_Foss._ My disorder now begins to dissipate: it was only a little flatulency, occasion'd by something hard of digestion. But pray, my dear, did your uncle shut you up so close from the conversation of mankind? _Town._ Sarsnet and Shock were my only company. _Foss._ A very prudent young woman this Sarsnet; she was undoubtedly a good and faithful friend in your solitude. _Town._ When it was her interest; but I made no intimacies with my chamber-maid. _Foss._ But was there no lover offer'd his service to a lady in distress. _Town._ Tongue, be upon thy guard: these questions must be design'd to trap me. [_Aside._] A woman of my condition can't well escape importunity. _Foss._ What was the name of that disagreeable fellow, who, you told me, teaz'd you so? _Town._ His name? I think he had a thousand names. In one letter he was Myrtillo, in another Corydon, Alexis, and I don't know what. Enter SARSNET in haste to her mistress: He runs and embraces her with great earnestness. _Foss._ Dear Mrs. Sarsnet, how am I oblig'd to thee for thy services: thou hast made me happy beyond expression.----I shall find another letter upon her. [_Aside._ [_He gets his hand into Sarsnet's pocket, as searching for a letter._ [_Whenever Sarsnet goes to whisper her mistress, he gets between them._ Enter PTISAN. _Ptis._ Mrs. Colloquintida complains still of a dejection of appetite; she says that the genevre is too cold for her stomach. _Foss._ Give her a quieting draught; but let us not interrupt one another. Good Mr. Ptisan, we are upon business. [_Fossile gets between Sarsnet and Townley._ _Ptis._ The colonel's spitting is quite suppress'd. _Foss._ Give him a quieting draught. Come to morrow, Mr. Ptisan; I can see no body till then. _Ptis._ Lady Varnish finds no benefit of the waters; for the pimple on the tip of her nose still continues. _Foss._ Give her a quieting draught. _Ptis._ Mrs. Prudentia's tympany grows bigger and bigger. What, no pearl cordial! must I quiet them all? _Foss._ Give them all quieting draughts, I say, or blister them all, as you please. Your servant Mr. Ptisan. _Ptis._ But then lady Giddy's vapours. She calls her chamber-maids nymphs; for she fancies herself Diana, and her husband Acteon. _Foss._ I can attend no patient till to morrow. Give her a quieting draught, I say. [_Whenever Fossile goes to conduct Ptisan to the door, Sarsnet and Townley attempt to whisper; Fossile gets between them, and Ptisan takes that opportunity of coming back._ _Ptis._ Then, sir, there is miss Chitty of the boarding-school has taken in no natural sustenance for this week, but a halfpeny worth of charcoal, and one of her mittens. _Foss._ Sarsnet, do you wait on Mr Ptisan to the door. To morrow let my patients know I'll visit round. [_A knocking at the door._