Sir Pat. I’m glad on’t, Sir. Walks away, he follows.
Sir Cred. She’s a deserving Lady, Sir, if I have any Judgment; and I think I understand a Lady, Sir, in the Right Honourable way of Matrimony.
Sir Pat. Well, Sir, that is to say, you have been married before, Sir; and what’s all this to me, good Sir?
Sir Cred. Married before! incomparable, Sir! not so neither, for there’s difference in Men, Sir.
Sir Pat. Right, Sir, for some are Wits, and some are Fools.
Sir Cred. As I hope to breathe, ’twas a saying of my Grandmother’s, who us’d to tell me, Sir, that bought Wit was best. I have brought Money to Town for a small purchase of that kind; for, Sir, I wou’d fain set up for a Country Wit.—Pray, Sir, where live the Poets, for I wou’d fain be acquainted with some of them.
Sir Pat. Sir, I do not know, nor do I care for Wits and Poets. Oh, this will kill me quite; I’ll out of Town immediately.
Sir Cred. But, Sir, I mean your fine railing Bully Wits, that have Vinegar, Gall and Arsenick in ’em, as well as Salt and Flame, and Fire, and the Devil and all.
Sir Pat. Oh, defend me! and what is all this to me, Sir?
Sir Cred. Oh, Sir, they are the very Soul of Entertainment; and, Sir, it is the prettiest sport to hear ’em rail and haul at one another—Zoz, wou’d I were a Poet.