Charl. How! buy him Breeches! Has Wilding then no Fortune?
Fop. Yes, Faith, Madam, pretty well; so, so, as the Dice run; and now and then he lights upon a Squire, or so, and between fair and foul Play, he makes a shift to pick a pretty Livelihood up.
Charl. How! does his Uncle allow him no present Maintenance?
Fop. No, nor future Hopes neither: Therefore, Madam, I hope you will see the Difference between him and a Man of Parts, that adores you. [Smiling and bowing.
Charl. If I find all this true you tell me, I shall know how to value my self and those that love me.—This may be yet a Rascal.
Enter Maid.
Maid. Mistress, Mr. Wilding’s below. [Exit.
Fop. Below! Oh, Heaven, Madam, do not expose me to his Fury, for being too zealous in your Service. [In great Disorder.
Charl. I will not let him know you told any thing, Sir.
Fop. Death! to be seen here, would expose my Life. [To Clacket.