Dor. Look out Handy.

[Exit HANDY and returns.

Handy. Mr. Medley, Mr. Bellair, and Sir Fopling; they are coming up.

Dor. How got they in?

Handy. The door was open for the chair.

Bel. Lord! let me fly—

Dor. Here, here, down the back stairs. I’ll see you into your chair.

Bel. No, no, stay and receive ’em, and be sure you keep your word and never see Loveit more: let it be a proof of your kindness.

Dor. It shall—Handy, direct her. Everlasting love go along with thee.

[Kissing her hand.

[Exeunt BELINDA and HANDY.

Enter YOUNG BELLAIR, MEDLEY, and Sir FOPLING.

Y. Bell. Not a-bed yet!

Med. You have had an irregular fit, Dorimant?

Dor. I have.

Y. Bell. And is it off already?

Dor. Nature has done her part, gentlemen; when she falls kindly to work, great cures are effected in little time, you know.

Sir Fop. We thought there was a wench in the case by the chair that waited. Prithee make us a confidence.

Dor. Excuse me.

Sir Fop. Le sage Dorimant! was she pretty?

Dor. So pretty she may come to keep her coach and pay parish duties if the good humour of the age continue. SCENE II.]

The Man of Mode

Med. And be of the number of the ladies kept by public-spirited men for the good of the whole town.

Sir Fop. Well said, Medley.

[Sir FOPLING dancing by himself.

Y. Bell. See, Sir Fopling dancing.

Dor. You are practising and have a mind to recover, I see.