LORD FOPPINGTON.
Now, Sir Tunbelly, here are witnesses who I believe are not corrupted.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Peace, fellow!—Would your lordship choose to have your guests shown here, or shall they wait till we come to ’em?
TOM FASHION.
I believe, Sir Tunbelly, we had better not have these visitors here yet.—[Aside.] Egad, all must out.
LOVELESS.
Confess, confess; we’ll stand by you. [Aside to TOM FASHION.]
LORD FOPPINGTON.
Nay, Sir Tunbelly, I insist on your calling evidence on both sides—and if I do not prove that fellow an impostor—
TOM FASHION.
Brother, I will save you the trouble, by now confessing that I am not what I have passed myself for.—Sir Tunbelly, I am a gentleman, and I flatter myself a man of character; but’tis with great pride I assure you I am not Lord Foppington.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Ouns!—what’s this?—an impostor?—a cheat?—fire and faggots, sir, if you are not Lord Foppington, who the devil are you?
TOM FASHION.
Sir, the best of my condition is, I am your son-in-law; and the worst of it is, I am brother to that noble peer.
LORD FOPPINGTON.
Impudent to the last, Gad dem me!
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
My son-in-law! not yet, I hope.