Volume Iv Part 5 (2/2)
[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 d.a.m.nable 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._ d.a.m.n the humorous c.o.xcomb 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_.
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