"FOP. That's a bite, I am sure—he'd give a joint of his little finger to be as well with her as I am. [Aside.] But here she comes! Charles, stand by me. Must not a man be a vain coxcomb now, to think this creature follow'd one?
"SIR CHARLES. Nothing so plain, my lord.
"FOP. Flattering devil."
Enter LADY BETTY.
"LADY BETTY. Pshah, my Lord Foppington! Pr'ythee don't play the fool now, but give me my snuff-box. Sir Charles, help me to take it from him.
"SIR CHARLES. You know I hate trouble, madame.
"LADY BETTY. Pooh! you'll make me stay still; prayers are half over now.
"FOP. If you'll promise me not to go to church, I'll give it you.
"LADY BETTY. I'll promise nothing at all, for positively I will have it. [Struggling with him.
"FOP. Then comparatively I won't part with it, ha! ha!