L. Fan. You are a happy Man, Sir.
Sir Cred. Not so happy neither, inestimable Lady, for I lost the finest Mare yesterday,—but let that pass: were you never in Devonshire, Madam?
L. Fan. Never, Sir.
Sir Cred. In troth, and that’s pity, sweet Lady; for if you lov’d Hawking, Drinking, and Whoring,—oh, Lord, I mean Hunting; i’faith, there be good Fellows would keep you Company, Madam.
Sir Pat. This is a Plot upon me, a mere Plot.—My Lady Fancy, be tender of my Reputation, Foppery’s catching, and I had as lieve be a Cuckold as Husband to a vain Woman.
Sir Cred. Zoz, and that may be as you say, noble Sir. Lady, pray what Gentleman’s this?—Noble Sir, I am your most humble Servant.
Sir Pat. Oh, cry your mercy, Sir. Walks away.
Sir Cred. No Offence, dear Sir, I protest: ’slife, I believe ’tis the Master of the House, he look’d with such Authority;—why, who cares, let him look as big as the four Winds, East, West, North and South, I care not this,—therefore I beg your Pardon, noble Sir.
Sir Pat. Pray spare your Hat and Legs, Sir, till you come to Court, they are thrown away i’th’ City.
Sir Cred. O Lord! dear Sir, ’tis all one for that, I value not a Leg nor an Arm amongst Friends, I am a Devonshire Knight, Sir, all the World knows, a kind of Country Gentleman, as they say, and am come to Town, to marry my Lady Knowell’s Daughter.