A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

TOM FASHION.
Why, faith, Lory, he had nearly posed me.

LORY.
Well, sir, we are arrived at Scarborough, not worth a guinea! I hope you’ll own yourself a happy man—you have outlived all your cares.

TOM FASHION.
How so, sir?

LORY.
Why, you have nothing left to take care of.

TOM FASHION.
Yes, sirrah, I have myself and you to take care of still.

LORY.
Sir, if you could prevail with somebody else to do that for you, I fancy we might both fare the better for it. But now, sir, for my Lord Foppington, your elder brother.

TOM FASHION.
Damn my eldest brother.

LORY.
With all my heart; but get him to redeem your annuity, however. Look you, sir; you must wheedle him, or you must starve.

TOM FASHION.
Look you, sir; I would neither wheedle him, nor starve.

LORY.
Why, what will you do, then?