_Sir Sim._ Thank you, Mrs. Joyner. Well, I will throw off Dapperwit's acquaintance when I am married, and will only be a cully to my wife; and that's no more than the wisest husband of 'em all is. _Mrs. Joyn._ Then you think you shall carry Mrs. Martha? _Sir Sim._ Your hundred guineas are as good as in your lap. _Mrs. Joyn._ But I am afraid this double plot of yours should fail: you would sooner succeed if you only designed upon Mrs. Martha, or only upon my Lady Flippant. _Sir Sim._ Nay, then, you are no woman of intrigue, faith and troth: 'tis good to have two strings to one's bow. If Mrs. Martha be coy, I tell the widow I put on my disguise for her; but if Mrs. Martha be kind to Jonas, Sir Simon Addleplot will be false to the widow: which is no more than widows are used to; for a promise to a widow is as seldom kept as a vow made at sea, as Dapperwit says. _Mrs. Joyn._ I am afraid they should discover you. _Sir Sim._ You have nothing to fear; you have your twenty guineas in your pocket for helping me into my service, and if I get into Mrs. Martha's quarters, you have a hundred more; if into the widow's, fifty:--happy go lucky! Will her ladyship be at your house at the hour? _Mrs. Joyn._ Yes. _Sir Sim._ Then you shall see when I am Sir Simon Addleplot and myself I'll look like myself; now I am Jonas, I look like an ass. You never thought Sir Simon Addleplot could have looked so like an ass by his ingenuity. _Mrs. Joyn._ Pardon me, Sir Simon. _Sir Sim._ Nay, do not flatter, faith and troth. _Mrs. Joyn._ Come let us go, 'tis time. _Sir Sim._ I will carry the widow to the French house. _Mrs. Joyn._ If she will go. _Sir Sim._ If she will go! why, did you ever know a widow refuse a treat? no more than a lawyer a fee, faith and troth: yet I know too-- No treat, sweet words, good mien, but sly intrigue That must at length the jilting widow fegue.[28] [_Exeunt._ SCENE II.--_The French House. A table, wine and candles._ _Enter_ VINCENT, RANGER, _and_ DAPPERWIT. _Dap._ Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no drinking to-night. _Vin._ Pray, Mr. Ranger, let's have no Dapperwit to-night. _Ran._ Nay, nay, Vincent. _Vin._ A pox! I hate his impertinent chat more than he does the honest Burgundy. _Dap._ But why should you force wine upon us? we are not all of your gusto. _Vin._ But why should you force your chawed jests, your damned ends of your mouldy lampoons, and last year's sonnets, upon us? we are not all of your gusto. _Dap._ The wine makes me sick, let me perish! _Vin._ Thy rhymes make me spew. _Ran._ At repartee already! Come, Vincent. I know you would rather have him pledge you: here, Dapperwit--[_Gives him the glass._]--But why are you so eager to have him drink always? _Vin._ Because he is so eager to talk always, and there is no other way to silence him. _Enter_ Waiter. _Wait._ Here is a gentleman desires to speak with Mr. Vincent. _Vin._ I come. [_Exit_ VINCENT _with_ Waiter.