Prince. So, now let my Soul take Air—
L. Blun. What pity ’tis so fine a Gentleman shou’d be thus.
Mir. You must be bringing home your Fops to me, and see what comes of it. As she passes out.
Sir Morg. Fops! I thought him no more a Fop, than I do my own natural Cousin here. Ex. Mir. in Scorn.
Prince. Where am I? The Page has whispered him.
Sir Mer. Why, here, Sir, here, at [Sir Morgan Blunder’s] Lodging in Lincolns-Inn-Fields.
Prince. That’s well, he has told me—Where have I been this long half hour, and more?
Sir Mer. Nay, the Lord knows.
Prince. I fancy’d I saw a lovely Woman.
Sir Mer. Fancy’d—why, so you did, Man, my Lady Mirtilla Blunder.