these Rogues see me, and I'm undone.--
[Exit.

Enter Lady _Fancy_, Lady _Knowell_, Sir _Credulous_ and
_Lucretia_, with other Women and Men, _Roger_ attending.

L. _Kno._ _Isabella_, your Servant, Madam: being sensible of the
insociable and solitary Life you lead, I have brought my whole Family to
wait on your Ladyship, and this my Son _in Futuro_, to kiss your Hands,
I beseech your Ladyship to know him for your humble Servant: my Son and
your Nephew, Madam, are coming with the Musick too, we mean to pass the
whole Day with your Ladyship:--and see they are here.

Enter _Lodwick_ pulling in _Wittmore_, _Leander_ with them.

_Lod._ Nay, since we have met thee so luckily, you must back with us.

_Wit._ You must excuse me, Gentlemen.

_Lod._ We'll shew you two or three fine Women.

_Wit._ Death, these Rogues will ruin me--but I have Business, Gentlemen,
that--

_Lean._ That must not hinder you from doing Deeds of Charity: we are all
come to teeze my Uncle, and you must assist at so good a Work;--come,
gad, thou shall make love to my Aunt.--I wou'd he wou'd effectually.
[Aside.

_Lod._ Now I think on't, what the Devil dost thou make here?

_Wit._ Here!--oh, Sir--a--I have a design upon the Alderman.

_Lod._ Upon his handsome Wife thou meanest; ah, Rogue!

_Wit._ Faith, no,--a--'tis to--borrow Mony of him; and as I take it,
Gentlemen, you are not fit Persons for a Man of Credit to be seen with,
I pass for a graver Man.

_Lod._ Well, Sir, take your Course--but, egad, he'll sooner lend thee
his Wife than his Money.
[Exit _Wittmore_, they come in.

_Lean._ Aunt, I have taken the boldness to bring a Gentleman of my
Acquaintance to kiss your Ladyship's Hands.

_Lod._ Thy Aunt!--death, she's very handsome.--Madam, your most humble
Servant.
[Kisses the L. _Fan._

_Lean._ Prithee imploy this Fool, that I may have an opportunity to
entertain thy Sister.

_Lod._ Sir _Credulous_, what, not a Word? not a Compliment? Hah,--be
brisk, Man, be gay and witty, talk to the Ladies.

Sir _Cred._ Talk to 'em! why, what shall I say to 'em?

_Lod._ Any thing, so it be to little purpose.

Sir _Cred._ Nay, Sir, let me alone for that matter--but who are they,
prithee?

_Lod._ Why, that's my Lady _Fancy_, and that's her Daughter-in-Law,
salute 'em, Man.--

Sir _Cred._ Fair Lady,--I do protest and vow, you are the most beautiful
of all Mothers-in-Law, and the World cannot produce your equal.

_L