SERJEANT.
Nay, if the sheriff return "non inventus"—
Sir LUKE.
A pox o' your law, you make me lose sight of my story. One morning, a Welch coach-maker came with his bill to my Lord, whose name was unluckily Loyd. My Lord had the man up. You are call'd, I think, Mr. Loyd?—At your Lordship's service, my Lord.——What, Loyd with an L?—It was with an L indeed, my Lord.—Because in your part of the world I have heard that Loyd and Floyd were synonymous, the very same names.—Very often indeed, my lord.—But you always spell your's with an L?—Always.—That, Mr. Loyd, is a little unlucky; for you must know I am now paying my debts alphabetically, and in four or five years you might have come in with an F; but I am afraid I can give you no hopes for your L.—Ha, ha, ha!
Enter a Servant.
SERVANT.
There was no overtaking the servant.
Sir LUKE.
That is unlucky: tell my Lord I'll attend him.—I'll call on Sir Gregory myself.
SERJEANT.