_L. Flip._ [_Aside to_ Mrs. JOYNER.] 'Tis true.--[_Aloud._] We wanted no good company, Sir Simon, as long as we had yours. _Sir Sim._ But they wanted good company, therefore I forced 'em to accept of yours. _L. Flip._ They will not think the company good they were forced into, certainly. _Sir Sim._ A pox! I must be using the words in fashion, though I never have any luck with 'em. Mrs. Joyner, help me off. _Mrs. Joyn._ I suppose, madam, he means the gentlemen wanted not inclination to your company, but confidence to desire so great an honour; therefore he forced 'em. _Dap._ What makes this bawd here? Sure, mistress, you bawds should be like the small cards, though at first you make up a pack, yet, when the play begins, you should be put out as useless. _Mrs. Joyn._ Well, well, gibing companion: you would have the pimps kept in only? you would so? _Vin._ What, they are quarrelling! _Ran._ Pimp and bawd agree now-a-days like doctor and apothecary. _Sir Sim._ Try, madam, if they are not civil gentlemen; talk with 'em, while I go lay the cloth--no waiter comes here.--[_Aside._] My mother used to tell me, I should avoid all occasions of talking before my mistress, because silence is a sign of love as well as prudence. [_Lays the cloth._ _L. Flip._ Methinks you look a little yellow on't, Mr. Dapperwit. I hope you do not censure me because you find me passing away a night with this fool:--he is not a man to be jealous of, sure. _Dap._ You are not a lady to be jealous of, sure. _L. Flip._ No, certainly.--But why do you look as if you were jealous then? _Dap._ If I had met you in Whetstone's park,[30] with a drunken foot-soldier, I should not have been jealous of you. _L. Flip._ Fy, fy! now you are jealous, certainly; for people always, when they grow jealous, grow rude:--but I can pardon it since it proceeds from love certainly. _Dap._ I am out of all hopes to be rid of this eternal old acquaintance: when I jeer her, she thinks herself praised; now I call her whore in plain English she thinks I am jealous. [_Aside._ _L. Flip._ Sweet Mr. Dapperwit, be not so censorious, (I speak for your sake, not my own,) for jealousy is a great torment, but my honour cannot suffer certainly. _Dap._ No, certainly; but the greatest torment I have is--your love. _L. Flip._ Alas! sweet Mr. Dapperwit, indeed love is a torment: but 'tis a sweet torment; but jealousy is a bitter torment.--I do not go about to cure you of the torment of my love. _Dap._ 'Tis a sign so. _L. Flip._ Come, come, look up, man; is that a rival to contest with you? _Dap._ I will contest with no rival, not with my old rival your coachman; but they have heartily my resignation; and, to do you a favour, but myself a greater, I will help to tie the knot you are fumbling for now, betwixt your cully here and you.