[_To them_] TATTLE. TATT. Valentine, good morrow; Scandal, I am yours:—that is, when you speak well of me. SCAN. That is, when I am yours; for while I am my own, or anybody’s else, that will never happen. TATT. How inhuman! VAL. Why Tattle, you need not be much concerned at anything that he says: for to converse with Scandal, is to play at losing loadum; you must lose a good name to him before you can win it for yourself. TATT. But how barbarous that is, and how unfortunate for him, that the world shall think the better of any person for his calumniation! I thank heaven, it has always been a part of my character to handle the reputations of others very tenderly indeed. SCAN. Ay, such rotten reputations as you have to deal with are to be handled tenderly indeed. TATT. Nay, but why rotten? Why should you say rotten, when you know not the persons of whom you speak? How cruel that is! SCAN. Not know ’em? Why, thou never had’st to do with anybody that did not stink to all the town. TATT. Ha, ha, ha; nay, now you make a jest of it indeed. For there is nothing more known than that nobody knows anything of that nature of me. As I hope to be saved, Valentine, I never exposed a woman, since I knew what woman was. VAL. And yet you have conversed with several. TATT. To be free with you, I have. I don’t care if I own that. Nay more (I’m going to say a bold word now) I never could meddle with a woman that had to do with anybody else. SCAN. How? VAL. Nay faith, I’m apt to believe him. Except her husband, Tattle. TATT. Oh, that— SCAN. What think you of that noble commoner, Mrs. Drab? TATT. Pooh, I know Madam Drab has made her brags in three or four places, that I said this and that, and writ to her, and did I know not what—but, upon my reputation, she did me wrong—well, well, that was malice—but I know the bottom of it. She was bribed to that by one we all know—a man too. Only to bring me into disgrace with a certain woman of quality— SCAN. Whom we all know. TATT. No matter for that. Yes, yes, everybody knows. No doubt on’t, everybody knows my secrets. But I soon satisfied the lady of my innocence; for I told her: Madam, says I, there are some persons who make it their business to tell stories, and say this and that of one and t’other, and everything in the world; and, says I, if your grace— SCAN. Grace! TATT. O Lord, what have I said? My unlucky tongue! VAL. Ha, ha, ha. SCAN. Why, Tattle, thou hast more impudence than one can in reason expect: I shall have an esteem for thee, well, and, ha, ha, ha, well, go on, and what did you say to her grace? VAL. I confess this is something extraordinary. TATT. Not a word, as I hope to be saved; an errant _lapsus linguæ_. Come, let’s talk of something else. VAL. Well, but how did you acquit yourself?