Page. A rude, rough, hectoring Swash, an’t please your Highness; nay, and two or three times, Gad forgive me, he swore too.
L. Lam. It must be he. [Aside.
Page. His Habit was something bad and Cavalierish—I believe ’twas some poor petitioning, begging Tory, who having been sequester’d, wou’d press your Highness for some Favour.
L. Lam. Yes, it must be he—ah, foolish Creature! and can he hope Relief, and be a villanous Cavalier? out upon ’em, poor Wretches—you may [admit him tho’], for I long to hear how one of those things talk.
Gill. Oh, most strangely, Madam—an please your Highness, [I shou’d say].
Enter Loveless.
L. Lam. ’Tis he, I’ll swear, Gilliflower, [these Heroicks are punctual men]—how now, your Bus’ness with us, Fellow?
Lov. My Bus’ness, Madam?—
L. Lam. Hast thou ever a Petition to us?
Lov. A Petition, Madam?—Sure this put—on Greatness is to amuse her Servants, or has she forgot that she invited me? or indeed forgot me?— [Aside.