Sir Pat. Why, Sir, for my Health.
Lean. I believe you are not sick, Sir, unless they make you so.
Sir Pat. They make me so!—Do you hear him, Madam—Am not I sick, Sir? not I, Sir Patient Fancy, sick?
L. Kno. He’ll destroy my Design.—How, Mr. Fancy, not Sir Patient sick? or must he be incinerated before you’ll credit it?
Sir Pat. Ay, Madam, I want but dying to undeceive him, and yet I am not sick!
Lean. Sir, I love your Life, and wou’d not have you die with Fancy and Conceit.—
Sir Pat. Fancy and Conceit! do but observe him, Madam,—what do you mean, Sir, by Fancy and Conceit?
L. Kno. He’ll ruin all;—why, Sir,—he means—
Sir Pat. Nay, let him alone, let him alone, (with your Ladyship’s pardon)—Come, Sir,—Fancy and Conceit, I take it, was the Question in debate.—
Lean. I cannot prove this to you, Sir, by force of Argument, but by Demonstration I will, if you will banish all your cozening Quacks, and take my wholesome Advice.