Lory. I can't; Good-by t'ye, Sir—
[Going.
Young Fash. Stay, thou wilt distract me. What would'st thou have me to say to him?
Lory. Say nothing to him, apply yourself to his Favourites; speak to his Perriwig, his Cravat, his Feather, his Snuff-box, and when you are well with them——desire him to lend you a Thousand Pounds. I'll engage you prosper.
Young Fash. 'Sdeath and Furies! Why was that Coxcomb thrust into the World before me? O Fortune—Fortune—thou art a Bitch, by Gad——
[Exeunt.
SCENE, A Dressing-Room.
Enter Lord Foppington in his Night-Gown.
Lord Fop. Page——
[Enter Page.