[Exit Mrs. Racket.
Sir Geo. I was going to follow her, and now I dare not. How can I be such a fool as to be govern'd by the fear of that ridicule which I despise!
[Exit Sir George.
Enter Doricourt, meeting a Mask.
Doric. Ha! my Lord!—I thought you had been engaged at Westminster on this important night.
Mask. So I am—I slipt out as soon as Lord Trope got upon his legs; I can badinage here an hour or two, and be back again before he is down.——There's a fine Figure! I'll address her.
Enter Letitia.
Charity, fair Lady! Charity for a poor Pilgrim.
Letit. Charity! If you mean my prayers, Heaven grant thee Wit, Pilgrim.
Mask. That blessing would do from a Devotee: from you I ask other charities;—such charities as Beauty should bestow—soft Looks—sweet Words—and kind Wishes.