Sir Pat. With all my heart, Sir, since my Case is so desperate, a few hours were not too much. Ex. Sir Pat.
Sir Cred. Now, Sir, my service to you. Drinks.
Enter Fanny.
Fan. Oh living heart! what do all these Men do in our House? sure they are a sort of new-fashion’d Conventiclers:—I’ll hear ’em preach. They drink round the while.
Amst. Sir, my service to you, and to your good Lady, Sir.
Leyd. Again to you, Sir, not forgetting your Daughters: they are fine Women, Sir, let Scandal do its worst. Drinks.
Turb. To our better trading, Sir.
Brun. Faith, it goes but badly on, I had the weekly Bill, and ’twas a very thin Mortality; some of the better sort die indeed, that have good round Fees to give.
Turb. Verily, I have not kill’d above my five or six this Week.
Brun. How, Sir, kill’d?