Enter La Varole.
Me Lord, de Shoemaker, de Taylor, de Hosier, de Sempstress, de Peru, be all ready, if your Lordship please to dress.
Lord Fop. 'Tis well, admit 'em.
La Var. Hey, Messieurs, entrez.
Enter Taylor, &c.
Lord Fop. So, Gentlemen, I hope you have all taken pains to shew yourselves Masters in your Professions.
Tayl. I think I may presume to say, Sir——
La Var. My Lord——you Clawn you.
Tayl. Why, is he made a Lord?——My Lord, I ask your Lordship's Pardon; my Lord, I hope, my Lord, your Lordship will please to own, I have brought your Lordship as accomplish'd a Suit of Clothes, as ever Peer of England trode the Stage in, my Lord: Will your Lordship please to try 'em now?