Sr. Rog. Zounds, let her come in.
Omn. Ay, ay, produce her, produce her.
Sr. Rog. Lets have her. lets have her! of all things let us have a naked Lady— If she be— handsome Pasquin I’ll engage your Farce runs a hundred Nights— I’ll hold a Hogshead of Claret to a Gill, she pleases more than the Ostrich.
Sr. Et: Why, Mr. Pasquin, you will frighten all the Ladies out of the Boxes. I see several of them now that are ready to faint at the bare Idea of a naked Object.
Pas. You need not fear Sr. Eternal, there shall be nothing exhibited by me offensive to decency or Modesty! Pray lett the Lady walk in, she will be the best Apology for the Expression.
Enter. Lady Lucy Loveit in a Venetian mask, dress’d in a very short Pet: en l’air[C] Slippers, no Stays, her Neck bare, in a Compleat Morning Dress of a very high-bread Woman of Quality.
Ly. Lucy. Iack Hydra (running up to him) do you know me? Miss Brilliant Your Servant— what you are come to see the New Farce? you never miss a first Night I think— well what is to become of poor Pasquin, damn’d I Suppose.
Brill. Inevitably Madam unless the Spirit of your Character saves him.
Ly. Lucy. O your Servant Madam— Miss Giggle shall wee see you at the Masquerade to Night?
Gigg. Certainly— who can She be? She is very elegantly dress’d.