rom _Geneva_, whither he was sent for virtuous
Education. I am glad of your Arrival, Sir.--Your Religion, I pray?

_Wit._ You cannot doubt my Principles, Sir, since educated at _Geneva_.

Sir _Pat._ Your Father was a discreet Man: ah, Mr. _Fainlove_, he and I
have seen better days, and wish we cou'd have foreseen these that are
arriv'd.

_Wit._ That he might have turn'd honest in time, he means, before he had
purchas'd Bishops Lands.

Sir _Pat._ Sir, you have no Place, Office, Dependance or Attendance at
Court, I hope?

_Wit._ None, Sir,--Wou'd I had--so you were hang'd. [Aside.

L. _Fan._ Nay, Sir, you may believe, I knew his Capacities and Abilities
before I would encourage his Addresses.

Sir _Pat._ My Lady _Fancy_, you are a discreet Lady;--Well, I'll marry
her out of hand, to prevent Mr. _Lodwick's_ hopes: for though the young
man may deserve well, that Mother of his I'll have nothing to do with,
since she refused to marry my Nephew.
[Aside.

Enter _Fanny_.

_Fan._ Sir Father, here's my Lady _Knowell_, and her Family come to see
you.

Sir _Pat._ How! her whole Family! I am come to keep open House; very
fine, her whole Family! she's Plague enough to mortify any good
Christian,--Tell her, my Lady and I am gone forth; tell her any thing to
keep her away.

_Fan._ Shou'd I tell a lye, Sir Father, and to a Lady of her Quality?

Sir _Pat._ Her Quality and she are a Couple of Impertinent things, which
are very troublesome, and not to be indur'd I take it.

_Fan._ Sir, we shou'd bear with things we do not love sometimes, 'tis a
sort of Trial, Sir, a kind of Mortification fit for a good Christian.

Sir _Pat._ Why, what a notable talking Baggage is this! How came you by
this Doctrine?

_Fan._ I remember, Sir, you preach'd it once to my Sister, when the old
Alderman was the Text, whom you exhorted her to marry, but the wicked
Creature made ill use on't.

Sir _Pat._ Go your way for a prating Huswife, go, and call your Sister
hither. [Exit _Fanny_.] --Well, I'm resolv'd to leave this Town, nay,
and the World too, rather than be tormented thus.

L. _Fan._ What's the matter, Dear, thou dost so fret thy self?

Sir _Pat._ The matter! my House, my House is besieged with Impertinence;
the intolerable Lady, Madam _Romance_, that walking Library of profane
Books is come to visit me.

L. _Fan._ My Lady _Knowell_?

Sir _Pat._ Yes, that Lady of eternal Noise and hard Words.

L. _Fan._ Indeed 'tis with