L. Fan. Well, Sir, since you have seen him, I beseech you for my sake, Dear, pardon him this one time. Coakesing him.
Sir Pat. Thou beg his Pardon! Oh, was ever heard such Impudence!
L. Fan. Indeed, my Love, he is to blame; but we that are judicious should bear with the Frailities of Youth.
Sir Pat. Oh insupportable Audacity!—what canst thou say, false Woman?
L. Fan. Truly not much in his Defence, my Dear.
Isab. Oh cunning Devil!—
L. Fan. But, Sir, to hide the weakness of your Daughter, I have a little strain’d my Modesty.—
Isab. Heavens! what says she?—
L. Fan. ’Tis Isabella’s Lover, Sir, whom I’ve conceal’d.
Lod. A good hint to save both our Credits.