Wild. Pox of this lady Fatima! Raffle thrice together! I am out of patience.
Mask. [To him.] Sir, I beseech you, if you will lose, to lose en cavalier.
Wild. Tol de ra, tol de ra—pox and curse—tol de ra. What the devil did I mean, to play with this brunette of Afric? [The Ladies rise.] Will you be gone already, ladies?
Lop. You have won our money; but, however, we are acknowledging to you for the honour of your company.
[Jac. makes a sign of farewell to Wild.
Wild. Farewell, lady Fatima.
[Exeunt all but Wild. and Mask.
Mask. All the company took notice of your concernment.
Wild. 'Tis no matter; I do not love to fret inwardly, as your silent losers do, and, in the mean time, be ready to choak for want of vent.
Mask. Pray consider your condition a little; a younger brother, in a foreign country, living at a high rate, your money lost, and without hope of a supply. Now curse, if you think good.
Wild. No, now I will laugh at myself most unmercifully; for my condition is so ridiculous, that 'tis past cursing. The pleasantest part of the adventure is, that I have promised three hundred pistoles to Jacintha: But there is no remedy, they are now fair Fatima's.
Mask. Fatima!