Har. Nay, faith, he shall go to him.
Spark. Nay, pray, gentlemen.
Dor. We'll thrust you out, if you won't; what, disappoint anybody for us?
Spark. Nay, dear gentlemen, hear me.
Horn. No, no, sir, by no means; pray go, sir.
Spark. Why, dear rogues—
Dor. No, no. [They all thrust him out of the room.
All. Ha! ha! ha!
Re-enter Sparkish.
Spark. But, sparks, pray hear me. What, d'ye think I'll eat then with gay shallow fops and silent coxcombs? I think wit as necessary at dinner, as a glass of good wine; and that's the reason I never have any stomach when I eat alone.—Come, but where do we dine?