Smug. A man at his devotion so near the court—I'm very glad, boy, that you keep your sanctity untainted in this infectious place; the very air of this park is heathenish, and every man's breath I meet scents of atheism.
Vizard. Surely, sir, some great concern must bring you to this unsanctified end of the town.
Smug. A very unsanctified concern, truly, cousin.
Vizard. What is it?
Smug. A lawsuit, boy—Shall I tell you?—My ship, the Swan, is newly arrived from St. Sebastian, laden with Portugal wines: now the impudent rogue of a tide-waiter has the face to affirm it is French wines in Spanish casks, and has indicted me upon the statute——Oh, conscience! conscience! these tide-waiters and surveyors plague us more than the war—Ay, there's another plague of the nation—
Enter Colonel Standard.
A red coat and cockade.
Vizard. Colonel Standard, I'm your humble servant.
Colonel S. May be not, sir.
Vizard. Why so?