Sir Pat. Some comfort that too, the Brethren of the Chain cannot laugh at me.
Sir Cred. A very pleasant old Fellow this: faith, I cou’d be very merry with him now, but that I am damnable sad.—Madam, I shall desire to lay the Saddle on the right Horse. To L. Kno.
L. Kno. What mean you, Sir?
Sir Cred. Only, Madam, if I were as some Men are, I should not be as I am.
L. Kno. It may be so, Sir.
Sir Cred. I say no more, but matters are not carried so swimmingly, but I can dive into the meaning on’t. Sir Patient talks this while to Lodwick.
L. Kno. I hate this hypothetical way of arguing, answer me categorically.
Sir Cred. Hypothetical and Categorical! what does she mean now? Aside. —Madam, in plain English, I am made a [John-a-Nokes] of, Jack-hold-my-staff, a Merry Andrew Doctor, to give Leander time to marry your Daughter; and ’twas therefore I was hoisted up in the Basket;—but as the play says, ’tis well ’tis no worse: I’d rather lose my Mistress than my Life.
Sir Pat. But how came this Rascal Turboon to admit you?
Lod. For the Lucre of our Fees, Sir, which was his recompence.