Fan. Then he said, Well if I must be gone, let me leave thee with this hearty Curse, A Pox take thee all over for making me love thee so confoundedly.

Sir Pat. Oh horrible!

Fan. —Oh, I cou’d live here for ever,—that was when he kist her—her Hand only. Are you not a damn’d Woman for making so fond a Puppy of me?

Sir Pat. Oh unheard-of Wickedness!

Fan. Wou’d the Devil had thee, and all thy Family, e’er I had seen thy cursed Face.

Sir Pat. Oh, I’ll hear no more, I’ll hear no more!—why, what a blasphemous Wretch is this?

Fan. Pray, Sir Father, do not tell my Sister of this, she’ll be horribly angry with me.

Sir Pat. No, no, get you gone.—Oh, I am Heart-sick—I’ll up and consult with my Lady what’s fit to be done in this Affair. Oh, never was the like heard of.—

Goes out, [Fanny and Nurse go] the other way.

[Scene IV.] The Lady Fancy’s Bed-Chamber; she’s discover’d with Wittmore in disorder. A Table, Sword, and Hat.