Sir _Pat._ _Roger_, is Prayer ready, _Roger_? _Rog._ Truly nay, Sir, for Mr. _Gogle_ has taken too much of the Creature this Morning, and is not in case, Sir. Sir _Pat._ How mean you, Sirrah, that Mr. _Gogle_ is overtaken with Drink? _Rog._ Nay, Sir, he hath over-eaten himself at Breakfast only. Sir _Pat._ Alas, and that’s soon done, for he hath a sickly Stomach as well as I, poor Man. Where is _Bartholomew_ the Clerk? he must hold forth then to day. _Rog._ Verily he is also disabled: for going forth last Night by your Commandment to smite the Wicked, he received a blow over the _Pericranium_.-- Sir _Pat._ Why, how now, Sirrah, Latin! the Language of the Beast! hah--and what then, Sir? _Rog._ Which Blow, I doubt, Sir, hath spoil’d both his Praying and his Eating. Sir _Pat._ Hah! What a Family’s here? no Prayer to day! Enter _Nurse_ and _Fanny_. _Nurs._ Nay verily it shall all out, I will be no more the dark Lanthorn to the deeds of Darkness. Sir _Pat._ What’s the matter here? [Exit _Roger_. _Nurs._ Sir, this young Sinner has long been privy to all the daily and nightly meetings between Mr. _Lodwick_ and _Isabella_; and just now I took her tying a Letter to a String in the Garden, which he drew up to his Window: and I have born it till my Conscience will bear it no longer. Sir _Pat._ Hah, so young a Baud!--Tell me, Minion--private meeting! tell me truth, I charge ye, when? where? how? and how often? Oh, she’s debauch’d!--her Reputation ruin’d, and she’ll need a double Portion. Come, tell me truth, for this little Finger here has told me all. _Fan._ Oh Geminy, Sir, then that little Finger’s the hougesest great Lyer as ever was. Sir _Pat._ Huzzy, huzzy--I will have thee whip’d most unmercifully: Nurse, fetch me the Rod. _Fan._ Oh, pardon me, Sir, this one time, and I’ll tell all. [Kneels. --Sir--I have seen him in the Garden, but not very often. Sir _Pat._ Often! Oh, my Family’s dishonoured. Tell me truly what he us’d to do there, or I will have thee whipt without cessation. Oh, I’m in a cold Sweat; there’s my fine Maid, was he with her long? _Fan._ Long enough. Sir _Pat._ Long enough!--oh, ‘tis so, long enough,--for what, hah? my dainty Miss, tell me, and didst thou leave ‘em? _Fan._ They us’d to send me to gather Flowers to make Nosegays, Sir. Sir _Pat._ Ah, Demonstration; ‘tis evident if they were left alone that they were naught, I know’t.--And where were they the while? in the close Arbour?--Ay, ay--I will have it cut down, it is the Pent-house of Iniquity, the very Coverlid of Sin. _Fan._ No, Sir, they sat on the Primrose Bank. Sir _Pat._ What, did they sit all the while, or stand--or--lie--or--oh, how was’t? _Fan._ They only sat indeed, Sir Father. Sir _Pat._ And thou didst not hear a Word they said all the while? _Fan._ Yes, I did, Sir, and the Man talk’d a great deal of this, and of that, and of t’other, and all the while threw Jessamine in her Bosom. Sir _Pat._ Well said, and did he nothing else?