MARWOOD, PETULANT,
WITWOUD, FOOTMAN.
WIT. In the name of Bartlemew and his Fair, what have we here?
MRS. MAR. 'Tis your brother, I fancy. Don't you know him?
WIT. Not I:- yes, I think it is he. I've almost forgot him; I have
not seen him since the revolution.
FOOT. Sir, my lady's dressing. Here's company, if you please to
walk in, in the meantime.
SIR WIL. Dressing! What, it's but morning here, I warrant, with
you in London; we should count it towards afternoon in our parts
down in Shropshire:- why, then, belike my aunt han't dined yet. Ha,
friend?
FOOT. Your aunt, sir?
SIR WIL. My aunt, sir? Yes my aunt, sir, and your lady, sir; your
lady is my aunt, sir. Why, what dost thou not know me, friend?
Why, then, send somebody hither that does. How long hast thou lived
with thy lady, fellow, ha?
FOOT. A week, sir; longer than anybody in the house, except my
lady's woman.
SIR WIL. Why, then, belike thou dost not know thy lady, if thou
seest her. Ha, friend?
FOOT.
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