LORD FOPPINGTON.
Then thou art willing to receive it anyhow, strike me speechless! But these are damned times to give money in; taxes are so great, repairs so exorbitant, tenants such rogues, and bouquets so dear, that the devil take me I’m reduced to that extremity in my cash, I have been forced to retrench in that one article of sweet pawder, till I have brought it down to five guineas a maunth—now judge, Tam, whether I can spare you five paunds.
TOM FASHION.
If you can’t I must starve, that’s all.—[Aside.] Damn him!
LORD FOPPINGTON.
All I can say is, you should have been a better husband.
TOM FASHION.
Ouns! if you can’t live upon ten thousand a year, how do you think I should do’t upon two hundred?
LORD FOPPINGTON.
Don’t be in a passion, Tam, for passion is the most unbecoming thing in the waurld—to the face. Look you, I don’t love to say anything to you to make you melancholy, but upon this occasion I must take leave to put you in mind that a running horse does require more attendance than a coach-horse. Nature has made some difference twixt you and me.
TOM FASHION.
Yes—she has made you older.—[Aside.] Plague take her.
LORD FOPPINGTON.
That is not all, Tam.
TOM FASHION.
Why, what is there else?
LORD FOPPINGTON.
[Looks first on himself and then on his brother.] Ask the ladies.
TOM FASHION.
Why, thou essence-bottle, thou musk-cat! dost thou then think thou hast any advantage over me but what Fortune has given thee?