Young Fash. Keep your Hands to yourself, you old Dog you, or I'll wring your Nose off.
Coup. Hast thou then been a Year in Italy, and brought home a Fool at last? By my Conscience, the young Fellows of this Age profit no more by their going abroad, than they do by their going to Church. Sirrah, Sirrah, if you are not hang'd before you come to my Years, you'll know a Cock from a Hen. But come, I'm still a Friend to thy Person, tho' I have a Contempt of thy Understanding; and therefore I would willingly know thy Condition, that I may see whether thou standest in need of my Assistance; for Widows swarm, my Boy, the Town's infested with 'em.
Young Fash. I stand in need of any body's Assistance, that will help me to cut my elder Brother's Throat, without the Risque of being hang'd for him.
Coup. I'gad, Sirrah, I cou'd help thee to do him almost as good a turn, without the danger of being burnt in the Hand for't.
Young Fash. Say'st thou so, old Satan? Shew me but that, and my Soul is thine.
Coup. Pox o'thy Soul! give me thy warm Body, Sirrah; I shall have a substantial Title to't when I tell thee my Project.
Young Fash. Out with it then, dear Dad, and take possession as soon as thou wilt.
Coup. Sayest thou so, my Hephestion? Why, then, thus lies the Scene: but hold; who's that? If we are heard we are undone.
Young Fash. What have you forgot Lory?