Who? Mr. Woodford! Lord as well as myself, he is a sweet sober youth, and will one day make a vast figure, I am sure.
SERJEANT.
Indeed!
JACK.
I am positive, Sir, if you were to hear him speak at the Robinhood in the Butcher-row, you would say so yourself: why he is now reckon'd the third; except the breeches-maker from Barbican, and Sawny Sinclair the snuffman, there is not a mortal can touch him.
SERJEANT.
Peace, puppy; well Mr. Fairplay, leave the papers a little longer with me and—pray who is employ'd against you?
FAIRPLAY.
A city attorney, one Sheepskin.
SERJEANT.