LADY WISHFORT, SIR WILFULL WITWOUD, MR. WITWOUD, FOIBLE.
       LADY WISHFORT
       Smells? He would poison a tallow-chandler and his family. Beastly creature, I know not what to do with him. Travel, quotha; ay, travel, travel, get thee gone, get thee but far enough, to the Saracens, or the Tartars, or the Turks--for thou art not fit to live in a Christian commonwealth, thou beastly pagan.
       SIR WILFULL WITWOUD
       Turks? No; no Turks, aunt. Your Turks are infidels, and believe not in the grape. Your Mahometan, your Mussulman is a dry stinkard. No offence, aunt. My map says that your Turk is not so honest a man as your Christian--I cannot find by the map that your Mufti is orthodox, whereby it is a plain case that orthodox is a hard word, aunt, and [hiccup] Greek for claret. [Sings]:-
       To drink is a Christian diversion,
       Unknown to the Turk or the Persian.
       Let Mahometan fools
       Live by heathenish rules,
       And be damned over tea-cups and coffee.
       But let British lads sing,
       Crown a health to the King,
       And a fig for your Sultan and Sophy.
       Ah, Tony! [FOIBLE whispers LADY W.]
       LADY WISHFORT
       Sir Rowland impatient? Good lack! what shall I do with this beastly tumbril? Go lie down and sleep, you sot, or as I'm a person, I'll have you bastinadoed with broomsticks. Call up the wenches with broomsticks.
       SIR WILFULL WITWOUD
       Ahey! Wenches? Where are the wenches?
       LADY WISHFORT
       Dear Cousin Witwoud, get him away, and you will bind me to you inviolably. I have an affair of moment that invades me with some precipitation.--You will oblige me to all futurity.
       WITWOUD
       Come, knight. Pox on him, I don't know what to say to him. Will you go to a cock-match?
       SIR WILFULL WITWOUD
       With a wench, Tony? Is she a shake-bag, sirrah? Let me bite your cheek for that.
       WITWOUD
       Horrible! He has a breath like a bagpipe. Ay, ay; come, will you march, my Salopian?
       SIR WILFULL WITWOUD
       Lead on, little Tony. I'll follow thee, my Anthony, my Tantony. Sirrah, thou shalt be my Tantony, and I'll be thy pig.
       And a fig for your Sultan and Sophy.
       LADY WISHFORT
       This will never do. It will never make a match,--at least before he has been abroad.

Prologue--Spoken by Mr. Betterton.
Dramatis Personae.
act i
   Scene I.
   Scene II.
   Scene III.
   Scene IV.
   Scene V.
   Scene VI.
   Scene VII.
   Scene VIII.
   Scene IX.
act ii
   Scene I.
   Scene II.
   Scene III.
   Scene IV.
   Scene V.
   Scene VI.
   Scene VII.
   Scene VIII.
   Scene IX.
act iii
   Scene I.
   Scene II.
   Scene III.
   Scene IV.
   Scene V.
   Scene VI.
   Scene VII.
   Scene VIII.
   Scene IX.
   Scene X.
   Scene XI.
   Scene XII.
   Scene XIII.
   Scene XIV.
   Scene XV.
   Scene XVI.
   Scene XVII.
   Scene XVIII.
act iv
   Scene I.
   Scene II.
   Scene III.
   Scene IV.
   Scene V.
   Scene VI.
   Scene VII.
   Scene VIII.
   Scene IX.
   Scene X.
   Scene XI.
   Scene XII.
   Scene XIII.
   Scene XIV.
   Scene XV.
act v
   Scene I.
   Scene II.
   Scene III.
   Scene IV.
   Scene V.
   Scene VI.
   Scene VII.
   Scene VIII.
   Scene IX.
   Scene X.
   Scene XI.
   Scene XII.
   Scene XIII.
   Scene the Last.
Epilogue--Spoken by Mrs. Bracegirdle.