_Lory._ Why you have nothing left to take care of. _Young Fash._ Yes, Sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still. _Lory._ Sir, if you cou'd but prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for't. _Young Fash._ Why, if thou canst tell me where to apply myself, I have at present so little Money, and so much Humility about me, I don't know but I may follow a Fool's Advice. _Lory._ Why then, Sir, your Fool advises you to lay aside all Animosity, and apply to Sir _Novelty_, your elder Brother. _Young Fash._ Damn my elder Brother. _Lory._ With all my heart; but get him to redeem your Annuity, however. _Young Fash._ My Annuity! 'Sdeath, he's such a Dog, he would not give his Powder-Puff to redeem my Soul. _Lory._ Look you, Sir, you must wheedle him, or you must starve. _Young Fash._ Look you, Sir, I will neither wheedle him, nor starve. _Lory._ Why? what will you do then? _Young Fash._ I'll go into the Army. _Lory._ You can't take the Oaths; you are a Jacobite. _Young Fash._ Thou may'st as well say I can't take Orders because I'm an Atheist. _Lory._ Sir, I ask your Pardon; I find I did not know the Strength of your Conscience, so well as I did the Weakness of your Purse. _Young Fash._ Methinks, Sir, a Person of your Experience should have known, that the Strength of the Conscience proceeds from the Weakness of the Purse. _Lory._ Sir, I am very glad to find you have a Conscience able to take care of us, let it proceed from what it will; but I desire you'll please to consider, that the Army alone will be but a scanty Maintenance for a Person of your Generosity (at least as Rents now are paid); I shall see you stand in damnable need of some auxiliary Guineas for your _menu Plaisirs_; I will therefore turn Fool once more for your Service, and advise you to go directly to your Brother. _Young Fash._ Art thou then so impregnable a Blockhead, to believe he'll help me with a Farthing? _Lory._ Not if you treat him, _de haut en bas_, as you use to do. _Young Fash._ Why, how would'st have me treat him? _Lory._ Like a Trout, tickle him. _Young Fash._ I can't flatter---- _Lory._ Can you starve? _Young Fash._ Yes---- _Lory._ I can't; Good-by t'ye, Sir-- [_Going._ _Young Fash._ Stay, thou wilt distract me. What would'st thou have me to say to him? _Lory._ Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his Favourites; speak to his Perriwig, his Cravat, his Feather, his Snuff-box, and when you are well with them----desire him to lend you a Thousand Pounds. I'll engage you prosper. _Young Fash._ 'Sdeath and Furies! Why was that Coxcomb thrust into the World before me? O Fortune--Fortune--thou art a Bitch, by Gad---- [_Exeunt._ +SCENE+, _A Dressing-Room_. _Enter Lord ~Foppington~ in his Night-Gown._ _Lord Fop._ Page----