Marpl. Dear Charles, your's,— Ha! Sir George Airy, the Man in the World, I have an Ambition to be known to (aside.) Give me thy Hand, dear Boy—
Cha. A good Assurance! But heark ye, how came your Beautiful Countenance clouded in the wrong place?
Marpl. I must confess 'tis a little Mal-a-propos, but no matter for that; a Word with you, Charles; Prithee, introduce me to Sir George— he is a Man of Wit, and I'd give ten Guinea's to—
Cha. When you have 'em, you mean.
Marpl. Ay, when I have 'em; pugh, pox, you cut the Thread of my Discourse— I wou'd give ten Guinea's, I say, to be rank'd in his Acquaintance: Well, 'tis a vast Addition to a Man's Fortune, according to the Rout of the World, to be seen in the Company of Leading Men; for then we are all thought to be Politicians, or Whigs, or Jacks, or High-Flyers, or Low-Flyers, or Levellers—and so forth; for you must know, we all herd in Parties now.
Cha. Then a Fool for Diversion is out of Fashion, I find.
Marpl. Yes, without it be a mimicking Fool, and they are Darlings every where; but prithee introduce me.
Cha. Well, on Condition you'll give us a true Account how you came by that Mourning Nose, I will.
Marpl. I'll do it.
Cha. Sir George, here's a Gentleman has a passionate Desire to kiss your Hand.