Young Fash. [Taking Miss by the Hand.] I do intend to extort your Mistress from you, and that I hope will prove one.
Lord Fop. I ever thaught Newgate or Bedlam wou'd be his Fartune, and naw his Fate's decided. Pr'ythee, Loveless, dost knaw of ever a Mad Doctor hard by?
Young Fash. There's one at your Elbow will cure you presently.
To Bull. Pr'ythee, Doctor, take him in hand quickly.
Lord Fop. Shall I beg the Favour of you, Sir, to pull your Fingers out of my Wife's Hand?
Young Fash. His Wife! Look you there; now I hope you are all satisfy'd he's mad.
Lord Fop. Naw is it not impassible far me to penetrate what Species of Fally it is thou art driving at?
Sir Tun. Here, here, here, let me beat out his Brains, and that will decide all.
Lord Fop. No, pray, Sir, hold, we'll destray him presently according to Law.