Har. The worst music, the greatest preparation.
Spark. Nay, faith, I'll make you laugh.—It cannot be, says a third lady.—Yes, yes, quoth I again.—Says a fourth lady—
Horn. Look to't, we'll have no more ladies.
Spark. No—then mark, mark, now. Said I to the fourth, Did you never see Mr. Horner? he lodges in Russel-street, and he's a sign of a man, you know, since he came out of France; ha! ha! ha!
Horn. But the devil take me if thine be the sign of a jest.
Spark. With that they all fell a-laughing, till they bepissed themselves. What, but it does not move you, methinks? Well, I see one had as good go to law without a witness, as break a jest without a laugher on one's side.—Come, come, sparks, but where do we dine? I have left at Whitehall an earl, to dine with you.
Dor. Why, I thought thou hadst loved a man with a title, better than a suit with a French trimming to't.
Har. Go to him again.
Spark. No, sir, a wit to me is the greatest title in the world.
Horn. But go dine with your earl, sir; he may be exception. We are your friends, and will not take it ill to be left, I do assure you.