Landlord. Come, Sir Harry, Sir Harry, 'tis past nine o'clock; the company is coming—they have put all in at the masquerade and the assemblies.
Tom. [Whispering Sir Harry.] As I am barefaced, you can come to me when you please, when you are at a loss.—But you see I must attend my charge.
Sir Har. I beg your pardon; I'll interrupt you no more; but if I like—you understand.
Tom. You know my skill and diligence, my good master; but adieu.—Landlord, you see the house fills; let all the waiters be ready; pipes, tobacco, bread, cheese and the like, for those who are in habits proper for such coarse fare. What! none of the stewards ready but myself?
Enter three others with wands, barefaced.
2nd Steward. Ay, ay, here we are—here we are.
3rd Steward. We stayed only till we saw some quality figures coming in.
2nd Steward. Look you, how we are overrun with nymphs and shepherds!—But look, look! there is some sense in those stalking things, which move like pageants, and are not of human shape.
1st Steward. Right, they cannot be out in their parts—there are no such things in nature—but patched-up beings, out of mere fancy and imagination.