Lod. Truth, Sir! oh, all that your fair Lady has said, Sir; I must confess her Eyes have wounded me enough with Anger, you need not add more to my Shame.—
L. Fan. Some little comfort yet, that he prov’d indeed to be Isabella’s Lover: Oh, that I should mistake so unluckily! Aside.
Sir Pat. Why, I thought it had been Mr. Fainlove.
L. Fan. By all that’s good, and so did I.
Lod. I know you did, Madam, or you had not been so kind to me: Your Servant, dear Madam.— Going, Sir Patient stays him.
L. Fan. Pray, Sir, let him go; oh, how I abominate the sight of a Man that cou’d be so wicked as he has been!
Sir Pat. Ha,—good Lady, excellent Woman: well, Sir, for my Lady’s sake I’ll let you pass with this, but if I catch you here again, I shall spoil your Intrigues, Sir, marry, shall I, and so rest ye satisfied, Sir.—
Lod. At this time, I am, Sir—Madam, a thousand Blessings on you for this Goodness.
L. Fan. Ten thousand Curses upon thee,—go, boast the Ruin you have made. Aside to Lod.
Sir Pat. Come, no more Anger now, my Lady; the Gentleman’s sorry you see, I’ll marry my pert Huswife to morrow for this.—Maundy, see the Gentleman safe out:—ah, put me to Bed; ah, this Night’s Work will kill me, ah, ah.