Flirt. Your Honours are pleased,—but methinks Doctor Dunce is a very edifying Person, and a Gentleman, and I pretend to know a Gentleman; for I my self am a Gentlewoman: my Father was a Baronet, but undone in the late Rebellion, and I am fain to keep [an] Ordinary now, Heaven help me.
Tim. Good lack, why, see how Virtue may be bely’d. We heard your Father was a Taylor, but [trusting for old Oliver’s Funeral broke], and so came hither to hide his Head.—But my service to you; what, you are never the worse?
Flirt. Your Honour knows this is a scandalous place, for they say your Honour was but a broken Excise-Man, who spent the King’s Money to buy your Wife fine Petticoats; and at last not worth a Groat, you came over a poor Servant, though now a Justice of the Peace, and of the Honourable Council.
Tim. Adz zoors, if I knew who ’twas said so, I’d sue him for Scandalum Magnatum.
Dull. Hang ’em, Scoundrels, hang ’em, they live upon Scandal, and we are Scandal-proof.—They say too, that I was a Tinker, and running the Country, robb’d a Gentleman’s House there, was put into Newgate, got a Reprieve after Condemnation, and was transported hither; —and that you, Boozer, was a common Pick-pocket, and being often flogg’d at the Carts-tale, afterwards turn’d Evidence, and when the Times grew honest was fain to flie.
Booz. Ay, ay, Major, if Scandal would have broke our Hearts, we had not arriv’d to the Honour of being Privy-Counsellors.—But come, Mrs. Flirt, what, never a Song to entertain us?
Flirt. Yes, and a Singer too newly come ashore.
Tim. Adz zoors, let’s have it then.
Enter a Girl who sings, [they bear the Bob].
Haz. Here, Maid, a Tankard of your Drink.