Vizard. Find her!—but then her foot, Sir Harry! she dances to a miracle.
Sir H. Pr'ythee, don't distract me.
Vizard. Well then, you must know, that this lady is the greatest beauty in town; her name's Angelica: she that passes for her mother is a private bawd, and called the Lady Darling: she goes for a baronet's lady, (no disparagement to your honour, Sir Harry) I assure you.
Sir H. Pshaw, hang my honour! but what street, what house?
Vizard. Not so fast, Sir Harry; you must have my passport for your admittance, and you'll find my recommendation in a line or two will procure you very civil entertainment; I suppose twenty or thirty pieces handsomely placed, will gain the point.
Sir H. Thou dearest friend to a man in necessity! Here, sirrah, order my carriage about to St. James's; I'll walk across the park. [To his Servant.
Enter Clincher Senior.
Clinch. Here, sirrah, order my coach about to St. James's, I'll walk across the park too—Mr. Vizard, your most devoted—Sir, [To Wildair.] I admire the mode of your shoulder-knot; methinks it hangs very emphatically, and carries an air of travel in it: your sword-knot too is most ornamentally modish, and bears a foreign mien. Gentlemen, my brother is just arrived in town; so that, being upon the wing to kiss his hands, I hope you'll pardon this abrupt departure of, gentlemen, your most devoted, and most faithful humble servant. [Exit.
Sir H. Pr'ythee, dost know him?
Vizard. Know him! why, it is Clincher, who was apprentice to my uncle Smuggler, the merchant in the city.