_Beau._ To deal like a friend, Courtine, I parted with him but just now; he's gone to contrive me a meeting, if possible, this night, with the woman my soul is most fond of. I was this evening just entering upon the palace of all joy, when I met with so damnable a disappointment--in short, that plague to all well-meaning women, the husband, came unseasonably, and forced a poor lover to his heels, that was fairly making his progress another way, Courtine: the story thou shalt hear more at large hereafter. _Cour._ A plague on him, why didst thou not murder the presumptuous cuckold? saucy intruding clown, to dare to disturb a gentleman's privacies! I would have beaten him into sense of his transgression, enjoyed his wife before his face, and ha' taught the dog his duty. _Beau._ Look you, Courtine, you think you are dealing with the landlord of your winter-quarters in Alsatia now. Friend, friend, there is a difference between a free-born English cuckold and a sneaking wittol of a conquered province. _Cour._ Oh, by all means, there ought to be a difference observed between your arbitrary whoring, and your limited fornication. _Beau._ And but reason: for, though we may make bold with another man's wife in a friendly way, yet nothing upon compulsion, dear heart. _Cour._ And now Sir Jolly, I hope, is to be the instrument of some immortal plot; some contrivance for the good of thy body, and the old fellow's soul, Beaugard: for all cuckolds go to Heaven, that's most certain. _Beau._ Sir Jolly! why, on my conscience, he thinks it as much his undoubted right to be pimp-mastergeneral to London and Middlesex, as the estate he possesses is: by my consent his worship should e'en have a patent for it. _Cour._ He is certainly the fittest for the employment in Christendom; he knows more families by their names and titles than all the bell-men within and without the walls. _Beau._ Nay, he keeps a catalogue of the choicest beauties about town, illustrated with a particular account of their age, shape, proportion, colour of hair and eyes, degrees of complexion, gunpowder spots and moles. _Cour._ I wish the old pander were bound to satisfy my experience, what marks of good-nature my Sylvia has about her. _Enter_ Sir JOLLY JUMBLE. _Sir Jol._ My captains! my sons of Mars and imps of Venus! well encountered; what, shall we have a sparkling bottle or two, and use Fortune like a jade? Beaugard, you are a rogue, you are a dog, I hate you; get you gone, go. _Beau._ But, Sir Jolly, what news from paradise Sir Jolly? Is there any hopes I shall come there to-night? _Sir Jol._ May be there is, may be there is not; I say let us have a bottle, and I will say nothing else without a bottle: after a glass or two my heart may open.