_Probe_. Sir, I am not master of my trade for nothing.
_Lord Fop_. Surgeon!
_Probe_. Sir.
_Lord Fop_. Are there any hopes?
_Probe_. Hopes! I can't tell. What are you willing to give
for a cure? _Lord Fop_. Five hundred paunds with pleasure.
_Probe_. Why then perhaps there may be hopes; but we must
avoid further delay.--Here, help the gentleman into a chair, and
carry him to my house presently--that's the properest place--
[_Aside_.] to bubble him out of his money.--[_Aloud_.]
Come, a chair--a chair quickly--there, in with him. [SERVANTS
_put_ LORD FOPPINGTON _into a chair_.]
_Lord Fop_. Dear Loveless, adieu; if I die, I forgive thee;
and if I live, I hope thou wilt do as much by me. I am sorry you
and I should quarrel, but I hope here's an end on't; for if you
are satisfied, I am.
_Love_. I shall hardly think it worth my prosecuting any
further, so you may be at rest, sir.
_Lord Fop_. Thou art a generous fellow, strike me dumb!
--[_Aside_.] But thou hast an impertinent wife, stap my
vitals!
_Probe_. So--carry him off!--carry him off!--We shall have
him into a fever by-and-by.--Carry him off! [_Exit with_
LORD FOPPINGTON.]
Enter COLONEL TOWNLY.
_Col. Town_. So, so, I am glad to find you all alive.--I met
a wounded peer carrying off. For heaven's sake what was the
matter?
_Love_. Oh, a trifle! he would have made love to my wife
before my face, so she obliged him with a box o' the ear, and I