_Lean._ Yes, by demonstration too. Sir _Pat._ Why, thou saucy Varlet, Sirrah, Sirrah, thank my Lady here I do not cudgel thee.--Well, I will settle the rest of my Estate upon her to morrow, I will, Sir; and thank God you have what you have, Sir, make much on’t. _Lean._ Pardon me, Sir, ‘tis not my single Opinion, but the whole City takes notice on’t: that I tell it you, Sir, is the Effect of my Duty, not Interest. Pray give me leave to prove this to you, Sir. Sir _Pat._ What, you are at your Demonstration again?--come--let’s hear. _Lean._ Why, Sir, give her frequent opportunities,--and then surprize her;--or, by pretending to settle all upon her,--give her your Power, and see if she do not turn you out of Doors;--or--by feigning you are sick to death--or indeed by dying. Sir _Pat._ I thank you, Sir,--this indeed is Demonstration, I take it. [Pulls off his Hat. _Lean._ I mean but feigning, Sir; and be a witness your self of her Sorrow, or Contempt. Sir _Pat._ [Pauses.] Hah--hum,--why, ingenuously, this may be a very pretty Project.--Well, Sir, suppose I follow your advice?--nay, I profess I will do so, not to try her Faith, but to have the pleasure to hear her conjugal Lamentations, feel her Tears bedew my Face, and her sweet Mouth kissing my Cheeks a thousand times; verily a wonderful Comfort.--And then, Sir, what becomes of your Demonstration?-- Enter _Wittmore_ with the Ring. Oh--Mr. _Fainlove_, come, come, you’re tardy, let’s away to Church. Enter _Roger_. _Rog._ Sir, here is Doctor _Turboon_, and those other Doctors your Worship expected. Enter Lady _Fancy_ and _Bartholomew_. Sir _Pat._ The Doctors already!--well, bring ‘em up; come, Madam, we have waited for your Ladyship,--bring up the Doctors, _Roger_. [Exit _Roger_. L. _Fan._ _Wittmore_, I have now brought that design to a happy Conclusion, for which I married this formal Ass; I’ll tell thee more anon,--we are observ’d. L. _Kno._ Oh, _Lodwick’s_ come! Enter _Lodwick_, Monsieur _Turboon_, Fat Doctor, _Amsterdam_, _Leyden_, Sir _Credulous_. Sir _Pat._ Doctor _Turboon_, your Servant, I expected you not this two hours. _Turb._ Nor had ee com, Sir, bot for dese wordy Gentlemen, whos Affairs wode not permit dem to come at your hoar. Sir _Pat._ Are they English pray? _Turb._ Dis is, Sir,-- [Pointing to _Lod._] an admirable Physician, and a rare Astrologer.--Dis speaks good _English_, bot a _Collender_ born. [Points to Sir _Cred._ Sir _Cred._ What a pox, does the Fellow call me a Cullender? _Lod._ He means a _High-Dutch-man_ of the Town of _Collen_, Sir. Sir _Pat._ Sir, I have heard of your Fame.--Doctor, pray entertain these Gentlemen till my return, I’ll be with you presently. _Lod._ Sir, I hope you go not forth to day. [Gazing on his Face. Sir _Pat._ Not far, Sir.