Sir Robert. What, is this part of his French Manners? Neither to come home to Dinner, nor send word?
Sideboard. I wish some Accident has not happen'd, Sir. (A knocking at the Door)
Sir Robert. Perhaps this is he—
Sideboard. Walk in Gentlemen.
(Enter WILDFIRE and FOXCHASE)
Wildfire. Sir Robert, your most obedient—we have made bold to come and take share of a Dinner with your Son.
Sir Robert. Gentlemen, you're heartily welcome—but I don't know what's become of him.
Wildfire. He'll be here immediately, Sir, with a very splendid Retinue—he has got the Mob after his Chariot all the way from the Park.
(Enter ROGER)
Roger. Here he comes, but in such a Pickle—the French Parlevous picked a quarrel with the People and there's the new Paper vis-a-vis all demolish'd. There's Lady Betty all towzled, and the Mounsieurs beat to Stockfish—here comes the Squire.