_Tayl._ My Lord, if it had been an Inch lower, it would not have held your Lordship's Pocket-Handkerchief. _Lord Fop._ Rat my Packet-Handkerchief! Have not I a Page to carry it? You may make him a Packet up to his Chin a purpose for it; but I will not have mine come so near my Face. _Tayl._ 'Tis not for me to dispute your Lordship's Fancy. _Young Fash. to Lory._] His Lordship! _Lory_, did you observe that? _Lo._ Yes, Sir; I always thought 'twould end there. Now, I hope, you'll have a little more Respect for him. _Young Fash._ Respect! Damn him for a Coxcomb; now has he ruin'd his Estate to buy a Title, that he may be a Fool of the first Rate: But let's accost him---- _To Lord Fop._] Brother, I'm your Humble Servant. _Lord Fop._ O Lard, _Tam_; I did not expect you in _England_: Brother, I am glad to see you---- _Turning to his Taylor._] Look you, Sir. I shall never be reconcil'd to this nauseous Packet; therefore pray get me another Suit with all manner of Expedition, for this is my eternal Aversion. Mrs. _Callicoe_, are not you of my Mind? _Semp._ O, directly, my Lord, it can never be too low-- _Lord Fop._ You are passitively in the right on't, for the Packet becomes no part of the Body but the Knee. _Semp._ I hope your Lordship is pleas'd with your Steenkirk. _Lord Fop._ In love with it, stap my Vitals. Bring your Bill, you shall be paid to-marrow-- _Semp._ I humbly thank your Honour-- [_Exit Semp._ _Lord Fop._ Hark thee, Shoemaker, these Shoes a'n't ugly, but they don't fit me. _Shoe._ My Lord, my thinks they fit you very well. _Lord Fop._ They hurt me just below the Instep. _Shoe._ [_Feeling his Foot._] My Lord, they don't hurt you there. _Lord Fop._ I tell thee, they pinch me execrably. _Shoe._ My Lord, if they pinch you, I'll be bound to be hang'd, that's all. _Lord Fop._ Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel? _Shoe._ Your Lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but that Shoe does not hurt you--I think I understand my Trade---- _Lord Fop._ Now by all that's great and powerful, thou art an incomprehensible Coxcomb; but thou makest good Shoes, and so I'll bear with thee. _Shoe._ My Lord, I have work'd for half the People of Quality in Town these Twenty Years; and 'tis very hard I should not know when a Shoe hurts, and when it don't. _Lord Fop._ Well, pr'ythee, begone about thy Business. [_Exit Shoe._ [_To the Hosier._] Mr. _Mend Legs_, a Word with you; the Calves of the Stockings are thicken'd a little too much. They make my Legs look like a Chairman's---- _Mend._ My Lord, my thinks they look mighty well.