Sir Pat. Yes, Madam.
L. Kno. To a beastly Town Fool? Monstrum horrendum!
Sir Pat. To any Fool, except a Fool of your Race, of your Generation.—
L. Kno. How! a Fool of my Race, my Generation! I know thou meanest my Son, thou contumelious Knight, who, let me tell thee, shall marry thy Daughter invito te, that is, (to inform thy obtuse Understanding) in spite of thee; yes, shall marry her, though she inherits nothing but thy dull Enthusiasms, which had she been legitimate she had been possest with.
Sir Pat. Oh abominable! you had best say she is none of my Daughter, and that I was a Cuckold.—
L. Kno. If I should, Sir, it would not amount to Scandalum Magnatum: I’ll tell thee more, thy whole Pedigree,—and yet for all this, Lodwick shall marry your Daughter, and yet I’ll have none of your Nephew.
Sir Pat. Shall he so, my Lady Knowell? I shall go near to out-trick your Ladyship, for all your politick Learning. ’Tis past the Canonical Hour, as they call it, or I wou’d marry my Daughter instantly; I profess we ne’er had good days since these Canonical Fopperies came up again, mere Popish Tricks to give our Children time for Disobedience,—the next Justice wou’d ha’ serv’d turn, and have done the Business at any Hour: but Patience is a Virtue—Roger, go after Mr. Fainlove, and tell him I wou’d speak with him instantly. [Exit Roger.]
L. Kno. Come, come, Ladies, we lose fleeting time, upon my Honour, we do; for, Madam, as I said, I have brought the Fiddles, and design to sacrifice the intire Evening to your Ladyship’s Diversion.
Sir Cred. Incomparable Lady, that was well thought on; Zoz, I long to be jigging.
Sir Pat. Fiddles, good Lord! why, what am I come to?—Madam, I take it, Sir Patient Fancy’s Lady is not a proper Person to make one at immodest Revellings, and profane Masqueradings.