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!