Sir Pat. Why, Mr. Coxcomb, all over. Did I with so much care endeavour to marry thee to the Mother, only to give thee opportunity with Lucretia?
Enter Lady Knowell.
Lean. This Anger shews your great Concern for me.
Sir Pat. For my Name I am, but ’twere no matter if thou wert hang’d, and thou deservest it for thy leud cavaliering Opinion.—They say thou art a Papist too, or at least a Church-of-England Man, and I profess there’s not a Pin to chuse.—Marry Lucretia!
L. Kno. Were I querimonious, I shou’d resent the Affront [this Balatroon] has offer’d me.
Isab. Dear Madam, for my sake do not anger him now. Aside to her.
L. Kno. Upon my Honour, you are very free with my Daughter, Sir.
Sir Pat. How! she here! now for a Peal from her eternal Clapper; I had rather be confin’d to an Iron-mill.
L. Kno. Sure Lucretia merits a Husband of as much worth as your Nephew, Sir.
Sir Pat. A better, Madam, for he’s the leudest Hector in the Town; he has all the Vices of Youth, Whoring, Swearing, Drinking, Damning, Fighting,—and a thousand more, numberless and nameless.