Sir Tun. I wou'd be at you, Sirrah, (if my Hands were not ty'd as a Magistrate) and with these two double Fists beat your Teeth down your Throat, you Dog you.
Lord Fop. And why would'st thou spoil my Face at that rate?
Sir Tun. For your Design to rob me of my Daughter, Villain.
Lord Fop. Rab thee of thy Daughter——Now I do begin to believe I am a-bed and a-sleep, and that all this is but a Dream—If it be, 'twill be an agreeable Surprize enough, to waken by and by; and instead of the impertinent Company of a nasty Country Justice, find my self perhaps in the Arms of a Woman of Quality—[To Sir Tun.] Pr'ythee, old Father, wilt thou give me leave to ask thee one Question?
Sir Tun. I can't tell whether I will or not, till I know what it is.
Lord Fop. Why, then, it is, whether thou didst not write to my Lord Foppington to come down and marry thy Daughter?
Sir Tun. Yes, marry did I, and my Lord Foppington is come down, and shall marry my Daughter before she's a Day older.
Lord Fop. Now give me thy Hand, dear Dad, I thought we should understand one another at last.
Sir Tun. This Fellow's mad——here bind him Hand and Foot.
[They bind him down.