“SIR CHARLES.  That’s hard indeed, while your lordship was among ’em.  Is Lady Betty gone too?

“FOP.  She was just upon the wing.  But I caught her by the snuff-box, and she pretends to stay to see if I’ll give it her again or no.

“MORE.  Death! ’tis that I gave her, and the only present she ever would receive from me. [Aside to SIR CHARLES.] Ask him how he came by it?

“SIR CHARLES.  Pr’ythee don’t be uneasy.  Did she give it to you, my lord?

“FOP.  Faith, Charles, I can’t say she did or she did not, but we were playing the fool, and I took it—­a la—­pshah—­I can’t tell thee in French, neither, but Horace touches it to a nicety—­’twas Pignas direptum male pertinaci. [Nota Bene:  Our modern comedians seldom quote Horace; their humour is not of the classic kind.]

“MORE.  So!  But I must bear it.  If your lordship has a mind to the box, I’ll stand by you in the keeping of it.

“FOP.  My lord, I’m passionately oblig’d to you, but I am afraid I cannot answer your hazarding so much of the lady’s favour.

“MORE.  Not at all, my lord; ’tis possible I may not have the same regard to her frown that your lordship has. [Here’s a bit of human nature.  Morelove stands in awe of that frown, but he doth valiantly protest, and that too much, that the displeasure of Lady Betty is no more to him than a dozen of ciphers.]

“FOP.  That’s a bite, I am sure—­he’d give a joint of his little finger to be as well with her as I am. [Aside.] But here she comes!  Charles, stand by me.  Must not a man be a vain coxcomb now, to think this creature follow’d one?

“SIR CHARLES.  Nothing so plain, my lord.

“FOP.  Flattering devil.”

Enter LADY BETTY.

“LADY BETTY.  Pshah, my Lord Foppington!  Pr’ythee don’t play the fool now, but give me my snuff-box.  Sir Charles, help me to take it from him.

“SIR CHARLES.  You know I hate trouble, madame.

“LADY BETTY.  Pooh! you’ll make me stay still; prayers are half over now.

“FOP.  If you’ll promise me not to go to church, I’ll give it you.

“LADY BETTY.  I’ll promise nothing at all, for positively I will have it. [Struggling with him.

“FOP.  Then comparatively I won’t part with it, ha! ha!

[Struggles with her.

“LADY BETTY.  O you devil, you have kill’d my arm!  Oh!  Well—­if you’ll let me have it, I’ll give you a better.

“MORE. [Aside to SIR CHARLES.] O Charles! that has a view of distant kindness in it.

“FOP.  Nay, now I keep it superlatively.  I find there’s a secret value in it.

“LADY BETTY.  O dismal! upon my word, I am only ashamed to give it you.  Do you think I wou’d offer such an odious fancy’d thing to anybody I had the least value for?

“SIR CHARLES. [Aside to LORD MORELOVE.] Now it comes a little nearer, methinks it does not seem to be any kindness at all.