Wit. Death, these Rogues will ruin me—but I have Business, Gentlemen, that—
Lean. That must not hinder you from doing Deeds of Charity: we are all come to teeze my Uncle, and you must assist at so good a Work;—come, gad, thou shall make love to my Aunt.—I wou’d he wou’d effectually. Aside.
Lod. Now I think on’t, what the Devil dost thou make here?
Wit. Here!—oh, Sir—a—I have a design upon the Alderman.
Lod. Upon his handsome Wife thou meanest; ah, Rogue!
Wit. Faith, no,—a—’tis to—borrow Mony of him; and as I take it, Gentlemen, you are not fit Persons for a Man of Credit to be seen with, I pass for a graver Man.
Lod. Well, Sir, take your Course—but, egad, he’ll sooner lend thee his Wife than his Money.
Exit Wittmore, they come in.
Lean. Aunt, I have taken the boldness to bring a Gentleman of my Acquaintance to kiss your Ladyship’s Hands.
Lod. Thy Aunt!—death, she’s very handsome.—Madam, your most humble Servant. Kisses the L. Fan.