Lord Fop. A Pax of these Bumkinly People, will they open the Gate, or do they desire I shou'd grow at their Moat-side like a Willow? [To the Porter.] Hey, Fellow—Pr'ythee do me the Favour, in as few words as thou canst find to express thyself, to tell me whether thy Master will admit me or not, that I may turn about my Coach, and be gone.
Por. Here's my Master himself now at hand, he's of Age, he'll give you his Answer.
Enter Sir Tunbelly, and his Servants.
Sir Tun. My most noble Lord, I crave your pardon for making your Honour wait so long; but my Orders to my servants have been to admit no body without my Knowledge, for fear of some Attempts upon my Daughter, the Times being full of Plots and Roguery.
Lord Fop. Much Caution, I must confess, is a Sign of great Wisdom: But, stap my Vitals, I have got a Cold enough to destroy a Porter—He, hem—
Sir Tun. I am very sorry for't, indeed, my Lord; but if your Lordship please to walk in, we'll help you to some brown Sugar-Candy. My Lord, I'll shew you the way.
Lord Fop. Sir, I follow you with pleasure.
[Exeunt.
[As Lord Foppington's Servants go to follow him in, they clap the Door against La Varole.