Sir Greg. Young Cuningam, a Norfolk Gentleman,
One that has liv'd upon the Fops, my kindred,
Ever since my remembrance; he's a wit indeed,
And we all strive to have him, nay, 'tis certain
Some of our name has gone to Law for him;
Now 'tis my turn to keep him, and indeed
He's plaguy chargeable, as all your wits are,
But I will give him over when I list,
I ha' us'd wits so before.
Old K. I hope when y'are married Sir, you'll shake him off.
Sir Greg. Why what do you take me to be, old Fatheri'Law that shall be, do you think I'll have any of the Wits hang upon me, after I am married once? none of my kindred ever had before me; but where's this Neece? is't a fashion in London, to marry a woman and never see her?
Old K. Excuse the niceness, Sir, that care's your frien[d],
Perhaps had she been seen, you had never seen her;
There's many a spent thing call'd, and't like your honor,
That lies in wait for her, at first snap she's a Countess,
Drawn with six Mares through Fleetstreet, and a Coachman,
Sitting bare-headed to their Flanders buttocks,
This whets him on.
Sir Greg. Pray let's clap up the business, Sir,
I long to see her, are you sure you have her,
Is she not there already[?] Hark, oh hark.
Old K. How now, what's that Sir?
Sir Greg. Every Caroach goes by,
Goes ev'n to th' heart of me.
Old K. I'll have that doubt eas'd, Sir,
Instantly eas'd, Sir Gregory, and now I think on't
A toy comes i' my mind, seeing your friend there,
We'll have a little sport, give you but way to't,
And put a trick upon her, I love Wit pretiously,
You shall not be seen yet, we'll stale your friend first,
If't please but him to stand for the Anti-mask.
Sir Gr. Puh, he shall stand for any thing, why his supper
Lies i'my breeches here, I'll make him fast else.