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George. They were in the right.
Kiss his own wife! it is a work-day business;
Play-days and holy-days, are made for lovers.
Sir R. To lay hands on a maid here's present
death.
George. It might be so in London, and no lives
lost:
The law were a dead letter there—
Sir R. And widows
May not be spoken to, under the pain
Of fine and pillory.
George. Uncle, let's embark,
Tho' for the north pole; this clime is too cold—
Or to some catholic country, where a man
May have flesh sometimes: here 'tis always lent.
Sir R. No: you must stay, your stomach must
endure it.
George. I'faith, dear uncle, being a cavalier,
A gentleman of honour and of breeding,
I marvel much you could come hither ; but
The greater wonder is, you'd have me with you,
Knowing my humour.
Sir R. Troth, my gentle nephew.
Knowing your humour, I could do no better
Than take you from the sphere of Charles's court;
From Rochester, and his dissolute companions,
To cool your blood here in the wilderness.
George. Well! there may come a time.
Sir R. As for my voyage.
Perhaps it was a royal jest: or, haply
My clothes had grown too rusty for the court.
Or Charles was tired of the old cavalier.
Who had fought some battles for him, and consum'd
Some certain paltry acres — all he had —
And having left no vacant place at court,
He sent me here Ambassador.
George. But uncle,
Is that your character?