Luck. Where are you going?
Wit. Anywhere but to hear you damned, which I must, was I to go to your puppet-show.
Luck. Indulge me in this trial; and I assure thee, if it be successless, it shall be the last.
Wit. On that condition I will; but should the torrent run against you, I shall be a fashionable friend and hiss with the rest.
Luck. No, a man who could do so unfashionable and so generous a thing as Mr Witmore did this morning——
Wit. Then I hope you will return it, by never mentioning it to me more. I will now to the pit.
Luck. And I behind the scenes.
SCENE IX.—LUCKLESS, HARRIOT.
Luck. Dear Harriot!
Har. I was going to the playhouse to look after you—I am frightened out of my wits—I have left my mother at home with the strangest sort of man, who is inquiring after you: he has raised a mob before the door by the oddity of his appearance; his dress is like nothing I ever saw, and he talks of kings, and Bantam, and the strangest stuff.