FOOT. Really, sir, I can’t tell; here come so many here, ’tis hard to know ’em all.
SCENE XV.
Sir Wilfull Witwoud, Petulant, Witwoud, Mrs. Marwood.
SIR WIL. Oons, this fellow knows less than a starling: I don’t think a knows his own name.
MRS. MAR. Mr. Witwoud, your brother is not behindhand in forgetfulness. I fancy he has forgot you too.
WIT. I hope so. The devil take him that remembers first, I say.
SIR WIL. Save you, gentlemen and lady.
MRS. MAR. For shame, Mr. Witwoud; why won’t you speak to him?—And you, sir.
WIT. Petulant, speak.
PET. And you, sir.