Lucr. Sure he’s too much a Gentleman to be a Scholar.
Isab. I vow, Madam, he spells worse than a Country Farrier when he prescribes a Drench.
Lean. Then, Madam, I write the leudest hand.
Isab. Worse than a Politician or a States-man.
Lucr. He cannot read it himself when he has done.
Lean. Not a word on’t, Madam.
L. Kno. This agreement to abuse him, I understand— Aside.
—Well, then, Mr. Fancy, let’s to my Cabinet—your hand.
Lean. Now shall I be teas’d unmercifully,—I’ll wait on you, Madam. Exit Lady.
—Find some means to redeem me, or I shall be mad. Exit Lean.