be abroad at supper to-night; he cannot possibly avoid it; I long to win some of the captain's money strangely. _Sir Jol._ Do you so, my gamester? Well, I'll be sure to bring him, and for what he carries about him, I'll warrant you--odd, he's a pretty fellow, a very pretty fellow, he has only one fault. _L. Dunce._ And what is that I beseech you, sir? _Sir Jol._ Only too loving, too good-natured, that's all; 'tis certainly the best-natured fool breathing, that's all his fault. _L. Dunce._ Hist, hist, I think I see company coming; if you please, Sir Jolly, we'll go in. _Enter_ BEAUGARD, _followed by_ Sir DAVY _and_ VERMIN.