rbance! Why, Sister, this Rogue
here--this unintelligible graceless Rascal here, will needs set up for a
Rakehell, when there's scarce such a thing in the Nation, above an
Ale-draper's Son; and chuses to be aukardly out of fashion, merely for
the sake of Tricking and Poverty; and keeps company with the senseless,
profane, lazy, idle, noisy, groveling Rascals, purely for the sake of
spending his Estate like a notorious Blockhead: But I'll take care he
shall not have what I can dispose of--You'll be a Rake-hell, will you?

L. _Blun._ How, Cousin! Sure you'll not be such a filthy beastly thing,
will you?

Sir _Mer._ Lord, Aunt, I only go to the Club sometimes, to improve my
self in the Art of Living, and the Accomplishments of a fine Gentleman.

Sir _Row._ A fine Gentleman, Sot, a fine Coxcomb! [Beats him.

Sir _Morg._ Hold, hold, good Uncle; my Cousin has been only drawn in,
a little or so, d'ye see, being Heir to a good Estate; and that's what
his Club wants, to pay off old Tavern Scores, and buy Utensils for
Whores in Fashion.

Sir _Row._ My Estate sold to pay Tavern-Scores, and keep nasty Whores!

L. _Blun._ Whores! ay, filthy Creatures; do they deal in Whores? Pray,
Cousin, what's a Rake-hell?

Sir _Row._ A Rake-hell is a Man that defies Law and good Manners, nay,
and good Sense too; hates both Morality and Religion, and that not for
any Reason (for he never thinks) but merely because he don't understand
'em: He's the Whore's Protection and Punishment, the Baud's Tool, the
Sharper's Bubble, the Vintner's Property, the Drawer's Terror, the
Glasier's Benefactor; in short, a roaring, thoughtless, heedless,
ridiculous, universal Coxcomb.

Sir _Mer._ O Lord, Aunt, no more like him than an Attorney's like an
honest Man. Why, a Rake-hell is--

Sir _Row._ What, Sirrah! what, you Rebel? [Strikes him.

L. _Blun._ Nay, good Brother, permit my Nephew to tell us his Notion.

Sir _Mer._ Why, Aunt, I say a Rake-hell is your only Man of Bravery; he
slights all the Force of Fortune, and sticks at no Hazard--plays away
his hundred Pounds at sight, pays a Lady's Bill at sight, drinks his
Bottle without equivocation, and fights his Man without any Provocation.

Sir _Row._ Nay then, Mr. Rogue, I'll be sworn thou art none: Come, Sir,
will you fight, Sir? will you fight, Sir? Ha!
[Draws his Sword.

Sir _Mer._ Fight, Sir! fight, Sir!

Sir _Row._ Yes, fight, Sir: Come, spare your Prayers to the three Fatal
Sisters,