Sir J. Servant, sir.

Heart. How does all your family?

Sir J. Plague o’ my family!

Con. How does your lady? I haven’t seen her abroad a good while.

Sir J. Do! I don’t know how she does, not I: she was well enough yesterday; I haven’t been at home to- night.

Con. What, were you out of town?

Sir J. Out of town! No; I was drinking.

Con. You are a true Englishman; don’t know your own happiness. If I were married to such a woman, I would not be from her a night, for all the wine in France.

Sir J. Not from her! Oons! what a time should a man have of that!

Heart. Why, there’s no division, I hope?

Sir J. No; but there’s a conjunction, and that’s worse: a pox of the parson! Why the plague don’t you two marry? I fancy I look live the devil to you.

Heart. Why, you don’t think you have horns, do you?

Sir J. No; I believe my wife’s religion will keep her honest.

Heart. And what will make her keep her religion?

Sir J. Persecution; and therfore, she shall have it.

Heart. Have a care, knight, women are tender things.

Sir J. And yet, methinks, ’tis a hard matter to break their hearts.

Con. Fie, fie! you have one of the best wives in the world, and yet you seem the most uneasy husband.

Sir J. Best wives! the woman’s well enough; she has no vice that I know of; but she’s a wife: and d—n a wife! if I were married to a hogshead of claret, matrimony would make me hate it.

Heart. Why did you marry, then? you were old enough to know your own mind.

Sir J. Why did I marry! What, you would have me intrigue. I suppose, and so have hedged myself into forty quarrels with her relations; besides buying my pardon; but more than all that, you must know I was afraid of being d—d in those days: for I kept sneaking, cowardly company, fellows that went to church, said grace to their meat, and had not the least tincture of quality about them.

Heart. But I think you have got into a better gang now.

Sir J. Zoons! sir, my Lord Rake and I are hand and glove: I believe we may get our bones broken together to-night. Have you a mind to share a frolic?

Con. Not I, truly; my talent lies in softer exercises.