Rag. Julia, who’s that? my Lady Fulbank, Sir?
Gay. Peace, Sirrah—and call—a—no—Pox on’t, come back—and yet—yes—call my fulsome Landlady.
[Exit Rag.
Sir Cautious knows me not by Name or Person.
And I will to this Wedding, I’m sure of seeing Julia there.
And what may come of that—but here’s old Nasty coming.
I smell her up—hah, my dear Landlady.
_Enter Rag and _Landlady.
Quite out of breath—a Chair there for my Landlady.
Rag. Here’s ne’er a one, Sir.
Land. More of your Money and less of your Civility, good Mr. Wasteall.
Gay. Dear Landlady—
Land. Dear me no Dears, Sir, but let me have my Money—Eight Weeks Rent last Friday; besides Taverns, Ale-houses, Chandlers, Landresses’ Scores, and ready Money out of my Purse; you know it, Sir.