Sir Mart. Give him not the hearing, sir; for, if I may believe my friends, they have flattered me with an opinion of more——
Warn. Of more than their flattery can make good, sir; 'tis true he tells you, they have flattered him; but, in my conscience, he is the most down-right simple-natured creature in the world.
Sir Mart. I shall consider you hereafter, sirrah; but I am sure in all companies I pass for a virtuoso.
Mood. Virtuoso! What's that too? is not virtue enough without O so?
Sir Mart. You have reason, sir.
Mood. There he is again too; the town phrase; a great compliment I wis! you have reason, sir; that is, you are no beast, sir.
Warn. A word in private, sir; you mistake this old man; he loves neither painting, music, nor poetry; yet recover yourself, if you have any brains.
[Aside to him.
Sir Mart. Say you so? I'll bring all about again, I warrant you.—I beg your pardon a thousand times, sir; I vow to gad I am not master of any of those perfections; for, in fine, sir, I am wholly ignorant of painting, music, and poetry; only some rude escapes; but, in fine, they are such, that, in fine, sir——
Warn. This is worse than all the rest.
[Aside.
Mood. By coxbones, one word more of all this gibberish, and old Madge shall fly about your ears: What is this, in fine, he keeps such a coil with too?