Sir Pat. Affairs! what Affairs?
L. Fan. Why, your Daughter’s Marriage, Sir:—and—Sir,—not, Sir, but that I desire of all things in the World the Blessing of being alone with you, far from the Noise and leud Disorders of this filthy Town.
Sir Pat. Most excellent Woman! ah, thou art too good for sinful Man, and I will therefore remove thee from the Temptations of it.—Maundy, my Clothes—Mr. Fainlove, I will leave Isabella with my Lady Fidget, my Sister, who shall to morrow see you married, to prevent farther Inconveniences.
L. Fan. What shall I do?
Maun. Madam, I have a Design, which considering his Spleen, must this time do our Business,—’tis— Whispers.
L. Fan. I like it well, about it instantly, hah— Ex. Maundy.
Alas, Sir, what ails your Face? good Heaven,—look, Roger.
Sir Pat. My Face! why, what ails my Face? hah!
L. Fan. See, Mr. Fainlove, oh, look on my Dear, is he not strangely alter’d?
Wit. Most wonderfully.