LORD FROTH. How do you mean? My wife?
SIR PAUL. The strangest posture of affairs!
LORD FROTH. What, my wife?
SIR PAUL. No, no, I mean the family. Your lady’s affairs may be in a very good posture; I saw her go into the garden with Mr. Brisk.
LORD FROTH. How? Where, when, what to do?
SIR PAUL. I suppose they have been laying their heads together.
LORD FROTH. How?
SIR PAUL. Nay, only about poetry, I suppose, my lord; making couplets.
LORD FROTH. Couplets.
SIR PAUL. Oh, here they come.