Volume Iv Part 24 (2/2)

Sir _Cred._ What, am I not at the Carrier's yet?--Oh _Lodwick_, thy Hand, I'm almost poison'd--This Basket wants airing extremely, it smells like an old Lady's Wedding Gown of my acquaintance.--But what's the danger past, Man?

_Lod._ No, but there's a necessity of your being for some time disguis'd to act a Physician.

Sir _Cred._ How! a Physician! that I can easily do, for I understand Simples.

_Lod._ That's not material, so you can but banter well, be very grave, and put on a starch'd Countenance.

Sir _Cred._ Banter! what's that, Man?

_Lod._ Why, Sir, talking very much, and meaning just nothing; be full of Words without any connection, sense or conclusion. Come in with me, and I'll instruct you farther.

Sir _Cred._ Pshaw, is that all? say no more on't, I'll do't, let me alone for Bantering--But this same d.a.m.n'd Rival--

_Lod._ He's now watching for you without and means to souse upon you; but trust to me for your security; come away, I have your Habit ready.

[Goes out.] --This day shall make thee mine, dear _Isabella_.--

[Exit _Lodwick_ and _Wittmore_.

Enter Sir _Patient_, _Leander_, and _Roger_.

Sir _Pat._ Marry _Lucretia_! is there no Woman in the City fit for you, but the Daughter of the most notorious fantastical Lady within the Walls?

_Lean._ Yet that fantastical Lady you thought fit for a Wife for me, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Yes, Sir, Foppery with Money had been something; but a poor Fop, hang't, 'tis abominable.

_Lean._ Pray hear me, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ Sirrah, Sirrah, you're a Jackanapes, ingenuously you are, Sir: marry _Lucretia_, quoth he?

_Lean._ If it were so, Sir, where's her fault?

Sir _Pat._ Why, Mr. c.o.xcomb, all over. Did I with so much care endeavour to marry thee to the Mother, only to give thee opportunity with _Lucretia_?

Enter Lady _Knowell_.

_Lean._ This Anger shews your great Concern for me.

Sir _Pat._ For my Name I am, but 'twere no matter if thou wert hang'd, and thou deservest it for thy leud cavaliering Opinion.--They say thou art a Papist too, or at least a Church-of-_England_ Man, and I profess there's not a Pin to chuse.--Marry _Lucretia_!

L. _Kno._ Were I querimonious, I shou'd resent the Affront this _Balatroon_ has offer'd me.

_Isab._ Dear Madam, for my sake do not anger him now. [Aside to her.

L. _Kno._ Upon my Honour, you are very free with my Daughter, Sir.

Sir _Pat._ How! she here! now for a Peal from her eternal Clapper; I had rather be confin'd to an Iron-mill.

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