Fash. Heyday! what the devil have we here? Sure my gentleman’s grown a favourite at court, he has got so many people at his levée.

Lory. Sir, these people come in order to make him a favourite at court—they are to establish him with the ladies.

Fash. Good Heaven! to what an ebb of taste are women fallen, that it should be in the power of a laced coat to recommend a gallant to them?

Lory. Sir, tailors and hair-dressers debauch all the women.

Fash. Thou sayest true. But now for my reception.

Lord Fop. [To Tailor.] Death and eternal tortures? Sir—I say the coat is too wide here by a foot.

Tai. My lord, if it had been tighter, ’twould neither have hooked nor buttoned.

Lord Fop. Rat the hooks and buttons, sir! Can any thing be worse than this? As Gad shall jedge me, it hangs on my shoulders like a chairman’s surtout.

Tai. ’Tis not for me to dispute your lordship’s fancy.

Lory. There, sir, observe what respect does.

Fash. Respect! damn him for a coxcomb!—But let’s accost him.—[Coming forward.] Brother, I’m your humble servant.

Lord Fop. O Lard, Tam! I did not expect you in England.—brother, I’m glad to see you.—But what has brought you to Scarborough, Tam!—[To the Tailor.] Look you, sir, I shall never be reconciled to this nauseous wrapping-gown, therefore pray get me another suit with all possible expedition; for this is my eternal aversion.—[Exit Tailor.] Well but, Tam, you don’t tell me what has driven you to Scarborough.—Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind?

Semp. Directly, my lord.—I hope your lordship is pleased with your ruffles?

Lord Fop. In love with them, stap my vitals!—Bring my bill, you shall be paid to-morrow.

Semp. I humbly thank your worship.

[Exit.

Lord Fop. Hark thee, shoemaker, these shoes aren’t ugly, but they don’t fit me.

Shoe. My lord, I think they fit you very well.

Lord Fop. They hurt me just below the instep.

Shoe. [Feels his foot.] No, my lord, they don’t hurt you there.

Lord Fop. I tell thee they pinch me execrably.

Shoe. Why then, my lord, if those shoes pinch you, I’ll be damned.

Lord Fop. Why, will thou undertake to persuade me I cannot feel?

Shoe. Your lordship may please to feel what you think fit, but that shoe does not hurt you—I think I understand my trade.