I fear she’s one of the new Race of Quality:
—But be she Devil, I must love that Form. [Aside.
L. Lam. Hard Fate of Greatness, we so highly elevated
Are more expos’d to Censure than the little ones,
By being forc’d to speak our Passions first.
—Is my Coach ready?
Page. It waits your Honour.
L. Lam. I give you leave to visit me—ask for the General’s Lady, if my Title be not by that time alter’d.
Lov. Pistols and Daggers to my Heart—’tis so.
L. Lam. Adieu, Sir.