Lord. No, sir, and if you don't tell this instant——
Flor. Then I'll tell you, [Slaps him on the back.] it's myself, sir! my own charming self!—I have searched the world over, and I don't find any thing I like half so well.
[Walks up the stage.
Lord. I won't disgrace myself,—I won't lower the dignity of peerage, by chastising a commoner;—else, you Prince of Butterflies——come, my lady——look ye, sir—I intend to be handed down to posterity; and, while you are being lampooned in ballads and newspapers, I mean to cut a figure in the History of England:—so, come along, my lady—in the History of England, you coxcomb!
[Exeunt Lord and Lady.
Flor. If the face is the picture of the mind, that intended aunt of mine is a great hypocrite, and the story I heard of the poet proves it.—But now for a frolic—'gad it's very strange I could never reform, and become a serious thinking being—but what's the use of thinking?
Reason stays till we call, and then not oft is near,
But honest instinct comes a volunteer!—
[Exit.
SCENE II.