La Nu. So had you need. I should have guest the first by your pertness; for your saucy thing of Quality acts the Man as impudently at fourteen, as another at thirty: nor is there any thing so hateful as to hear it talk of Love, Women and Drinking; nay, to see it marry too at that Age, and get itself a Play-fellow in its Son and Heir.
Aria. This Satyr on my Youth shall never put me out of countenance, or make me think you wish me one day older; and egad, I’ll warrant [them that tries me], shall find me ne’er an hour too young.
La Nu. You mistake my Humour, I hate the Person of a fair conceited Boy.
Enter Willmore drest, singing.
Will. Vole, vole dans cette Cage,
Petite Oyseau dans cet bocage.
—How now, Fool, where’s the Doctor?
Shift. A little busy, Sir.
Will. Call him, I am in haste, and come to cheapen the Price of Monster.
Shift. As how, Sir?