Fan. I remember, Sir, you preach’d it once to my Sister, when the old Alderman was the Text, whom you exhorted her to marry, but the wicked Creature made ill use on’t.
Sir Pat. Go your way for a prating Huswife, go, and call your Sister hither. Exit Fanny. —Well, I’m resolv’d to leave this Town, nay, and the World too, rather than be tormented thus.
L. Fan. What’s the matter, Dear, thou dost so fret thy self?
Sir Pat. The matter! my House, my House is besieged with Impertinence; the intolerable Lady, Madam Romance, that walking Library of profane Books is come to visit me.
L. Fan. My Lady Knowell?
Sir Pat. Yes, that Lady of eternal Noise and hard Words.
L. Fan. Indeed ’tis with pain I am oblig’d to be civil to her, but I consider her Quality, her Husband was too an Alderman, your Friend, and a great [Ay and No Man] i’ th’ City, and a painful Promoter of the good Cause.
Sir Pat. But she’s a Fop, my Lady Fancy, and ever was so, an idle conceited she Fop; and has Vanity and Tongue enough to debauch any Nation under civil Government: but, Patience, thou art a Virtue, and Affliction will come.—Ah, I’m very sick, alas, I have not long to dwell amongst the Wicked, Oh, oh.—Roger, is the Doctor come?
Enter Roger.
Rog. No, Sir, but he has sent you a small draught of a Pint, which you are to take, and move upon’t.