Sir Tim. O lack, Sir Charles, no Healths for me, I pray.
Sir Char. Hark ye, leave that cozening, canting, sanctify’d Sneer of yours, and drink ye me like a sober loyal Magistrate, all those Healths you are behind, from his sacred Majesty, whom God long preserve, with the rest of the Royal Family, even down to this wicked Widow, whom Heaven soon convert from her leud designs upon my Body. [Pulling Sir Tim. to kneel.
Sir Anth. A rare Boy! he shall have all my Estate.
Sir Tim. How, the Widow a leud design upon his Body! Nay, then I am jealous. [Aside.
L. Gal. I a leud design upon your Body; for what, I wonder?
Sir Char. Why, for villanous Matrimony.
L. Gal. Who, I?
Sir Char. Who, you! yes, you.
Why are those Eyes drest in inviting Love?
Those soft bewitching Smiles, those rising Breasts,
And all those Charms that make you so adorable,
Is’t not to draw Fools into Matrimony?
Sir Anth. How’s that, how’s that! Charles at his Adorables and
Charms! He must have t’other Health, he’ll fall to his old Dog-trot again
else. Come, come, every man his Glass; Sir Timothy, you are six behind:
Come, come, Charles, name ‘em all.
[Each take a Glass, and force Sir Tim. on his knees.