Lord Fop. In love with it, stap my Vitals. Bring your Bill, you shall be paid to-marrow—
Semp. I humbly thank your Honour—
[Exit Semp.
Lord Fop. Hark thee, Shoemaker, these Shoes a'n't ugly, but they don't fit me.
Shoe. My Lord, my thinks they fit you very well.
Lord Fop. They hurt me just below the Instep.
Shoe. [Feeling his Foot.] My Lord, they don't hurt you there.
Lord Fop. I tell thee, they pinch me execrably.
Shoe. My Lord, if they pinch you, I'll be bound to be hang'd, that's all.
Lord Fop. Why, wilt thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel?