Isab. Ay, to enjoy more Freedom than he is aware of.
    (Aside.
    (Exit with Patch_._

Sir Jeal. I believe this Wench is very true to my Interest:  I am happy
I met with her, if I can but keep my Daughter from being blown upon till
Signeur Babinetto arrives; who shall marry her as soon as he comes,
and carry her to Spain as soon as he has marry’d her; she has a
pregnant Wit, and I’d no more have her an English Wife, than the Grand
Signior’s Mistress.
    (Exit.

  Enter Whisper_._

Whisp. So, I see Sir Jealous go out; where shall I find Mrs. Patch now.

  Enter Patch_._

Patch. Oh Mr. Whisper, my Lady saw you out at the Window, and order’d me to bid you fly, and let your Master know she’s now alone.

Whisp. Hush, Speak softly; I go, go:  But hark’e Mrs. Patch, shall not you and I have a little Confabulation, when my Master and your Lady is engag’d?

Patch. Ay, Ay, Farewell.
    (Goes in, and shuts the Door.

  Re-enter Sir Jealous Traffick_ meeting Whisper._

Sir Jeal. Sure whil’st I was talking with Mr. Tradewell, I heard my Door clap. (Seeing Whisper_._) Ha! a Man lurking about my House; who do you want there, Sir?

Whisp. Want—­want, a pox, Sir Jealous! what must I say now?—­
    (Aside.

Sir Jeal. Ay, want; have you a Letter or Message for any Body there?—­O my Conscience, this is some He-Bawd—­

Whisp. Letter or Message, Sir!

Sir Jeal. Ay, Letter or Message, Sir.

Whisp. No, not I, Sir.

Sir Jeal. Sirrah, Sirrah, I’ll have you set in the Stocks, if you don’t tell me your Business immediately.

Whisp. Nay, Sir, my Business—­is no great matter of Business neither; and yet ’tis Business of Consequence too.

Sir Jeal. Sirrah, don’t trifle with me.

Whisp. Trifle, Sir, have you found him, Sir?

Sir Jeal. Found what, you Rascal.

Whisp. Why Trifle is the very Lap-Dog my Lady lost, Sir; I fancy’d I see him run into this House.  I’m glad you have him—­Sir, my Lady will be over-joy’d that 1 have found him.

Sir Jeal. Who is your Lady Friend?

Whisp. My Lady Love-puppy, Sir.

Sir Jeal. My Lady Love-puppy! then prithee carry thy self to her, for
I know no other Whelp that belongs to her; and let me catch ye no more
Puppy-hunting about my Doors, lest I have you prest into the Service,
Sirrah.

Whisp. By no means, Sir—­Your humble Servant; I must watch whether he goes, or no, before I can tell my Master.
    (Exit.

Sir Jeal. This Fellow has the Officious Leer of a Pimp; and I half suspect a Design, but I’ll be upon them before they think on me, I warrant ’em.
    (Exit.