_Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] _Madame la Governante_, I presume, hitherto this appears to me to be one of the most extraordinary Families that ever Man of Quality match'd into. Sir _Tun._ What's become of my Lord, Daughter? _Miss._ He's just coming, Sir. _Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] My Lord----What does he mean by that now? _Enter ~Young Fashion~ and ~Lory~._ _Seeing him._] Stap my Vitals, _Tam_, now the Dream's out. _Young Fash._ Is this the Fellow, Sir, that design'd to trick me of your Daughter? Sir _Tun._ This is he, my Lord, how do you like him? Is not he a pretty Fellow to get a Fortune? _Young Fash._ I find by his Dress, he thought your Daughter might be taken with a Beau. _Miss._ O Gemini! Is this a Beau? let me see him again----ha! I find a Beau is no such ugly thing neither. _Young Fash._ I'gad, she'll be in love with him presently; I'll e'en have him sent away to Gaol. [_To_ Lord Fop.] Sir, tho' your Undertaking shews you are a Person of no extraordinary Modesty, I suppose you han't Confidence enough to expect much Favour from me. _Lord Fop._ Strike me dumb, _Tam_, thou art a very impudent Fellow. _Nurse._ Look if the Varlet has not the Frontery to call his Lordship plain _Thomas_. _Bull._ The business is, he wou'd feign himself mad, to avoid going to Gaol. _Lord Fop._ [_Aside._] That must be the Chaplain, by his unfolding of Mysteries. Sir _Tun._ Come, is the Warrant writ? _Cler._ Yes, Sir. Sir _Tun._ Give me the Pen, I'll sign it----So now, Constable, away with him. _Lord Fop._ Hold one Moment----Pray, Gentlemen; my Lord _Foppington_, shall I beg one Word with your Lordship? _Nurse._ O ho, it's my Lord with him now; see how Afflictions will humble Folks. _Miss._ Pray, my Lord, don't let him whisper too close, lest he bite your Ear off. _Lord Fop._. I am not altogether so hungry, as your Ladyship is pleased to imagine. [_To_ Young Fash.] Look you, _Tam_, I am sensible I have not been so kind to you as I ought, but I hope you'll forget what's past, and accept of the five thousand Pounds I offer; thou may'st live in extreme Splendor with it; stap my Vitals. _Young Fash._ It's a much easier matter to prevent a Disease than to cure it; a quarter of that Sum would have secur'd your Mistress; twice as much won't redeem her. [_Leaving him._ Sir _Tun._ Well, what says he? _Young Fash._ Only the Rascal offer'd me a Bribe to let him go. Sir _Tun._ Ay, he shall go, with a Pox to him: Lead on, Constable. _Lord Fop._. One word more, and I've done. Sir _Tun._ Before Gad, thou art an impudent Fellow, to trouble the Court at this rate, after thou art condemned; but speak once for all.