Mrs. Mar. Don’t you know this gentleman, sir?

Sir Wil. Hum! What, sure ’tis not—Yea, by’r lady, but ’tis —’Sheart, I know not whether ’tis or no—Yea, but ’tis, by the Rekin. Brother Antony! What, Tony, i’faith! What do’st thou not know me? By’r Lady, nor I thee, thou art so becravated, and so beperriwiged—’Sheart, why do’st not speak? Art thou o’erjoyed?

Wit. Odso, brother, is it you? Your servant, brother.

Sir Wil. Your servant! Why yours, sir. Your servant again—’Sheart, and your friend and servant to that—And a—(puff) and a flap dragon for your service, sir: and a hare’s foot, and a hare’s scut for your service, sir; an you be so cold and so courtly!

Wit. No offence, I hope, brother.

Sir Wil. ’Sheart, sir, but there is, and much offence.—A pox, is this your Inns o’ Court breeding, not to know your friends and your relations, your elders, and your betters?

Wit. Why, brother Wilfull of Salop, you may be as short as a Shrewsbury cake, if you please. But I tell you ’tis not modish to know relations in town. You think you’re in the country, where great lubberly brothers slabber and kiss one another when they meet, like a call of serjeants—’Tis not the fashion here; ’tis not indeed, dear brother.

Sir Wil. The fashion’s a fool; and you’re a fop, dear brother. ’Sheart, I’ve suspected this—By’r Lady I conjectured you were a fop, since you began to change the stile of your letters, and write in a scrap of paper gilt round the edges, no bigger than a subpæna. I might expect this when you left off Honoured Brother: and hoping you are in good health, and so forth—to begin with a Rat me, knight, I’m so sick of a last night’s debauch—O’ds heart, and then tell a familiar tale of a cock and a bull, and a whore and a bottle, and so conclude—You could write news before you were out of your time, when you lived with honest Pumple-Nose, the attorney of Furnival’s Inn—You could intreat to be remembered then to your friends round the Rekin. We could have Gazettes then, and Dawks’s Letter, and the Weekly Bill, ’till of late days.

Pet. ’Slife, Witwoud, were you ever an attorney’s clerk? Of the family of the Furnivals. Ha, ha, ha!

Wit. Ay, ay, but that was but for a while. Not long, not long; pshaw, I was not in my own power then. An orphan, and this fellow was my guardian; ay, ay, I was glad to consent to that man to come to London. He had the disposal of me then. If I had not agreed to that, I might have been bound prentice to a felt- maker in Shrewsbury; this fellow would have bound me to a maker of felts.

Sir Wil. ’Sheart, and better than to be bound to a maker of fops; where, I suppose, you have served your time; and now you may set up for yourself.

Mrs. Mar. You intend to travel, sir, as I’m informed.

Sir Wil. Belike I may, madam. I may chance to sail upon the salt seas, if my mind hold.

Pet. And the wind serve.

Sir Wil. Serve or not serve, I shan’t ask license of you, sir; nor the weather-cock your companion. I direct my discourse to the lady, sir. ’Tis like my aunt may have told you, madam—Yes, I have settled my concerns, I may say now, and am minded to see foreign parts. If an how that the peace holds, whereby that is taxes abate.

Mrs. Mar. I thought you had designed for France at all adventures.