_Dor._ Sir, you may catch cold by going so soon into the air; you don't look, sir, as if you were perfectly recovered. [ARCHER _talks to_ LADY BOUNTIFUL _in dumb Show_. _Aim._ That I shall never be, madam: my present illness is so rooted, that I must expect to carry it to my grave. _Lady B._ Come, sir, your servant has been telling me that you are 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, Gipsey, bring the cordial water.--Here, sir, my service t'ye----You shall taste my water; 'tis a cordial, I can assure you, and of my own making. _Scrub._ Yes, my lady makes very good water. _Lady B._ Drink it off, sir: [AIMWELL _drinks_.] And how d'ye find yourself now, sir? _Aim._ Somewhat better----though very faint still. _Lady B._ 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. _Mrs. Sul._ Sir, we understand originals, as well as he does pictures, so he may come along. [_Exeunt_ DORINDA _and_ AIMWELL, MRS. SULLEN _and_ ARCHER--SCRUB _sits down_. _Enter_ FOIGARD. _Foig._ '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. _Foig._ Master Scrub, you would put me down in politics, and so I would be speaking with Mrs. Gipsey. _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. _Enter_ GIPSEY. _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, such as you are, that are civilest to strangers. _Gip._ Sirrah, I have a good mind to--Get you out, I say! _Scrub._ I won't! _Gip._ You won't, sauce-box!--Pray, doctor, what is the captain's name that came to your inn last night? _Scrub._ 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. _Gip._ What, sirrah, won't you march? _Scrub._ No, my dear, I won't march--but I'll walk:--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.