Est. Nor off your toes, Sir Loftus?
Sir Loft. No, ma'am.
Ag. I'm sure he has hurt his poor dear nose, but he is ashamed to own it.
Sir Loft. Neither toes nor nose! Devil take it!
With. Get along, girls, and dont torment this poor man any longer. I am afraid, Sir Loftus, the young gipsies have been making a fool of you.
Sir Loft. Sir, it is neither in your power nor their's to make a fool of me.
Op. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 'Faith Prettyman you must forgive me! ha, ha, ha, ha! I never thought in my life to have caught you at such low prostrations. But dont be so angry, man! though you do make a confounded silly figure, it must be confess'd. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Sir Loft. to Op. Sir, your impertinence and yourself are equally contemptible: and I desire you would no longer take the trouble of intruding yourself into my company, nor of affronting me, as you have hitherto done, with your awkward imitation of my figure and address.
Op. What the devil do you mean? I imitate your figure and address! I scorn to—I will not deny that I may have insensibly acquired a little of them both for—for—(Hesitating.)
Ag. For he has observed people laughing at him of late.
Sir Loft. (Turning on his heel.) He is beneath my resentment.
Mar. Be not so angry, good Sir Loftus! let us