_Mrs. Sul_. Don't despair, sir; I have known several in your distemper shake it off with a fortnight's physic. {209} _Lady Boun_. Come, sir, your servant has been telling me that you're apt to relapse if you go into the air: your good manners shan't get the better of ours-- you shall sit down again, sir. Come, sir, we don't mind ceremonies in the country--here, sir, my service t'ye.--You shall taste my water; 'tis a cordial I can assure you, and of my own making-- drink it off, sir.--[_Aimwell drinks_.] And how d'ye find yourself now, sir? _Aim_. Somewhat better--though very faint still. {219} _Lady Boun_. Ay, ay, people are always faint after these fits.--Come, girls, you shall show the gentleman the house.--'Tis but an old family building, sir; but you had better walk about, and cool by degrees, than venture immediately into the air. You 'll find some tolerable pictures.--Dorinda, show the gentleman the way. I must go to the poor woman below. [_Exit_. _Dor_. This way, sir. _Aim_. Ladies, shall I beg leave for my servant to wait on you, for he understands pictures very well? {231} _Mrs. Sul_. Sir, we understand originals as well as he does pictures, so he may come along. [_Exeunt all but Scrub, Aimwell leading Dorinda. Enter Foigard_. _Foi_. Save you, Master Scrub! _Scrub_. Sir, I won't be saved your way--I hate a priest, I abhor the French, and I defy the devil. Sir, I 'm a bold Briton, and will spill the last drop of my blood to keep out popery and slavery. _Foi_. Master Scrub, you would put me down in politics, and so I would be speaking with Mrs. Shipsy. {240} _Scrub_. Good Mr. Priest, you can't speak with her; she's sick, sir, she's gone abroad, sir, she's--dead two months ago, sir. _Re-enter Gipsy_. _Gip_. How now, impudence! how dare you talk so saucily to the doctor?--Pray, sir, don't take it ill; for the common people of England are not so civil to strangers, as-- _Scrub_. You lie! you lie! 'tis the common people that are civilest to strangers. _Gip_. Sirrah, I have a good mind to--get you out I say. _Scrub_. I won't. . {251} _Gip_. You won't, sauce-box!--Pray, doctor, what, is the captain's name that came to your inn last night? _Scrub_. [Aside.] The captain! ah, the devil, there she hampers me again; the captain has me on one side, and the priest on t' other: so between the gown and the sword, I have a fine time on't.--But, _Cedunt arma toga_. [_Going_. _Gip_. What, sirrah, won't you march? _Scrub_. No, my dear, I won't march--but I'll walk.-- [_Aside_.] And I 'll make bold to listen a little too. [_Goes behind the side-scene and listens_. _Gip_. Indeed, doctor, the Count has been barbarously treated, that's the truth on't. {263}