[Pauses whilst Sir Harry walks, singing.
Sir H. Pshaw! thou'rt longer studying for a new mistress, than a waiter would be in drawing fifty corks.
Vizard. I design you good wine; you'll therefore bear a little expectation.
Sir H. Ha! say'st thou, dear Vizard?
Vizard. A girl of nineteen, Sir Harry.
Sir H. Now nineteen thousand blessings light on thee.
Vizard. Pretty and witty.
Sir H. Ay, ay, but her name, Vizard!
Vizard. Her name! yes—she has the softest, whitest hand that e'er was made of flesh and blood; her lips so balmy sweet——
Sir H. Well, well, but where shall I find her, man?