[Enter MODUS.]

Mod. Joy for you, fair lady!
Our baronet is now plain gentleman -
And hardly that, not master of the means
To bear himself as such. The kinsman lives
Whose only rumoured death gave wealth to him,
And title. A hard creditor he proves,
Who keeps strict reckoning--will have interest.
As well as principal. A ruined man
Is now Sir Thomas Clifford!

Helen. I'm glad on't.

Mod. And so am I,
A scurvy trick it was
He served you, madam. Use a lady so!
I merely bore with him. I never liked him.

Helen. No more did I. No, never could I think
He looked his title.

Mod. No, nor acted it.
If rightly they report, he ne'er disbursed
To entertain his friends, 'tis broadly said,
A hundred pounds in the year! He was most poor
In the appointments of a man of rank,
Possessing wealth like his. His horses, hacks!
His gentleman, a footman! and his footman,