_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 3000_l._ 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!_