Re-enter Fidelia; she takes Manly aside, and shows him a paper.
Fid. The hour is betwixt seven and eight exactly: 'tis now half an hour to six.
Man. Well, go then to the Piazza, and wait for me: as soon as it is quite dark, I'll be with you. I must stay here yet a while for my friend.—[Exit Fidelia.] But is railing satire, Novel?
Free. And roaring and making a noise, humour?
Nov. What, won't you confess there's humour in roaring and making a noise?
Free. No.
Nov. Nor in cutting napkins and hangings?
Man. No, sure.
Nov. Dull fops!