Sir Row. This is the lusty Lad, my Son George, I told your Ladyship of.
L. Youth. Cot so, cot so, is it so, Sir? I ask your Pardon, Sir. Mr. Twang, take a survey of him, and give me your Opinion of his Person and his Parts.
Twang. Truly, Madam, the young Man is of a comely Personage and Lineaments.
L. Youth. Of what, Sir?—Lord, I have such a Cold. Coughs.
Geo. Which she got when the Picts went naked.
L. Blun. Madam, you have a Power over Sir Rowland; pray intreat him to take his Son, Sir Merlin, into Grace again. To Teresia.
Ter. That, Sir, you must grant me; pray let me know the Quarrel. Sir Rowland seems to tell.
Geo. By Heaven, she’s fair as the first ruddy Streaks of opening Day. Looking on Teresia.
Young as the budding Rose, soft as a Cupid, but never felt his Dart, she is so full of Life and Gaiety. Pray, Madam, who is that Lady? To Lady Blun.
L. Blun. The Grandchild of your Mistress, and your Mother that must be.