Lod. Why, Sir, talking very much, and meaning just nothing; be full of Words without any connection, sense or conclusion. Come in with me, and I’ll instruct you farther.
Sir Cred. Pshaw, is that all? say no more on’t, I’ll do’t, let me alone for Bantering—But this same damn’d Rival—
Lod. He’s now watching for you without and means [to souse] upon you; but trust to me for your security; come away, I have your Habit ready. Goes out. —This day shall make thee mine, dear Isabella.— Exit Lodwick and Wittmore.
Enter Sir Patient, Leander, and Roger.
Sir Pat. Marry Lucretia! is there no Woman in the City fit for you, but the Daughter of the most notorious fantastical Lady within the Walls?
Lean. Yet that fantastical Lady you thought fit for a Wife for me, Sir.
Sir Pat. Yes, Sir, Foppery with Money had been something; but a poor Fop, hang’t, ’tis abominable.
Lean. Pray hear me, Sir.
Sir Pat. Sirrah, Sirrah, you’re a Jackanapes, ingenuously you are, Sir: marry Lucretia, quoth he?
Lean. If it were so, Sir, where’s her fault?