Sir Chr. How came you to know him?
Med. Ha! ha! Well, that's curious enough too. So you have been talking here, without finding out each other.
Sir Chr. No, no; I have found him out with a vengeance.
Med. Not you. Why this is the dear boy. It's my nephew; that is, your son-in-law, that is to be. It's Inkle!
Sir Chr. It's a lie; and you're a purblind old booby,—and this dear boy is a damn'd scoundrel.
Med. Hey-day! what's the meaning of this? One was mad before, and he has bit the other, I suppose.
Sir Chr. But here comes the dear boy—the true boy—the jolly boy, piping hot from church, with my daughter.
Enter Campley, Narcissa, and Patty.
Med. Campley!
Sir Chr. Who? Campley?—It's no such thing.