_Val._ Would any could secure me her! I would myself secure my life, for I should value it then. _Vin._ Come, come; her relations can do you no hurt. I dare swear, if her mother should but say, "Your hat did not cock handsomely," she would never ask her blessing again. _Val._ Prithee leave thy fooling, and tell me if, since my departure, she has given evidences of her love, to clear those doubts I went away with:--for as absence is the bane of common and bastard love, 'tis the vindication of that which is true and generous. _Vin._ Nay, if you could ever doubt her love, you deserve to doubt on; for there is no punishment great enough for jealousy--but jealousy. _Val._ You may remember, I told you before my flight I had quarrelled with the defamer of my mistress, but I thought I had killed my rival. _Vin._ But pray give me now the answer which the suddenness of your flight denied me;--how could Clerimont hope to subdue her heart by the assault of her honour? _Val._ Pish! it might be the stratagem of a rival to make me desist. _Vin._ For shame! if 'twere not rather to vindicate her, than satisfy you, I would not tell you how like a Penelope she has behaved herself in your absence. _Val._ Let me know. _Vin._ Then know, the next day you went she put herself in mourning, and-- _Val._ That might be for Clerimont, thinking him dead, as all the world besides thought. _Vin._ Still turning the dagger's point on yourself! hear me out. I say she put herself into mourning for you--locked herself in her chamber this month for you--shut out her barking relations for you--has not seen the sun or the face of man since she saw you--thinks and talks of nothing but you--sends to me daily to hear of you--and, and, in short, (I think,) is mad for you. All this I can swear; for I am to her so near a neighbour, and so inquisitive a friend for you-- _Enter_ Servant. _Serv._ Mr. Ranger, sir, is coming up. _Vin._ What brings him now? he comes to lie with me. _Val._ Who, Ranger? _Vin._ Yes. Pray retire a little, till I send him off:--unless you have a mind to have your arrival published to-morrow in the coffee houses. [VALENTINE _retires to the door behind._ _Enter_ RANGER. _Ran._ What! not yet a-bed? your man is laying you to sleep with usquebaugh or brandy; is he not so? _Vin._ What punk[35] will not be troubled with you to-night, therefore I am?--is it not so? _Ran._ I have been turned out of doors, indeed, just now, by a woman,--but such a woman, Vincent! _Vin._ Yes, yes, your women are always such women! _Ran._ A neighbour of yours, and I'm sure the finest you have. _Vin._ Prithee do not asperse my neighbourhood with your acquaintance; 'twould bring a scandal upon an alley. _Ran._ Nay, I do not know her; therefore I come to you. _Vin._ 'Twas no wonder she turned you out of doors, then; and if she had known you, 'twould have been a wonder she had let you stay. But where does she live?