Gripe. You are the cupboard of charity.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the fob of liberality.
Gripe. You are the rivet of sanctified love or wedlock.
Mrs. Joyn. You are the picklock and dark-lantern of policy; and, in a word, a conventicle of virtues.
Gripe. Your servant, your servant, sweet Mrs. Joyner! you have stopped my mouth.
Mrs. Joyn. Your servant, your servant, sweet alderman! I have nothing to say.
Sir Sim. The half pullet will be cold, sir.
Gripe. Mrs. Joyner, you shall sup with me.
Mrs. Joyn. Indeed I am engaged to supper with some of your man's friends; and I came on purpose to get leave for him too.
Gripe. I cannot deny you anything. But I have forgot to tell you what a kind of fellow my sister's Dapperwit is: before a full table of the coffee-house sages, he had the impudence to hold an argument against me in the defence of vests and protections; and therefore I forbid him my house; besides, when he came I was forced to lock up my daughter for fear of him, nay, I think the poor child herself was afraid of him.—Come hither, child, were you not afraid of Dapperwit?