SCENE II.--_Covent Garden.

_Enter_ OLD BOOKWIT, YOUNG BOOKWIT, _and_ LATINE.

_O. Book._ Well, Tom, where have you sauntered about since I saw you? Is not the town mightily increased since you were in it?

_Y. Book._ Ay, indeed, I need not have been so impatient to have left Oxford. Had I stayed a year longer, they had builded to me.

_O. Book._ But I don't observe you affected much with the alterations. Where have you been?

_Y. Book._ No, faith, the New Exchange[60] has taken up all my curiosity.

_O. Book._ Oh! but, son, you must not go to places to stare at women! Did you buy anything?

_Y. Book._ Some baubles. But my choice was so distracted among the pretty merchants and their dealers, I knew not where to run first. One little, lisping rogue--"Ribbandths, gloveths, tippeths"--"Sir," cries another, "will you buy a fine sword-knot?" Then a third pretty voice and curtsey--"Does not your lady want hoods, scarfs, fine green silk stockings?"[61] I went by as if I had been in a seraglio, a living gallery of beauties, staring from side to side--I bowing, they laughing--so made my escape, and brought your son and heir safe to you, through all these darts and glances, to which indeed my breast is not impregnable. But I wonder whence I had this amorous inclination?

_O. Book._ Whoever you had it from, sirrah, 'tis your business to correct it, by fixing it upon a proper object--But, Tom, you know I am always glad to hear you talk with the gaiety before me that you do elsewhere. But I have now something of consequence (that sudden, serious look was so like me). [_Aside._]--What I am going to say now, I tell you is extraordinary.

_Y. Book._ I could not indeed help some seeming extravagancies I have been forced to. But----

_O. Book._ I do not grudge you your expenses, I was not going to speak on it. For I decay, and so do my desires, while yours grow still upon you. Therefore, what may be spared from mine, I heartily give you to supply yours; 'tis but the just order of things. I scorn to hoard what I only now can gaze at, while your youth and person want those entertainments you may become and taste. All your just pleasures are mine also; in you my youth and gayer years methinks I feel repeated.

_Y. Book_ Then what can give you, sir, uneasiness?

_O. Book._ Your affectation of a soldier's dress; makes me think you bent upon a dangerous though noble course; that you'll expose a life, that's dearer to your father than yourself, to daily hazards. I, therefore, have resolved to settle thee,[62] and chosen a young lady, witty, prudent, rich, and fair----

_Y. Book._ Oh, Victoria! [_Aside._]--You cannot move too slowly in such a business.

_O. Book._ Nay, 'tis no sudden thing. Her father and I have been old acquaintance, and I was so confident of her worth, and your compliance, that I can't with honour disengage myself.

_Y. Book._ How, sir! when honour calls me to the field, where I may perpetuate your name by some brave exploit----

_O. Book._ You may do it much better, Tom, at home, by a brave boy. Come, come, it must be so----

_Y. Book._ What shall I do for some invention? [_Aside._

_O. Book._ Let it be so, dear Tom; it must be so.

_Y. Book._ What if it be impossible?

_O. Book._ Impossible! as how?

_Y. Book._ Upon my knees I beg your pardon, sir; I am----

_O. Book._ What?

_Y. Book._ At Oxford----

_O. Book._ What art thou at Oxford? Rise and tell me.

_Y. Book._ Why I am married there, since you needs must know.

_O. Book._ Married, without my consent!

_Y. Book._ There was a force upon me; you'll easily get all annulled if you desire it. It was the crossest, most unhappy accident. Yet, indeed, she is an excellent creature!

_Lat._ How could he conceal this all this while from me? But I remember he used to be out of the college whole nights, we knew not where. [_Aside._

PENELOPE _and_ VICTORIA _at the window._

_Pen._ [_Aside._] The very man we met this morning; and I employ my rival to write to him! How confidently she stares at the fellow, and observes his action!

_Vict._ Betty, do you see with what intent and with what fire in her eyes Penelope gazes yonder? But take you that letter and give it when the old gentleman's gone. Goodness! how concerned she seems! Well, some women!----[_Exeunt Ladies from above._

_O. Book._ Let that pass, since the business is irrevocable. What is her name?

_Y. Book._ Matilda, and her father's, Newtown.

_O. Book._ They're names I never heard before; but go on.

_Y. Book._ This lady, sir, I saw in a public assembly; at the first sight she made me hers for ever. From that instant I languished, nor had vital heat out of her presence. The sun to me shed influence in vain; he rose and set both unobserved, nor was to any living this human life so much a dream as me. All this she observed, but not untouched observed. She shewed a noble gratitude to a noble passion; favours I soon received, but severely modest ones.

_Lat._ Oh! that's pre-supposed; you, to be sure, would ne'er desire any other. [_Aside._

_Y. Book._ We had contrived to meet o'nights, The sweetest hours of love; and there was I One evening in her lodging--'Twas, as I remember, Yes, 'twas on the second of December; That's the very night I was caught----

_Lat._ 'Tis strange, a fellow of his wit to be trepanned into a marriage----[_Aside._

_Y. Book._ Her father supped abroad that night, which made us think ourselves secure. But coming home by accident sooner than we expected, we heard him at the door. How did that noise surprise us! She hid me behind the bed, then lets him in.

_O. Book._ I tremble for the poor young lady.--Pray go on. How did she recover herself?

_Y. Book._ She fell into the prettiest artful little tales to divert him and hide her discomposure--which he interrupted by telling her she must be married suddenly to one proposed to him that evening. This was to me daggers.

_O. Book._ But she!----

_Y. Book._ She, by general answers, in that case managed it so well that he was going down, when instantly my watch in my pocket struck ten. He turns him short on his amazed daughter, asked where she had it. She cried her cousin Martha sent it out of the country to be mended for her. He said he would take care on't. She comes to me, but as I was giving it her the string was so entangled in the cock of a pistol I always had about me on those occasions, that my haste to disengage it fired it off. My mistress swoons away. The father ran out, crying out murder. I thought her dead, feared his return, which he soon did with two boisterous rogues, his sons, and his whole family of servants. I would have made my escape, but they opposed me with drawn swords. I wounded both; but a lusty wench, with a fireshovel, at one blow struck down my sword, and broke it all to pieces.

_O. Book._ But still, the poor young lady!----

_Y. Book._ Here was I seized. Meantime, Matilda wakes from her trance, beholding me held like a ruffian, both her brothers bleeding. She was returning to it. What should I do? I saw the hoary father in the divided sorrow, for his sons' lives and daughter's honour, of both which he thought me the invader. She, with pitying, dying and reproaching looks, beseeched me, and taught me what I owed her constant love. I yielded, sir, I own I yielded to the just terror of their family resentment, and to my mistress's more dreadful upbraiding. Thus am I, sir, the martyr of an honest passion----

_O. Book._ That I most blame is, that you concealed it from your best friend. I'll instantly to Penelope's father, and make my apology. He is my friend. [_Exit._

_Lat._ This marriage strangely surprised me.

_Y. Book._ Why, did you believe it, too, as well as the old gentleman? Why, then, I did it excellently. Ha! ha! ha!

_Lat._ What,[63] the watch! The pistol! Lady swooning! Her pitying, upbraiding look! All chimera?

_Y. Book._ Nothing but downright wit, to keep myself safe for Victoria.

_Lat._ May I desire one favour?

_Y. Book._ What can I deny thee, my privado?

_Lat._ Only that you'd give me some little secret hint when next you l----are going to be witty. But to jumble particulars so readily! 'Tis impossible you could, I believe, at the beginning of your tale know the ending--Yet----

_Y. Book._ These are gifts, child, mere gifts; 'tis not to be learnt--the skill of lying--except humour, wit, invention, presence of mind, retention, memory, circumspection, etc., were to be obtained by industry. You must not hum, nor haw, nor blush for't----

_Lat._ Who have we got here?

BETTY _entering._

_Bet._ May I be so bold as to crave the liberty to ask your name?

_Y. Book._ My bright handmaid, my little she Ganymede--thou charming Hebe--you may ask me my name, for I won't tell it you--till you do; because I'd have the more words with you.

_Bet._ Are not you Mr. Bookwit?

_Y. Book._ The very same, my dear.

_Bet._ There, then [_Giving him letter._] He's a mighty pretty man. [_Exit_ BETTY.

_Y. Book._ [_Reading._] "You may wonder--your person and character--this evening, near Rosamond's Pond, on the other side the Park.--VICTORIA."

Oh, the happiness! What is become of the girl? Oh! Latine! Latine! ask me fifty questions all at once! What ails me? Why this joy? Who is this from? Oh, I could die, methinks, this moment, lest there should be in fate some future ill to dash my present joy! Why, Jack, why dost not ask me what's the matter?

_Lat._ If you'd but give me leave----

_Y. Book._ No; do not speak. Let me talk all; I fain would celebrate my fair one's praise, her every beauty! but the mind's too full to utter anything that is articulate, and will give way to nothing but mere names and interjections. O Victoria! Victoria! Victoria! O my Victoria! Read there.

_Lat._ Well, I own this subscribed "Victoria"--but still I am afraid of mistakes.

_Y. Book._ No--kneel down and ask forgiveness. You don't believe that she that would not speak to me would write.--But after all raptures and ecstasies--prithee step after the maid, learn what you can of her fortune, and so forth. Get interest to be admitted another time. [_Exit_ LATINE.

_Enter_ FREDERICK.

_Fred._ Sir, your servant

_Y. Book._ Yours, sir; have you business with me?

_Fred._ This paper speaks it.

_Y. Book._ [_Reading._] "Of a friend you've made me your mortal enemy. With your sword I expect satisfaction to-morrow morning at six in Hyde Park.--LOVEMORE." Do you know the contents of this letter?

_Fred._ Yes, sir, it is a challenge from Lovemore.

_Y. Book._ Are you to be his second?

_Fred._ I offered it, but he will meet you single.

_Y. Book._ The fewer the better cheer.

_Fred._ You're very pleasant, sir.

_Y. Book._ My good humour was ever challenge-proof. I will be very punctual. [_Exit_ FRED.]--I fall into business very fast. There, thou dear letter of love; be there, thou of hatred. There; men of business must sort their papers.--I fear he saw me put up two letters.

_Enter_ LATINE.

Oh, Jack, more adventures, another lady has writ.

_Lat._ Let's see it.

_Y. Book._ No; always tender of rep.--she is of quality--a gentleman usher came with it. I can't believe there's anything in that old whim of being wrapt in one's mother's smock to be thus lucky; I suppose I was used like other children. They clapped me on a skull-cap, swathed me hard, played me in arms, and shewed me London. But however it comes about I have strange luck with the women.

_Lat._ But let us see this letter.

_Y. Book._ [_Reading._] "No, no--A woman of condition to go so far--But, indeed, your passion, your wit--My page--at the back 'stairs--secrecy, and your veracity----"

_Lat._ There her ladyship nicked it. Pox, I'll be as humourous and frolic as you. You pert fellows are the only successful----

_Y. Book._ Well said, lad; and, as Mr. Bayes says,[64] now the plot thickens upon us we'll spend our time as gaily as the best of 'em, and all of it in love--

For since through all the race of man we find, Each to some darling passion is inclined, Let love be still the bias of my mind. [_Exeunt._

ACT THE THIRD.