Scrub. Ladies, this is the strange gentleman's servant, that you saw at church to-day: I understood he came from London, and so I invited him to the cellar, that he might show me the newest flourish in whetting my knives.
Dor. And I hope you have made much of him.
Arch. Oh, yes, madam, but the strength of your ladyship's liquor is a little too potent for the constitution of your humble servant.
Mrs. Sul. What, then you don't usually drink ale?
Arch. No, madam, my constant drink is tea, or a little wine and water; 'tis prescribed me by the physician, for a remedy against the spleen—
Scrub. O la! O la!—A footman have the spleen!
Mrs. Sul. I thought that distemper had been only proper to people of quality.
Arch. Madam, like all other fashions, it wears out, and so descends to their servants; though in a great many of us, I believe it proceeds from some melancholy particles in the blood, occasioned by the stagnation of wages.
Dor. How affectedly the fellow talks——How long, pray, have you served your present master?
Arch. Not long; my life has been mostly spent in the service of the ladies.