Gibbet. At your service, sir.
Aimwell. What regiment, may I be so bold?
Gibbet. A marching regiment, an old corps.
Aimwell [aside]. Very old, if your coat be regimental. [Aloud] You have served abroad, sir?
Gibbet. Yes, sir, in the plantations,’twas my lot to be sent into the worst service; I would have quitted it indeed, but a man of honour, you know—Besides, ’twas for the good of my country that I should be abroad: anything for the good of one’s country—I’m a Roman for that.
Aimwell. You found the West Indies very hot, sir?
Gibbet. Ay, sir, too hot for me.
Aimwell. Pray, sir, han’t I seen your face at Will’s coffee-house?
Gibbet. Yes, sir, and at White’s too.
Aimwell. And where is your company now, captain?