your
fool Clincher, too; I hope your female wiles will impose that upon
me----also----

_Lady L._ Clincher! Nay, now you're stark mad. I know no such person.

_Colonel S._ Oh, woman in perfection! not know him! 'Slife, madam, can
my eyes, my piercing jealous eyes, be so deluded? Nay, madam, my nose
could not mistake him; for I smelt the fop by his pulvilio, from the
balcony down to the street.

_Lady L._ The balcony! ha! ha! ha! the balcony! I'll be hanged but he
has mistaken Sir Harry Wildair's footman, with a new French livery, for
a beau.

_Colonel S._ 'Sdeath, madam! what is there in me that looks like a
cully? Did I not see him?

_Lady L._ No, no, you could not see him; you're dreaming, colonel. Will
you believe your eyes, now that I have rubbed them open?--Here, you
friend.

_Enter_ TOM ERRAND, _in_ CLINCHER SENIOR'S _Clothes_.

_Colonel S._ This is illusion all; my eyes conspire against themselves.
Tis legerdemain.

_Lady L._ Legerdemain! Is that all your acknowledgment for your rude
behaviour?--Oh, what a curse is it to love as I do!--Begone sir, [_To_
TOM ERRAND.] to your impertinent master, and tell him I shall never be
at leisure to receive any of his troublesome visits.--Send to me to know
when I should be at home!--Begone, sir. [_Exit_ TOM ERRAND.] I am sure
he has made me an unfortunate woman. [_Weeps._

_Colonel S._ Nay, then there is no certainty in nature; and truth is
only falsehood well disguised.

_Lady L._ Sir, had not I owned my fond, foolish passion, I should not
have been subject to such unjust suspicions: but it is an ungrateful
return. [_Weeping._

_Colonel S._ Now, where are all my firm resolves? I hope, madam, you'll
pardon me, since jealousy, that magnified my suspicion, is as much the
effect of love, as my easiness in being satisfied.

_Lady L._ Easiness in being satisfied! No, no, sir; cherish your
suspicions, and feed upon your jealousy: 'tis fit meat for your
squeamish stomach.

With me all women should this rule pursue: Who think us false, should
never find us true. [_Exit in a Rage._

_Enter_ CLINCHER SENIOR _in_ TOM ERRAND'S _Clothes_.

_Clinch. sen._ Well, intriguing is the prettiest, pleasantest thing for
a man of my parts.--How shall we laugh at the husband, when he is
gone?--How sillily he looks! He's in labour of horns already.--To make a
colonel a