[Footnote A:  Many of the wits of the last age will assert that the word (toast), in its present sense, was known among them in their youth, and had its rise from an accident at the town of Bath, in the reign of Charles II.  It happened that, on a public day, a celebrated beauty of those times was in the Cross Bath, and one of the crowd of her admirers took a glass of the water in which the fair one stood, and drank her health to the company.  There was in the place a gay fellow half fuddled, who offered to jump in, and swore, though he liked not the liquor, he would have the toast.  He was opposed in his resolution; yet this whim gave foundation to the present honour which is done to the lady we mention in our liquors, who has ever since been called a Toast.—­The Tatler.]

* * * * *

What a quaint, circumspect and very ceremonious affair must that lovers’ row have been.  No swearing, no slang or loud talking, but everything deliberate and in the best of form.  Lady Betty telling Morelove to go about his business, and that quickly, but doing so with a stately elegance worthy of the great Mrs. Barry; the suitor bowing low, with his white hand pressed against that “odious proud heart” which is gently breaking at the thought of departing.  What a nice painting it would make for a Watteau fan.

Thus nearly all our characters have their entrances, Lady Betty is revealed to us through the medium of the lively dialogue quoted a few pages back, and then there is another stir.  In comes Lord Foppington, otherwise Colley Cibber, in all the vapid glory of fine clothes, and a great periwig.  A very prince of coxcombs, with his soft smile and conscious air of superiority—­a mere bag of vanity, whose emptiness is partly hidden by gorgeous raiment, gold embroidery, rings, snuff-box, muff and what-not.  With what genteel condescension does he greet Sir Charles; how gracefully nonchalant is he to my Lord Morelove.  “My dear agreeable! Que je t’embrasse!  Pardi!  Il y a cent ans que je ne t’ai veu.  My lord, I am your lordship’s most obedient humble servant.”

So Foppington takes his place in the comedy, and begins to play his brainless but important part.  He, the disconsolate Morelove, and the brilliant Lady Betty all meet at dinner with Sir Charles and Lady Easy.  Of course the hero makes an unsuccessful attempt to regain the good graces of his inamorata, and, of course, the coxcomb carries on a violent flirtation with her in the angry face of his rival.  With the meal over, and everybody on the qui vive, this scene ensues: 

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Enter Foppington (who has been chatting to the ladies and who now seeks the post-dinner conversation of his host and Lord Morelove).

“FOPPINGTON.  Nay, pr’ythee, Sir Charles, let’s have a little of thee.  We have been so chagrin without thee, that, stop my breath [what a bloodcurdling oath, so suggestive of the awful curses of our own jeunesse d’oree], the ladies are gone, half asleep, to church for want of thy company.