[Exit, with his Equipage.
Young Fash. Hell and Furies, is this to be borne?
Lory. Faith, Sir, I cou'd almost have given him a knock o' th' Pate myself.
Young Fash. 'Tis enough, I will now shew you the excess of my Passion by being very calm: Come, Lory, lay your Loggerhead to mine, and in cool Blood let us contrive his Destruction.
Lory. Here comes a Head, Sir, would contrive it better than us both, if he wou'd but join in the Confederacy.
Enter Coupler.
Young Fash. By this Light, old Coupler alive still! Why, how now, Matchmaker, art thou here still to plague the World with Matrimony? You old Bawd, how have you the Impudence to be hobbling out of your Grave twenty Years after you are rotten!
Coup. When you begin to rot, Sirrah, you'll go off like a Pippin, one Winter will send you to the Devil. What Mischief brings you home again? Ha! You young lascivious Rogue, you: Let me put my Hand into your Bosom, Sirrah.
Young Fash. Stand off, old Sodom.
Coup. Nay, pr'ythee now don't be so coy.