Why, you won't leave us, Sir Luke?
Sir LUKE.
Pardon, dear Serjeant and Charlotta; have a thousand things to do for half a million of people positively; promised to procure a husband for Lady Cicely Sulky, and match a coach-horse for Brigadier Whip; after that, must run into the city to borrow a thousand for young At-all at Almack's; send a Cheshire cheese by the stage to Sir Timothy Tankard in Suffolk; and get at the Herald's Office a coat of arms to clap on the coach of Billy Bengal, a nabob newly arriv'd: so you see I have not a moment to lose.
SERJEANT.
True, true.
Sir LUKE.
At your toilet to-morrow at ten you may—
Enter a Servant abruptly, and runs against Sir Luke.
Can't you see where you are running you, rascal!
SERVANT.