el S._ You're a happy man, Sir Harry, who are never out of humour.
Can nothing move your gall, Sir Harry?

_Sir H._ Nothing but impossibilities, which are the same as nothing.

_Colonel S._ What impossibilities?

_Sir H._ The resurrection of my father to disinherit me, or an act of
parliament against wenching. A man of eight thousand pounds _per annum_
to be vexed! No, no; anger and spleen are companions for younger
brothers.

_Colonel S._ Suppose one called you a son of a whore behind your back.

_Sir H._ Why, then would I call him rascal behind his back; so we're
even.

_Colonel S._ But suppose you had lost a mistress.

_Sir H._ Why, then I would get another.

_Colonel S._ But suppose you were discarded by the woman you love; that
would surely trouble you.

_Sir H._ You're mistaken, Colonel; my love is neither romantically
honourable, nor meanly mercenary; 'tis only a pitch of gratitude: while
she loves me, I love her; when she desists, the obligation's void.

_Colonel S._ But to be mistaken in your opinion, sir; if the Lady
Lurewell (only suppose it) had discarded you--I say, only suppose
it----and had sent your discharge by me.

_Sir H._ Pshaw! that's another impossibility.

_Colonel S._ Are you sure of that?

_Sir H._ Why, 'twere a solecism in nature. Why, we are finger and glove,
sir. She dances with me, sings with me, plays with me, swears with me,
lies with me.

_Colonel S._ How, sir?

_Sir H._ I mean in an honourable way; that is, she lies for me. In
short, we are as like one another as a couple of guineas.

_Colonel S._ Now that I have raised you to the highest pinnacle of
vanity, will I give you so mortifying a fall, as shall dash your hopes
to pieces.--I pray your honour to peruse these papers.
[_Gives him the Packet._

_Sir H._ What is't, the muster-roll of your regiment, colonel?

_Colonel S._ No, no, 'tis a list of your forces in your last love
campaign; and, for your comfort, all disbanded.

_Sir H._ Pr'ythee, good metaphorical colonel, what d'ye mean?

_Colonel S._ Read, sir, read; these are the Sibyl's leaves, that will
unfold your destiny.

_Sir H._ So it be not a false deed to cheat me of my estate, what care
I--[_Opening the Packet._] Humph! my hand!--_To the Lady Lurewell_--_To
the Lady Lurewell_--_To the Lady Lurewell_--What the devil hast thou
been tampering with, to conjure up these spirits?

_Colonel S._ A certain famil