L. Youth. How, Teresia! what, robb’d me of my intended Husband? Oh, undone! undone! Falls into a Chair.
Sir Row. And hast thou, after all, served me such a Rogue’s Trick, thou ungracious Varlet? What, cuckold thine own Father!
Geo. Oh, do not frown, I cannot bear your Anger! Here will I hang for ever till you Pardon me. Clasps his Knees.
Sir Row. Look—look—now cannot I be angry with the good-natur’d young Rogue. Weeps.
Well, George—But hark ye, Sirrah, this is a damn’d Trick of yours.
Geo. Sir, I found my Youth was fitter for her than your Age, and you’ll be as fond of a Grand-Child of my begetting as you would of a Son of another Man’s perhaps.
Sir Row. Thou’rt in the Right on’t.
Sir Mer. Ha! Is Monsieur Lejere then my Brother George?
Geo. Sir, Here’s another Couple wants your Pardon; my Brother Merlin, and my Lady Diana.
L. Blun. Diana! What, Sir Harry Modish’s Mistress?