the softest, whitest hand that e'er was
made of flesh and blood; her lips so balmy sweet----

_Sir H._ Well, well, but where shall I find her, man?

_Vizard._ Find her!--but then her foot, Sir Harry! she dances to a
miracle.

_Sir H._ Pr'ythee, don't distract me.

_Vizard._ Well then, you must know, that this lady is the greatest
beauty in town; her name's Angelica: she that passes for her mother is
a private bawd, and called the Lady Darling: she goes for a baronet's
lady, (no disparagement to your honour, Sir Harry) I assure you.

_Sir H._ Pshaw, hang my honour! but what street, what house?

_Vizard._ Not so fast, Sir Harry; you must have my passport for your
admittance, and you'll find my recommendation in a line or two will
procure you very civil entertainment; I suppose twenty or thirty pieces
handsomely placed, will gain the point.

_Sir H._ Thou dearest friend to a man in necessity! Here, sirrah, order
my carriage about to St. James's; I'll walk across the park.
[_To his_ SERVANT.

_Enter_ CLINCHER SENIOR.

_Clinch._ Here, sirrah, order my coach about to St. James's, I'll walk
across the park too--Mr. Vizard, your most devoted--Sir, [_To_ WILDAIR.]
I admire the mode of your shoulder-knot; methinks it hangs very
emphatically, and carries an air of travel in it: your sword-knot too
is most ornamentally modish, and bears a foreign mien. Gentlemen, my
brother is just arrived in town; so that, being upon the wing to kiss
his hands, I hope you'll pardon this abrupt departure of, gentlemen,
your most devoted, and most faithful humble servant. [_Exit._

_Sir H._ Pr'ythee, dost know him?

_Vizard._ Know him! why, it is Clincher, who was apprentice to my uncle
Smuggler, the merchant in the city.

_Sir H._ What makes him so gay?

_Vizard._ Why, he's in mourning.

_Sir H._ In mourning?

_Vizard._ Yes, for his father. The kind old man in Hertfordshire t'other
day broke his neck a fox-hunting; the son, upon the news, has broke
his indentures; whipped from behind the counter into the side-box. He
keeps his coach and liveries, brace of geldings, leash of mistresses,
talks of nothing but wines, intrigues, plays, fashions, and going to the
jubilee.

_Sir H._ Ha! ha! ha! how many pounds of pulvil must the fellow use in
sweetening himself from the smell of hops and tobacco? Faugh!--I' my
conscience methought, like Olivia's lover, he stunk of Thames