[Aside.
Louisa. So, you glory in your ignorance—in your vices?
Ennui. I've an idea—I can't understand—[Forgetting himself.]—vices! Oh:—ay, damme, to be sure; [Recollecting himself.] you must be wicked, or you can't be visited—singularity is every thing,—every man must get a character, and I'll tell you how I first got mine:—I pretended to intrigue with my friend's wife,—paragraph'd myself in the newspapers,—got caricatured in the print-shops—made the story believed,—was abused by every body,—noticed for my gallantry by every body—and at length visited by every body—I was, damme!—I'm curst sleepy,—yaw—aw!
[Yawns aside.
Louisa. Incredible!—but if singularity is your system, perhaps being virtuous would make you as particular as any thing.
Ennui. Vastly well!—'gad, you're like me, a wit, and don't know it. [Taking out his Watch.] How goes the enemy?—more than half the day over!—tol de rol lol! [Humming a tune.] I'm as happy as if I was at a fire, or a general riot.—Come to my arms, thou angel—thou—[As he goes to embrace her, Lord Scratch enters—he embraces him.] Ah,—Scratch!—my friend Scratch!—sit down, my old boy—sit down,—we've settled every thing.
[Forces him into a Chair, and sits by him.]
Lord. Why,—what is all this?
Ennui. She's to intrigue, and you and I are to go halves in the damages—some rich old Nabob—we'll draw him into crim. con.—bring an action directly, and a ten thousand pound verdict at least—eh, damme!—