John. Pshaw! leave off your fun, and prepare to ask his pardon.
Rover. Ha, ha, ha! Why, my worthy friend, you are totally wrong in this affair. Upon my word I'm not the person you take me for. [Going.]
John. You don't go, though they've got your name down in the stage coach book, Mr. Thunder.
Rover. Mr. Thunder! stage coach book! [Pauses.] ha, ha, ha! This must be some curious blunder.
John. Oh! my lad, your father, Sir George, will change your note.
Rover. He must give me one first. Sir George! then my father is a knight, it seems; ha, ha, ha! very good, faith! 'pon my honour, I am not the gentleman that you think me.
John. I ought not to think you any gentleman for giving your honour in a falsehood. Oh! them play actors you went amongst have quite spoiled you. I wish only one of 'em would come in my way. I'd teach 'em to bring a gentleman's son tramboozing about the country.
Enter Waiter.
Waiter. Her ladyship's chariot's at the door, and I fancy it's you, sir, the coachman wants.
John. Yes, it's me. I attend your honour.