Sir Fop. Prithee, Dorimant, why hast not thou a glass hung up here? A room is the dullest thing without one.

Y. Bell. Here is company to entertain you.

Sir Fop. But I mean in case of being alone. In a glass a man may entertain himself

Dor. The shadow of himself indeed.

Sir Fop. Correct the errors of his motions and his dress.

Med. I find, Sir Fopling, in your solitude you remember the saying of the wise man, and study yourself.

Sir Fop. ’Tis the best diversion in our retirements. Dorimant, thou art a pretty fellow, and wear’st thy clothes well, but I never saw thee have a handsome cravat. Were they made up like mine, they’d give another air to thy face. Prithee let me send my man to dress thee but one day. By heavens! an Englishman cannot tie a ribbon.

Dor. They are something clumsy-fisted

Sir Fop. I have brought over the prettiest fellow that ever spread a toilet; he served some time under Merille, the greatest genie in the world for a valet-de-chambre.

Dor. What, he who formerly belonged to the Duke of Candale?

Sir Fop. The same, and got him his immortal reputation.

Dor. You’ve a very fine brandenburgh on, Sir Fopling.

Sir Fop. It serves to wrap me up after the fatigue of a ball.

Med. I see you often in it, with your periwig tied up.

Sir Fop. We should not always be in a set dress; ’tis more en cavalier to appear now and then in a déshabillé.

Med. Pray how goes your business with Loveit?

Sir Fop. You might have answered yourself in the Mall last night. Dorimant! did you not see the advances she made me? I have been endeavouring at a song.

Dor. Already!

Sir Fop. ’Tis my coup d’essai in English; I would fain have thy opinion of it.

Dor. Let’s see it.

Sir Fop. Hey, Page! give me my song—Bellair, here, thou hast a pretty voice, sing it.

Y. Bell. Sing it yourself, Sir Fopling.

Sir Fop. Excuse me.

Y. Bell. You learnt to sing in Paris.

Sir Fop. I did, of Lambert, the greatest master in the world; but I have his own fault, a weak voice, and care not to sing out of a ruelle.