Humphry. Thank 'e, as the saying is. [Going,—Worthnought whispers with him.]—What's that to you?—How clumsy mounsieur has dress'd his calabash!—Powder'd over the face and eyes.
[Exit.
Worthnought. I wish I knew what he wanted with him;—perhaps it is something about me.
[Aside.
Loveyet. What Butterfly is this we have here!—I suppose it is the fop, Frankton mentioned.
[Aside.
Worthnought. Sir, I have the honour to be, with the profoundest respect and esteem, your most obedient, most devoted, and most obliged humble slave, foy d'Homme d'Honneur—Tol lol, &c.
[Sings.
Loveyet. A very pompous salutation, truly. [Aside.]—Your polite address does me too much honour, sir;—I cannot conceive how you can be my obliged slave, as I do not recollect I ever saw you before.
Worthnought. Why, sir, I'll tell you:—Your appearance, sir, bespeaks the gentleman of distinction, sir,—