Ger. Where are they? I hope they are gone again.
Wait. No, sir, they are below at the stair-foot, only swearing at their coachman.
Ger. Come, you rogue, they are in fee with you waiters, and no gentleman can come hither, but they have the intelligence straight.
Wait. Intelligence from us, sir! they should never come here, if we could help it. I am sure we wish 'em choked when we see them come in; for they bring such good stomachs from St James's Park, or rambling about in the streets, that we poor waiters have not a bit left; 'tis well if we can keep our money in our pockets for 'em. I am sure I have paid seventeen and sixpence in half-crowns for coach-hire at several times for a little damned tearing lady, and when I asked her for it again one morning in her chamber, she bid me pay myself, for she had no money; but I wanted the courage of a gentleman; besides, the lord that kept her was a good customer to our house and my friend, and I made a conscience of wronging him.
Ger. A man of honour!
Mons. Vert and bleu! pleasant, pleasant, ma foi!
Ger. Go, go, sirrah, shut the door, I hear 'em coming up.
Wait. Indeed I dare not; they'll kick me down stairs, if I should.
Ger. Go, you rascal, I say. [The Waiter shuts the door, 'tis thrust open again.
Enter Flounce and Flirt in vizards, striking the Waiter, and come up to the table.