Dull. Drunk last Night, and sick to Day! how comes that about, Mr. Justice? you use to bear your Brandy well enough.
Tim. Ay, your [shier] Brandy I’ll grant you; but I was drunk at Col. Downright’s with your high Burgundy Claret.
Dull. A Pox of that [paulter] Liquor, your English French Wine, I wonder how the Gentlemen do to drink it.
Tim. Ay, so do I, ’tis for want of a little Virginia Breeding: how much more like a Gentleman ’tis, to drink as we do, brave edifying Punch and Brandy.—But they say, the young Noblemen now, and Sparks in England, begin to reform, and take it for their Mornings draught, get drunk by Noon, and despise the lousy Juice of the Grape.
Enter Mrs. Flirt, [and Nell, with drink, pipes, etc.]
Dull. Come, Landlady, come, you are so taken up with Parson Dunce, that your old Friends can’t drink a Dram with you.—What, no smutty Catch now, no Gibe or Joke to make the Punch go down merrily, and advance Trading? Nay, they say, Gad forgive ye, you never miss going to Church when Mr. Dunce preaches,—but here’s to you. Drinks.
Flirt. Lords, your Honours are pleas’d to be merry— but my service to your Honour. Drinks.
Haz. Honours! who the Devil have we here? some of the wise Council at least, I’d sooner [take] ’em for [Hoggerds]. Aside.
Flirt. Say what you please of the Doctor, but I’ll swear he’s a fine Gentleman, he makes the prettiest Sonnets, nay, and sings ’em himself to the rarest Tunes.
Tim. Nay, the Man will serve for both Soul and Body; for they say he was a Farrier in England, but breaking, turn’d Life-guard-man, and his Horse dying, he counterfeited a Deputation from the Bishop, and came over here a substantial Orthodox. But come, where stands the Cup? Here, my service to you, Major.