Enter C
Con. How now, Heartfree! What makes you up and dressed so soon? I thought none but lovers quarrelled with their beds; I expected to have found you snoring, as I used to do.
Heart. Why, faith! friend, ’tis the care I have of your affairs that makes me so thoughtful; I have been studying all night how to bring your matter about with Belinda.
Con. With Belinda?
Heart. With my lady, I mean: and, faith! I have mighty hopes on’t. Sure, you must be very well satisfied with her behaviour to you yesterday?
Con. So well, that nothing but a lover’s fears can make me doubt of success. But what can this sudden change proceed from?
Heart. Why, you saw her husband beat her, did you not?
Con. That’s true: a husband is scarce to be borne upon any terms, much less when he fights with his wife. Methinks she should e’en have cuckolded him upon the spot, to shew, that after the battle she was master of the field.
Heart. A council of war of women would infallibly have advised her to it. But, I confess, so agreeable a woman as Belinda deserves better usage.
Con. Belinda again!
Heart. My lady, I mean. What a plague makes me blunder so to-day? [Aside.] A plague of this treacherous tongue.
Con. Pr’ythee, look upon me seriously, Heartfree. Now answer me directly: is it my lady, or Belinda, employs your careful thoughts thus?
Heart. My lady, or Belinda!
Con. In love, by this light! in love!
Heart. In love!
Con. Nay, never deny it; for thou’lt do it so awkwardly, ’twill but make the jest sit heavier about thee. My dear friend, I give you much joy.
Heart. Why, pr’ythee, you won’t persuade me to it, will you?
Con. That she’s mistress of your tongue, that’s plain; and I know you are so honest a fellow, your tongue and heart always go together. But how—but how the devil—psha! Ha, ha, ha!
Heart. Heyday! Why, sure, you don’t believe it in earnest?
Con. Yes, I do, because I see you deny it in jest.
Heart. Nay, but, look you! Ned—a—deny in jest—a—gad zooks! you know, I say—a—when a man denies a thing in jest—a—
Con. Ha, ha, ha!