Lord F. That, I must confess, I am not altogether so fond of.  For to my mind the inside of a book is to entertain oneself with the forced product of another man’s brain.  Now, I think a man of quality and breeding may be much better diverted with the natural sprouts of his own.  But to say the truth, madam, let a man love reading never so well, when once he comes to know this town, he finds so many better ways of passing away the four-and-twenty hours that ’twere ten thousand pities he should consume his time in that.  For example, madam, my life, my life, madam, is a perpetual stream of pleasure that glides through such a variety of entertainments, I believe the wisest of our ancestors never had the least conception of any of ’em.  I rise, madam, about ten o’clock.  I don’t rise sooner because it is the worst thing in the world for the complexion, not that I pretend to be a beau, but a man must endeavour to look wholesome, lest he make so nauseous a figure in the side box, the ladies should be compelled to turn their eyes upon the play.  So at ten o’clock I say I rise.  Now, if I find it a good day I resolve to take a turn in the park, and see the fine women; so huddle on my clothes and get dressed by one.  If it be nasty weather I take a turn in the chocolate house, where as you walk, madam, you have the prettiest prospect in the world; you have looking glasses all round you.  But I’m afraid I tire the company.

     Berinthia. Not at all; pray go on.

Lord F. Why then, ladies, from thence I go to dinner at Lacket’s, where you are so nicely and delicately served that, stab my vitals! they shall compose you a dish no bigger than a saucer, shall come to fifty shillings.  Between eating my dinner (and washing my mouth, ladies) I spend my time till I go to the play, when till nine o’clock I entertain myself with looking upon the company; and usually dispose of one hour more in leading them out.  So there’s twelve of the four-and-twenty pretty well over.  The other twelve, madam, are disposed of in two articles, in the first four I toast myself drunk, and t’other eight I sleep myself sober again.  Thus, ladies, you see my life is an eternal round O of delight.

Lord Foppington’s interview with his Court artists is well described—­

Tom Fashion. There’s that fop now, has not by nature wherewithal to move a cook-maid, and by that time these fellows have done with him, egad he shall melt down a countess!  But now for my reception; I’ll engage it shall be as cold a one as a courtier’s to his friend, who comes to put him in mind of his promise.

     Lord F. (to his tailor.) Death and eternal tortures!  Sir, I say
     the packet’s too high by a foot.

     Tailor. My lord, if it had been an inch lower it would not have
     held your lordship’s packet-handkerchief.

     Lord F. Rat my packet-handkerchief! have not I a page to carry
     it?  You may make him a packet up to his chin a purpose for it; but
     I will not have mine come so near my face.