|I'll go without asking, that you mayn't have||200|
L. EA. Thou art a mad creature.
Exeunt arm in arm.
The scene changes to SIR CHARLES'S lodgings.
LORD MORELOVEand SIR CHARLES at piquet.
SIR CHA. Come, my lord, one single game for the tout,1 and so have done.
L. MO. No, hang 'em, I have enough of 'em: ill cards are the dullest company in the world. How
|much is it?||5|
SIR CHA. Three parties.2
L. MO. Fifteen pound ----- very well.
(While LORD MORELOVEcounts out his money, a Servant gives SIR CHARLES a letter, which he reads to himself.)
SIR CHA. (to the Servant). Give my service; say I have company dines with me: if I have time, I'll call
|there in the afternoon -- ha! ha! ha!||10|
L. MO. What's the matter? (Paying the money.) There!
SIR CHA. The old affair -- my Lady Graveairs.
L. MO. Oh! prithee, how does that go on?
|SIR CHA. As agreeably as a chancery suit, for||15|
(Giving the letter.)
L. MO. (reads). 'Your behavior since I came to Windsor has convinced me of your villainy without
|my being surprised or angry at it: I desire you||20|
|I think she has hard luck with you. If a man||25|
|SIR CHA. Nothing -- she sees the coolness||30|
L. MO. Her pride and your indifference must oc
|casion pleasant scene, sure; what do you intend||35|
SIR CHA. Treat her with a cool, familiar air, till I pique her to forbid me her sight, and then take her at her word.
|L. MO. Very gallant and provoking.||40|
Enter a Servant.
SERV. Sir, my Lord Foppington. Exit.
SIR CHA. Oh! now, my lord, if you have a mind to be let into the mystery of making love without pain, here's one that's a master of the art, and shall
|declaim to you -----||45|
Enter LORD FOPPINGTON.
My dear Lord Foppington!
L. FOP. My dear agreeable! Que je t'embrasse! Pardi! Il y a cent ans que je ne t'ai vu.3 -- My lord, I am your lordship's most obedient humble serv
L. MO. My lord, I kiss your hands. I hope we shall have you here some time; you seem to have laid in a stock of health to be in at the diversions of the place. You look extremely well.
|L. FOP. To see one's friends look so may eas||55|
SIR CHA. Lovers in hope, my lord, always have a visible brillant5 in their eyes and air.
L. FOP. What dost thou mean, Charles!
|SIR CHA. Come, come, confess what really||60|
L. FOP. Why two hours, and six of the best nags in Christendom, or the devil drive me.
|L. MO. You make haste, my lord.||65|
L. FOP. My lord, I always fly when I pursue. But they are well kept indeed: I love to have creatures go as I bid 'em. You have seen 'em, Charles, but so has all the world: Foppington's long-tails are known in
|every road in England.||70|
SIR CHA. Well, my lord, but how came they to bring you this road? You don't use to take these irregular jaunts without some design in your head of having more than nothing to do.
|L. FOP. Pshah! pox! prithee, Charles, thou||75|
SIR CHA. Nay, nay, this is too much among friends, my, lord. Come, come, we must have it: your real