Calis. Good Gad! That you shou'd be in Love with an Old Man!
Mar. He is so with me; and you'll grant 'tis a harder Task to Re-kindle dying Coals, than set Tinder on a Blaze.
Mr. Wellf. I guess the Spark. But why then is your Play at this House?
Mar. I thought you had known 't had been an Opera; and such an Opera! But I wont talk on't, 'till you see it. Mrs. Wellfed, is not your Lodgings often fill'd with the Cabals of Poets and Judges?
Mr. Wellf. Faith, Madam, I'll not tell a Lye for the matter; they never do me the Honour.
Mar. I thought so, when I ask'd her. [Aside to Calista.
Mr. Wellf. My Brats are forc'd to appear of my own raising.
Mar. Nay, Mrs. Wellfed, they don't come to others to assist, but admire.
Pat. Madam, Mr. Aw'dwell and Mr. Praiseall are below.
Mar. Dear Ladies, step in with me, whilst I put on my Mantua: Bring 'em up, and then come to me.——What does that Aw'dwell here again to Day? Did not I do him the Honour to go abroad with him yesterday? Sure that's enough for his Trifle of a Scarf. Come Ladies. That Ramping God shall learn of me to Love. [Exeunt.