Tailor. ’Tis not for me to dispute your lordship’s fancy.

Lord F. Look you, Sir, I shall never be reconciled to this nauseous packet, therefore pray get me another suit with all manner of expedition, for this is my eternal salvation.  Mrs. Calico, are not you of my mind?

     Mrs. Cal. O, directly, my lord!  It can never be too low.

     Lord F. You are positively in the right on’t, for the packet
     becomes no part of the body but the knee.

     (Exit tailor.)

     Mrs. Cal. I hope your lordship is pleased with your steenkirk.

     Lord F. In love with it, stap my vitals! bring your bill, you
     shall be paid to-morrow.

     Mrs. C. I humbly thank your honour. (Exit.)

     Lord F. Hark thee, shoemaker! these shoes an’t ugly but they
     don’t fit me.

     Shoemaker. My lord, methinks they fit you very well.

     Lord F. They hurt me just below the instep.

     Shoe. (feeling his foot) My lord, they don’t hurt you there.

     Lord F. I tell thee they pinch me execrably.

     Shoe. My lord, if they pinch you I’ll be bound to be hanged,
     that’s all.

     Lord F. Why wilt thou undertake to persuade me that I cannot
     feel?

     Shoe. Your lordship may please to feel what you think fit; but
     the shoe does not hurt you.  I think I understand my trade.

     Lord F. Now by all that’s great and powerful thou art an
     incomprehensible coxcomb! but thou makest good shoes and so I’ll
     bear with thee.

Tom Fashion personates his brother, Lord Foppington, and goes down to the country seat of Sir Tunbelly Clumpsey, in hope of marrying his rich daughter.  The old Squire at first turns out to meet him with guns and pitchforks, but changes to the utmost servility on hearing that he is a lord.  It is now Tom’s object to have the marriage ceremony performed before he is discovered.

     Fashion. Your father, I suppose you know, has resolved to make me
     happy in being your husband, and I hope I may depend upon your
     consent to perform what he desires.

     Miss Hoyden. Sir, I never disobey my father in anything but
     eating of green gooseberries.

Fash. So good a daughter must needs be an admirable wife; I am therefore impatient till you are mine, and hope you will so far consider the violence of my love as not to defer my happiness so long as your father designs it.

     Miss H. Pray, my lord, how long is that?

     Fash. Madam, a thousand years—­a whole week.

     Miss H. A week! why I shall be an old woman by that time.