Maun. Mr. Wittmore’s satisfy’d of your Constancy, Madam; though had I been your Ladyship, I should have given him a more substantial Proof, which you might yet do, if you wou’d make handsome use of your time.

Wit. Maundy advises well; my dearest, let’s withdraw to yonder Covert Arbour, whose kind Shades will secure us a Happiness that Gods might envy. Offers to lead her out.

L. Fan. I dare not for the world, Sir Patient is now asleep, and ’tis to those few Minutes we are oblig’d for this Enjoyment, which shou’d Love make us transgress, and he shou’d wake and surprize us, we are undone for ever: no, let us employ this little time we have in consulting how we may be often happy, and securely so: Oh, how I languish for the dear opportunity!

Wit. And cou’d you guess what Torments I have suffer’d in these few fatal Months that have divided us, thou wou’dst pity me.

L. Fan. —But to our Business; for though I am yet unsuspected by my Husband, I am eternally plagu’d with his Company; he’s so fond of me, he scarce gives me time to write to thee, he waits on me from room to room, hands me in the Garden, shoulders me in the Balcony, nay, does the office of my Women, dresses and undresses me, and does so smirk at his handywork: In fine, dear Wittmore, I am impatient till I can have less of his Company, and more of thine.

Wit. Does he never go out of Town?

L. Fan. Never without me.

Wit. Nor to Chuch?

L. Fan. To a Meeting-house you mean, and then too carries me, and is as vainly proud of me as of his rebellious Opinion, for his Religion means nothing but that, and Contradiction; which I seem to like too, since ’tis the best Cloke I can put on to cheat him with.

Wit. Right, my fair Hypocrite.

L. Fan. But, dear Wittmore, there’s nothing so comical as to hear me cant, and even cheat those Knaves, the Preachers themselves, that delude the ignorant Rabble.

Wit. What Miracles cannot your Eyes and Tongue perform!

L. Fan. Judge what a fine Life I lead the while, to be set up with an old formal doting sick Husband, and a Herd of snivelling grinning Hypocrites, that call themselves the teaching Saints; who under pretence of securing me to the number of their Flock, do so sneer upon me, pat my Breasts, and cry fie, fie upon this fashion of tempting Nakedness. Through the Nose.

Wit. Dear Creature, how cou’d we laugh at thy new way of living, had we but some Minutes allow’d us to enjoy that Pleasure alone.

L. Fan. Think, dear Wittmore, think, Maundy and I have thought over all our Devices to no purpose.

Wit. Pox on’t, I’m the dullest dog at plotting, thinking, in the world; I should have made a damnable ill Town Poet: Has he quite left off going to the Change?

L. Fan. Oh, he’s grown cautiously rich, and will venture none of his substantial Stock in transitory Traffick.

Wit. Has he no mutinous Cabal, nor Coffee-houses, where he goes religiously to consult the Welfare of the Nation?

L. Fan. His imagin’d Sickness has made this their Rendesvouz.

Wit. When he goes to his blind Devotion, cannot you pretend to be sick? that may give us at least two or three opportunities to begin with.

L. Fan. Oh! then I should be plagu’d with continual Physick and Extempore Prayer till I were sick indeed.

Wit. Damn the humorous Coxcomb and all his Family, what shall we do?

L. Fan. Not all, for he has a Daughter that has good Humour, Wit, and Beauty enough to save her,—stay—that has jogg’d a Thought, as the Learned say, which must jog on, till the motion have produc’d something worth my thinking.—

Enter Roger running.

Maun. Ad’s me, here’s danger near, our Scout comes in such haste.

L. Fan. Roger, what’s the matter?

Rog. My Master, Madam, is risen from sleep, and is come in to the Garden.—See, Madam, he’s here.

L. Fan. What an unlucky Accident was this?

Wit. What shall I do, ’tis too late to obscure my self?

L. Fan. He sees you already, through the Trees,—here—keep your distance, your Hat under your Arm; so, be very ceremonious, whilst I settle a demure Countenance.—

Maun. Well, there never came good of Lovers that were given to too much talking; had you been silently kind all this while, you had been willing to have parted by this time.

Enter Sir Patient in a Night-Gown, reading a Bill.

Sir Pat. Hum,—Twelve Purges for this present January—as I take it, good Mr. Doctor, I took but Ten in all December.—By this Rule I am sicker this Month, than I was the last.—And, good Master Apothecary, methinks your Prizes are somewhat too high: at this rate no body wou’d be sick.—Here, Roger, see it paid however,—Ha, hum. Sees ’em, and starts back. What’s here, my Lady Wife entertaining a leud Fellow of the Town? a flaunting Cap and Feather Blade.

L. Fan. Sir Patient cannot now be spoken with. But, Sir, that which I was going just now to say to you, was, that it would be very convenient in my opinion to make your Addresses to Isabella,—’twill give us opportunities. Aside. We Ladies love no Imposition; this is Counsel my Husband perhaps will not like, but I would have all Women chuse their Man, as I have done,—my dear Wittmore. Aside.

Sir Pat. I profess ingenuously an excellent good Lady this of mine, though I do not like her Counsel to the young Man, who I perceive would be a Suitor to my Daughter Isabella.

Wit. Madam, should I follow my inclinations, I should pay my Vows no where but there,—but I am inform’d Sir Patient is a Man so positively resolv’d.—

L. Fan. That you should love his Wife. Aside.

Wit. And I’ll comply with that Resolve of his, and neither love nor marry Isabella, without his Permission; and I doubt not but I shall by my Respects to him gain his Consent,—to cuckold him. Aside.

Sir Pat. I profess ingenuously, a very discreet young Man.

Wit. But, Madam, when may I promise my self the satisfaction of coming again? For I’m impatient for the Sight and Enjoyment of the fair Person I love.

L. Fan. Sir, you may come at night, and something I will do by that time shall certainly give you that access you wish for.

Wit. May I depend upon that Happiness?

L. Fan. Oh, doubt not my power over Sir Patient.

Sir Pat. My Lady Fancy, you promise largely.

L. Fan. Sir Patient here!

Wit. A Devil on him, wou’d I were well off: now must I dissemble, profess, and lye most confoundedly.

Sir Pat. Your Servant, Sir, your Servant.—My Lady Fancy, your Ladyship, is well entertain’d I see; have a care you make me not jealous, my Lady Fancy.

L. Fan. Indeed I have given you cause, Sir Patient, for I have been entertaining a Lover, and one you must admit of too.

Sir Pat. Say you so, my Lady Fancy?—Well, Sir, I am a Man of Reason, and if you shew me good causes why, can bid you welcome, for I do nothing without Reason and Precaution.

Wit. Sir, I have—

Sir Pat. I know what you wou’d say, Sir; few Words denoteth a Wise Head,—you wou’d say that you have an Ambition to be my Son-in-Law.

Wit. You guess most right, Sir.

Sir Pat. Nay, Sir, I’ll warrant I’ll read a Man as well as the best, I have studied it.

Wit. Now, Invention, help me or never.

Sir Pat. Your Name, I pray? Putting off his Hat gravely at every Word.

Wit. Fainlove, Sir.

Sir Pat. Good Mr. Fainlove, your Country?

Wit. Yorkshire, Sir.

Sir Pat. What, not Mr. Fainlove’s Son of Yorkshire, who was knighted in the good days of the late Lord Protector? Off his Hat.

Wit. The same, Sir.—I am in, but how to come off again the Devil take me if I know. Aside.

Sir Pat. He was a Man of admirable parts, believe me, a notable Head piece, a publick-spirited Person, and a good Commonwealths-man, that he was, on my word.—Your Estate, Sir, I pray? Hat off.

Wit. I have not impair’d it, Sir, and I presume you know its value:—For I am a Dog if I do. Aside.

Sir Pat. O’ my Word, ’tis then considerable, Sir; for he left but one Son, and fourteen hundred Pounds per Annum, as I take it: which Son, I hear, is lately come from Geneva, whither he was sent for virtuous Education. I am glad of your Arrival, Sir.—Your Religion, I pray?

Wit. You cannot doubt my Principles, Sir, since educated at Geneva.

Sir Pat. Your Father was a discreet Man: ah, Mr. Fainlove, he and I have seen better days, and wish we cou’d have foreseen these that are arriv’d.

Wit. That he might have turn’d honest in time, he means, before he had purchas’d Bishops Lands.

Sir Pat. Sir, you have no Place, Office, Dependance or Attendance at Court, I hope?

Wit. None, Sir,—Wou’d I had—so you were hang’d. Aside.

L. Fan. Nay, Sir, you may believe, I knew his Capacities and Abilities before I would encourage his Addresses.

Sir Pat. My Lady Fancy, you are a discreet Lady;—Well, I’ll marry her out of hand, to prevent Mr. Lodwick’s hopes: for though the young man may deserve well, that Mother of his I’ll have nothing to do with, since she refused to marry my Nephew. Aside.

Enter Fanny.

Fan. Sir Father, here’s my Lady Knowell, and her Family come to see you.

Sir Pat. How! her whole Family! I am come to keep open House; very fine, her whole Family! she’s Plague enough to mortify any good Christian,—Tell her, my Lady and I am gone forth; tell her any thing to keep her away.

Fan. Shou’d I tell a lye, Sir Father, and to a Lady of her Quality?

Sir Pat. Her Quality and she are a Couple of Impertinent things, which are very troublesome, and not to be indur’d I take it.

Fan. Sir, we shou’d bear with things we do not love sometimes, ’tis a sort of Trial, Sir, a kind of Mortification fit for a good Christian.

Sir Pat. Why, what a notable talking Baggage is this! How came you by this Doctrine?

Fan. I remember, Sir, you preach’d it once to my Sister, when the old Alderman was the Text, whom you exhorted her to marry, but the wicked Creature made ill use on’t.

Sir Pat. Go your way for a prating Huswife, go, and call your Sister hither. Exit Fanny. —Well, I’m resolv’d to leave this Town, nay, and the World too, rather than be tormented thus.

L. Fan. What’s the matter, Dear, thou dost so fret thy self?

Sir Pat. The matter! my House, my House is besieged with Impertinence; the intolerable Lady, Madam Romance, that walking Library of profane Books is come to visit me.

L. Fan. My Lady Knowell?

Sir Pat. Yes, that Lady of eternal Noise and hard Words.

L. Fan. Indeed ’tis with pain I am oblig’d to be civil to her, but I consider her Quality, her Husband was too an Alderman, your Friend, and a great Ay and No Man i’ th’ City, and a painful Promoter of the good Cause.

Sir Pat. But she’s a Fop, my Lady Fancy, and ever was so, an idle conceited she Fop; and has Vanity and Tongue enough to debauch any Nation under civil Government: but, Patience, thou art a Virtue, and Affliction will come.—Ah, I’m very sick, alas, I have not long to dwell amongst the Wicked, Oh, oh.—Roger, is the Doctor come?

Enter Roger.

Rog. No, Sir, but he has sent you a small draught of a Pint, which you are to take, and move upon’t.

Sir Pat. Ah,—Well, I’ll in and take it;—Ah—Sir, I crave your Patience for a moment, for I design you shall see my Daughter, I’ll not make long work on’t, Sir: alas, I would dispose of her before I die: Ah,—I’ll bring her to you, Sir, Ah, Ah.— Goes out with Roger.

L. Fan. He’s always thus when visited, to save Charges,—But how, dear Wittmore, cam’st thou to think of a Name and Country so readily?

Wit. Egad, I was at the height of my Invention, and the Alderman civilly and kindly assisted me with the rest; but how to undeceive him—

L. Fan. Take no care for that, in the mean time you’ll be shreudly hurt to have the way laid open to our Enjoyment, and that by my Husband’s procurement too: But take heed, dear Wittmore, whilst you only design to feign a Courtship, you do it not in good earnest.

Wit. Unkind Creature!

L. Fan. I would not have you endanger her Heart neither: for thou hast Charms will do’t.—Prithee do not put on thy best Looks, nor speak thy softest Language; for if thou dost, thou canst not fail to undo her.

Wit. Well, my pretty Flatterer, to free her Heart and thy Suspicions, I’ll make such aukward Love as shall persuade her, however she chance to like my Person, to think most leudly of my Parts.—But ’tis fit I take my leave, for if Lodwick or Leander see me here, all will be ruin’d; death, I had forgot that.

L. Fan. Leander’s seldom at home, and you must time your Visits: but see Sir Patient’s return’d, and with him your new Mistress.

Enter Sir Patient and Isabella.

Sir Pat. Here’s my Daughter Isabella, Mr. Fainlove: she’ll serve for a Wife, Sir, as times go; but I hope you are none of those.—Sweet-heart, this Gentleman I have design’d you, he’s rich and young, and I am old and sickly, and just going out of the World, and would gladly see thee in safe Hands.

Maun. He has been just going this twenty Years. Aside.

Sir Pat. Therefore I command you to receive the tenders of his Affection.

Enter Fanny.

Fan. Sir Father, my Lady Knowell’s in the Garden.

L. Fan. My Dear, we must go meet her in decency.

Sir Pat. A hard case, a Man cannot be sick in quiet. Exit with L. Fan.

Isab. A Husband, and that not Lodwick! Heaven forbid. Aside.

Wit. Now Foppery assist to make me very ridiculous,—Death, she’s very pretty and inviting; what an insensible Dog shall I be counted to refuse the Enjoyment of so fair, so new a Creature, and who is like to be thrown into my Arms too whether I will or not?—but Conscience and my Vows to the fair Mother: No, I will be honest.—Madam,—as Gad shall save me, I’m the Son of a Whore, if you are not the most Belle Person I ever saw, and if I be not damnably in love with you; but a pox take all tedious Courtship, I have a free-born and generous Spirit; and as I hate being confin’d to dull Cringing, Whining, Flattering, and the Devil and all of Foppery, so when I give an Heart, I’m an Infidel, Madam, if I do not love to do’t frankly and quickly, that thereby I may oblige the beautiful Receiver of my Vows, Protestations, Passions, and Inclination.

Isab. You’re wonderful ingaging, Sir, and I were an Ingrate not to facilitate a return for the Honour you are pleas’d to do me.

Wit. Upon my Reputation, Madam, you’re a civil well-bred Person, you have all the Agreemony of your Sex, la belle Taille, la bonne Mine, & Reparteeé bien, and are tout oure toore, as I’m a Gentleman, fort agreeable.—If this do not please your Lady, and nauseate her, the Devil’s in ’em both for unreasonable Women.— To Maun.

Fan. Gemini, Sister, does the Gentleman conjurer?

Isab. I know not, but I’m sure I never saw a more affected Fop.

Maun. O, a damnable impertinent Fop! ’tis pity, for he’s a proper Gentleman.

Wit. Well, if I do hold out, Egad, I shall be the bravest young Fellow in Christendom: But, Madam, I must kiss your Hand at present, I have some Visits to make, Devoirs to pay, necessities of Gallantry only, no Love Engagements, by Jove, Madam; it is sufficient I have given my Parole to your Father, to do him the honour of my Alliance; and an unnecessary Jealousy will but disoblige, Madam, your Slave.—Death, these Rogues see me, and I’m undone.— Exit.

Enter Lady Fancy, Lady Knowell, Sir Credulous and Lucretia, with other Women and Men, Roger attending.

L. Kno. Isabella, your Servant, Madam: being sensible of the insociable and solitary Life you lead, I have brought my whole Family to wait on your Ladyship, and this my Son in Futuro, to kiss your Hands, I beseech your Ladyship to know him for your humble Servant: my Son and your Nephew, Madam, are coming with the Musick too, we mean to pass the whole Day with your Ladyship:—and see they are here.

Enter Lodwick pulling in Wittmore, Leander with them.

Lod. Nay, since we have met thee so luckily, you must back with us.

Wit. You must excuse me, Gentlemen.

Lod. We’ll shew you two or three fine Women.

Wit. Death, these Rogues will ruin me—but I have Business, Gentlemen, that—

Lean. That must not hinder you from doing Deeds of Charity: we are all come to teeze my Uncle, and you must assist at so good a Work;—come, gad, thou shall make love to my Aunt.—I wou’d he wou’d effectually. Aside.

Lod. Now I think on’t, what the Devil dost thou make here?

Wit. Here!—oh, Sir—a—I have a design upon the Alderman.

Lod. Upon his handsome Wife thou meanest; ah, Rogue!

Wit. Faith, no,—a—’tis to—borrow Mony of him; and as I take it, Gentlemen, you are not fit Persons for a Man of Credit to be seen with, I pass for a graver Man.

Lod. Well, Sir, take your Course—but, egad, he’ll sooner lend thee his Wife than his Money.

Exit Wittmore, they come in.

Lean. Aunt, I have taken the boldness to bring a Gentleman of my Acquaintance to kiss your Ladyship’s Hands.

Lod. Thy Aunt!—death, she’s very handsome.—Madam, your most humble Servant. Kisses the L. Fan.

Lean. Prithee imploy this Fool, that I may have an opportunity to entertain thy Sister.

Lod. Sir Credulous, what, not a Word? not a Compliment? Hah,—be brisk, Man, be gay and witty, talk to the Ladies.

Sir Cred. Talk to ’em! why, what shall I say to ’em?

Lod. Any thing, so it be to little purpose.

Sir Cred. Nay, Sir, let me alone for that matter—but who are they, prithee?

Lod. Why, that’s my Lady Fancy, and that’s her Daughter-in-Law, salute ’em, Man.—

Sir Cred. Fair Lady,—I do protest and vow, you are the most beautiful of all Mothers-in-Law, and the World cannot produce your equal.

Lod. The Rogue has but one method for all Addresses. They laugh.

L. Kno. Oh, absurd! this, Sir, is the beautiful Mother-in-Law. To L. Fan.

Enter Sir Patient.

Sir Cred. Most noble Lady, I cry your mercy. Then, Madam, as the Sun amongst the Stars, or rather as the Moon not in conjunction with the Sun, but in her opposition, when one rises the other sets, or as the Vulgar call it, Full Moon—I say, as the Moon is the most beautiful of all the sparkling Lights, even so are you the most accomplish’d Lady under the Moon—and, Madam, I am extremely sensible of your Charms and celestial Graces. To Isabella.

Sir Pat. Why, this is abominable and insupportable.

Lucr. I find, Sir, you can talk to purpose when you begin once.

Sir Cred. You are pleased to say so, noble Lady: but I must needs say, I am not the worst bred Gentleman for a Country Gentleman that ever you saw; for you must know, incomparable Lady, that I was at the University three Years, and there I learnt my Logick and Rhetorick, whereby I became excellent at Repartee, sweet Lady. As for my Estate, my Father died since I came of Age, and left me a small younger Brother’s Portion, dear Lady.

Lucr. A younger Brother’s, Sir?

Sir Cred. Ha, ha, I know what you would infer from that now: but you must know, delicious Lady, that I am all the Children my Father had.

Lucr. Witty, I protest.

Sir Cred. Nay, Madam, when I set on’t I can be witty.

Lean. Cruel Lucretia, leave ’em, and let us snatch this opportunity to talk of our own Affairs.

Sir Cred. For you must know, bright Lady, though I was pleas’d to railly my self, I have a pretty competent Estate of about 3000l. a Year, and am to marry Madam Lucretia.

L. Fan. You are a happy Man, Sir.

Sir Cred. Not so happy neither, inestimable Lady, for I lost the finest Mare yesterday,—but let that pass: were you never in Devonshire, Madam?

L. Fan. Never, Sir.

Sir Cred. In troth, and that’s pity, sweet Lady; for if you lov’d Hawking, Drinking, and Whoring,—oh, Lord, I mean Hunting; i’faith, there be good Fellows would keep you Company, Madam.

Sir Pat. This is a Plot upon me, a mere Plot.—My Lady Fancy, be tender of my Reputation, Foppery’s catching, and I had as lieve be a Cuckold as Husband to a vain Woman.

Sir Cred. Zoz, and that may be as you say, noble Sir. Lady, pray what Gentleman’s this?—Noble Sir, I am your most humble Servant.

Sir Pat. Oh, cry your mercy, Sir. Walks away.

Sir Cred. No Offence, dear Sir, I protest: ’slife, I believe ’tis the Master of the House, he look’d with such Authority;—why, who cares, let him look as big as the four Winds, East, West, North and South, I care not this,—therefore I beg your Pardon, noble Sir.

Sir Pat. Pray spare your Hat and Legs, Sir, till you come to Court, they are thrown away i’th’ City.

Sir Cred. O Lord! dear Sir, ’tis all one for that, I value not a Leg nor an Arm amongst Friends, I am a Devonshire Knight, Sir, all the World knows, a kind of Country Gentleman, as they say, and am come to Town, to marry my Lady Knowell’s Daughter.

Sir Pat. I’m glad on’t, Sir. Walks away, he follows.

Sir Cred. She’s a deserving Lady, Sir, if I have any Judgment; and I think I understand a Lady, Sir, in the Right Honourable way of Matrimony.

Sir Pat. Well, Sir, that is to say, you have been married before, Sir; and what’s all this to me, good Sir?

Sir Cred. Married before! incomparable, Sir! not so neither, for there’s difference in Men, Sir.

Sir Pat. Right, Sir, for some are Wits, and some are Fools.

Sir Cred. As I hope to breathe, ’twas a saying of my Grandmother’s, who us’d to tell me, Sir, that bought Wit was best. I have brought Money to Town for a small purchase of that kind; for, Sir, I wou’d fain set up for a Country Wit.—Pray, Sir, where live the Poets, for I wou’d fain be acquainted with some of them.

Sir Pat. Sir, I do not know, nor do I care for Wits and Poets. Oh, this will kill me quite; I’ll out of Town immediately.

Sir Cred. But, Sir, I mean your fine railing Bully Wits, that have Vinegar, Gall and Arsenick in ’em, as well as Salt and Flame, and Fire, and the Devil and all.

Sir Pat. Oh, defend me! and what is all this to me, Sir?

Sir Cred. Oh, Sir, they are the very Soul of Entertainment; and, Sir, it is the prettiest sport to hear ’em rail and haul at one another—Zoz, wou’d I were a Poet.

Sir Pat. I wish you were, since you are so fond of being rail’d at.—If I were able to beat him, I would be much angry,—but Patience is a Virtue, and I will into the Country. Aside.

Sir Cred. ’Tis all one case to me, dear Sir,—but I should have the pleasure of railing again, cum privilegio; I love fighting with those pointless Weapons.—Zoz, Sir, you know if we Men of Quality fall out— (for you are a Knight I take it) why, there comes a Challenge upon it, and ten to one some body or other is run through the Gills; why, a Pox on’t, I say, this is very damnable, give me Poet’s Licence.—

L. Fan. Take him off in pity. To Leander.

Lod. Indeed Railing is a Coin only current among the Poets, Sir Credulous.

Sir Pat. Oh blest Deliverance!—what a profane Wretch is here, and what a leud World we live in—Oh London, London, how thou aboundest in Iniquity! thy young Men are debauch’d, thy Virgins defloured, and thy Matrons all turn’d Bauds! My Lady Fancy, this is not Company for you, I take it, let us fly from this vexation of Spirit, on the never-failing Wings of Discretion.— Going to lead Lady Fancy off,—the Lady Knowell speaking to Isabella all this while.

L. Kno. How! marry thee to such a Fop, say’st thou? Oh egregious!—as thou lovest Lodwick, let him not know his Name, it will be dangerous, let me alone to evade it.

Isab. I know his fiery Temper too well to trust him with the secret.

L. Kno. Hark ye, Sir, and do you intend to do this horrible thing?—

Sir Pat. What thing, my Lady Knowell?

L. Kno. Why, to marry your Daughter, Sir.

Sir Pat. Yes, Madam.

L. Kno. To a beastly Town Fool? Monstrum horrendum!

Sir Pat. To any Fool, except a Fool of your Race, of your Generation.—

L. Kno. How! a Fool of my Race, my Generation! I know thou meanest my Son, thou contumelious Knight, who, let me tell thee, shall marry thy Daughter invito te, that is, (to inform thy obtuse Understanding) in spite of thee; yes, shall marry her, though she inherits nothing but thy dull Enthusiasms, which had she been legitimate she had been possest with.

Sir Pat. Oh abominable! you had best say she is none of my Daughter, and that I was a Cuckold.—

L. Kno. If I should, Sir, it would not amount to Scandalum Magnatum: I’ll tell thee more, thy whole Pedigree,—and yet for all this, Lodwick shall marry your Daughter, and yet I’ll have none of your Nephew.

Sir Pat. Shall he so, my Lady Knowell? I shall go near to out-trick your Ladyship, for all your politick Learning. ’Tis past the Canonical Hour, as they call it, or I wou’d marry my Daughter instantly; I profess we ne’er had good days since these Canonical Fopperies came up again, mere Popish Tricks to give our Children time for Disobedience,—the next Justice wou’d ha’ serv’d turn, and have done the Business at any Hour: but Patience is a Virtue—Roger, go after Mr. Fainlove, and tell him I wou’d speak with him instantly. Exit Roger.

L. Kno. Come, come, Ladies, we lose fleeting time, upon my Honour, we do; for, Madam, as I said, I have brought the Fiddles, and design to sacrifice the intire Evening to your Ladyship’s Diversion.

Sir Cred. Incomparable Lady, that was well thought on; Zoz, I long to be jigging.

Sir Pat. Fiddles, good Lord! why, what am I come to?—Madam, I take it, Sir Patient Fancy’s Lady is not a proper Person to make one at immodest Revellings, and profane Masqueradings.

L. Fan. Why; ah, ’tis very true, Sir, but we ought not to offend a Brother that is weak, and consequently, a Sister.

Sir Pat. An excellent Lady this, but she may be corrupted, ah, she may fall; I will therefore without delay, carry her from this wicked Town.

L. Kno. Come, come, Gentlemen, let’s in; Mr. Fancy, you must be my Man;—Sir Credulous, come, and you, sweet Sir, come, Ladies,—Nunc est saltandum, &c.

Exeunt.