MedLet’s: the very scrawl and spelling of a true-bred whore.

Dor. I know the hand; the style is admirable, I assure you.

Med. Prithee read it.

Dor. [reads]. “I told a you you dud not love me, if you dud, you would have seen me again e’er now; I have no mony, and am very mallicolly; pray send me a guynie to see the operies. Your servant to command, Molly.”

Med. Pray let the whore have a favourable answer, that she may spark it in a box and do honour to her profession.

Dor. She shall, and perk up i’ the face of quality. Is the coach at door?

Handy. You did not bid me send for it.

Dor. Eternal blockhead! [Handy offers to go out.] Hey, sot.

Handy. Did you call me, sir?

Dor. I hope you have no just exception to the name, sir?

Handy. I have sense, sir.

Dor. Not so much as a fly in winter.—How did you come, Medley?

Med. In a chair.

Footman. You may have hackney coach if you please, sir.

Dor. I may ride the elephant if I please, sir; call another chair, and let my coach follow to Long’s.

[Exeunt singing, Be calm, ye great parents, etc.