Lady Betty. No, Madamoiselle, I must run away—Lord it's six o'clock—I shall be too late. I have an appointment there—Signora Sorethroatini is to take notice of me, after her first Song.
Harriet. That will certainly do your Ladyship a great deal of Honor.
Lady Betty. Assurement, it will—there was my Lady Scatterbrain making Interest for it—but she can't have a Curts'y 'till Tuesday—and who wou'd choose to have it on a Tuesday—there will be nobody there to see it. But it will be charming tonight, when at the End of her Song she drops me a Salute—then I rise up and I return it; then all the Eyes are directed to me, and the whisper runs along the Rows, "Did you not see the Sorethroatini do the Honors to Lady Betty Mockmode?"
(Without) Jarnie! Les Anglois sont les Diables.
Jack. Hey! What's the meaning of all this?
(Enter French Servants and throw themselves
on their Knees one with his Nose bloody, another without a Wig)
St. Louis. Monsieur, pour l'amour de Dieu!
Bourguignon. Ayez pitié de moi Monsieur.
La Fleur. Ah mon Dieu! Partagez nous Monsieur.
Jack. How comes this?