any Hour:
but Patience is a Virtue--_Roger_, go after Mr. _Fainlove_, and tell him
I wou'd speak with him instantly.
[Exit _Roger_.

L. _Kno._ Come, come, Ladies, we lose fleeting time, upon my Honour, we
do; for, Madam, as I said, I have brought the Fiddles, and design to
sacrifice the intire Evening to your Ladyship's Diversion.

Sir _Cred._ Incomparable Lady, that was well thought on; Zoz, I long to
be jigging.

Sir _Pat._ Fiddles, good Lord! why, what am I come to?--Madam, I take
it, Sir _Patient Fancy's_ Lady is not a proper Person to make one at
immodest Revellings, and profane Masqueradings.

L. _Fan._ Why; ah, 'tis very true, Sir, but we ought not to offend a
Brother that is weak, and consequently, a Sister.

Sir _Pat._ An excellent Lady this, but she may be corrupted, ah, she may
fall; I will therefore without delay, carry her from this wicked Town.

L. _Kno._ Come, come, Gentlemen, let's in; Mr. _Fancy_, you must be my
Man;--Sir _Credulous_, come, and you, sweet Sir, come, Ladies,--_Nunc
est saltandum_, &c.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. Changes to a Chamber.

Enter Sir _Patient_ as before, Lady _Fancy_, _Wittmore_, _Maundy_,
and _Roger_ with things.

Sir _Pat._ _Maundy_, fetch my Clothes, I'll dress me and out of Town
instantly,--persuade me not.
[To _Wit._
_Roger_, is the Coach ready, _Roger_?

_Rog._ Yes, Sir, with four Horses.

L. _Fan._ Out of Town! Oh, I'm undone then, there will be no hopes of
ever seeing _Wittmore_. [Aside.] --_Maundy_, oh, help me to contrive my
stay, or I'm a dead Woman.--Sir, sure you cannot go and leave your
Affairs in Town.

Sir _Pat._ Affairs! what Affairs?

L. _Fan._ Why, your Daughter's Marriage, Sir:--and--Sir,--not, Sir, but
that I desire of all things in the World the Blessing of being alone
with you, far from the Noise and leud Disorders of this filthy Town.

Sir _Pat._ Most excellent Woman! ah, thou art too good for sinful Man,
and I will therefore remove thee from the Temptations of it.--_Maundy_,
my Clothes--Mr. _Fainlove_, I will leave _Isabella_ with my Lady
_Fidget_, my Sister, who shall to morrow see you married, to prevent
farther Inconveniences.

L. _Fan._ What shall I do?

_Maun._ Madam, I have a Design, which considering his Spleen, must this
time do our Business,--'tis--
[Whispers.

L. _Fan._ I like it well, about it instantly, hah--
[Ex. _Maundy_.
Alas, Sir, what ails your Face? good Heaven,--look, _Roger_.