The Old Debauchees. A Comedy

by Henry Fielding

Old Lar. Oh! Ho!—We'll make that Matter very easy: he shall have no Fear of Purgatory; for I'll send him to the Devil this Moment. Come, Sir, draw, draw—

Jourd. Draw what, Sir!

Old Lar. Draw your Sword, Sir.

Jourd. Alas, Sir, I have long since done with Swords, I have broke my Sword long since.

Old Lar. Then I shall break your Head, you old Rogue.

Jourd. Heyday——you are mad; what's the Matter?

Old Lar. Oh! no matter, no matter, you have used me ill, and you are a Son of a Whore, that's all.

Jourd. I wou'd not, Mr. Laroon, have my Conscience accuse me of using you ill: I would not have preferred any earthly Match to your Son, but if Heaven requires her—

Old Lar. I shall run mad.

Jourd. I hope my Daughter has Grace enough to make an Atonement for her Father's Sins.