Ran. Prithee, Vincent, Dapperwit did not hinder drinking to-night, though he spake against it; why, then, should you interrupt his sport?—Now, let him talk of anybody.
Vin. So he will,—till you cut his throat.
Ran. Why should you on all occasions thwart him, contemn him, and maliciously look grave at his jests only?
Vin. Why does he always rail against my friends, then, and my best friend—a beer-glass?
Ran. Dapperwit, be your own advocate: my game, I think, is before me there. [Exit.
Dap. This Ranger, I think, has all the ill qualities of all your town fops;—leaving his company for a spruce lord or a wench.
Vin. Nay, if you must rail at your own best friends, I may forgive you railing at mine.
Enter Lydia and Lady Flippant.—They walk over the stage.
Lyd. False Ranger, shall I find thee here? [Aside.