y more, I forfeit you_.

[_Exit_.

SCENE V. _The Street_.

_Enter Sir_ Timothy Tawdrey, Sham _and_ Sharp.

Sir _Tim_. Now, _Sham_, art not thou a damn'd lying Rogue, to make me
saunter up and down the _Mall_ all this Morning, after a Woman that thou
know'st in thy Conscience was not likely to be there?

_Sham_. Why, Sir--if her Maid will be a jilting Whore, how can I help
it?--_Sharp_, thou know'st we presented her handsomly, and she protested
she'd do't.

_Sharp_. Ay, ay, Sir: But the Devil a Maid we saw. [_Aside_.

_Sham_. Sir, it may be Things have so fallen out, that she could not
possibly come.

Sir _Tim_. Things! a Pox of your Tricks--Well, I see there's no trusting
a poor Devil--Well, what Device will your Rogueship find out to cheat
me next?

_Sham_. Prithee help me out at a dead lift, _Sharp_. [_Aside_.

_Sharp_. Cheat you, Sir!--if I ben't reveng'd on this She-Counsellor of
the Patching and Painting, this Letter-in of Midnight Lovers, this
Receiver of Bribes for stol'n Pleasures; may I be condemn'd never to
make love to any thing of higher Quality.

Sir _Tim_. Nay, nay, no threatning, _Sharp_; it may be she's innocent
yet--Give her t'other Bribe, and try what that will do.
[_Gives him Money_.

_Sham_. No, Sir, I'll have no more to do with frail Woman, in this Case;
I have a surer way to do your Business.

_Enter_ Page _with a Letter_.

Sir _Tim_. Is not that _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Sharp_. It is, Sir.

Sir _Tim_. By Fortune, the Rogue's looking for me; he has a Challenge
in his hand too.

_Sham_. No matter, Sir, huff it out.

Sir _Tim_. Prithee do thee huff him, thou know'st the way on't.

_Sham_. What's your Bus'ness with Sir _Timothy_, Sir?

_Page_. Mine, Sir, I don't know the Gentleman; pray which is he?

Sir _Tim_. I, I, 'tis so--Pox on him.

_Sharp_. Well, Boy, I am he--What--Your Master.

_Page_. My Master, Sir--

_Sharp_. Are not you _Bellmour's_ Page?

_Page_. Yes, Sir.

_Sharp_. Well, your News.

_Page_. News, Sir? I know of none, but of my Master's being this
Morning--

Sir _Tim_. Ay, there it is--behind _Southampton_ House.

_Page_. Married this Morning.

Sir _Tim_. How! Married! 'Slife, has he serv'd me so?

_Sham_. The Boy is drunk--_Bellmour_ married!

_Page_. Yes, indeed, to the Lady _Diana_.

Sir _Tim_. _Diana!_ Mad, by Fortune; what _Diana_?

_