A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

TOM FASHION.
You’ll soon learn, my dear.

LOVELESS.
But Lord Foppington—

LORD FOPPINGTON.
Sir!

LOVELESS.
Sir! I was not addressing myself to you, sir!—Pray who is this gentleman? He seems rather in a singular predicament—

COLONEL TOWNLY.
For so well-dressed a person, a little oddly circumstanced, indeed.

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Ha! ha! ha!—So, these are your friends and your guests, ha, my adventurer?

LORD FOPPINGTON.
I am struck dumb with their impudence, and cannot positively say whether I shall ever speak again or not.

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Why, sir, this modest gentleman wanted to pass himself upon me as Lord Foppington, and carry off my daughter.

LOVELESS.
A likely plot to succeed, truly, ha! ha!

LORD FOPPINGTON.
As Gad shall judge me, Loveless, I did not expect this from thee. Come, pr’ythee confess the joke; tell Sir Tunbelly that I am the real Lord Foppington, who yesterday made love to thy wife; was honoured by her with a slap on the face, and afterwards pinked through the body by thee.