_Y. Book._ You do me justice, madam, in that thought, for I am strangely pestered to be there. Well, the French are the most industrious people in the world. I had a letter from one of their generals, that shall be nameless (it came over by the way of Holland), with an offer of very great terms, if I would but barely send my opinion in the use of pikes, about which he tells me their Prince and generals have lately held a grand court martial. _Both._ Ha! ha! ha! _Lat._ These cunning things keep still together to puzzle us.--I'll alarm him.--Sir, one word---- _Vict._ Come, come, we'll have no whispering, no messages at present. Some other ladies have sent, but they shan't have you from us. _Both._ Ha! ha! ha! _Y. Book._ I hold myself obliged to be of the same humour ladies are in--ha! ha! ha! Now pray do me the favour to tell me what I laughed at. _Pen._[68] Why, you must know, your talking of the French and war put us in mind of a young coxcomb that came last night from Oxford, calls himself soldier, treats ladies, fights battles, raises jealousies with downright lies of his own inventing--ha! ha! ha! _Y. Book._ That must be an impudent young rascal certainly--ha! ha! ha! _Vict._ Nay, this is beyond comparison---- _Y. Book._ I can't conceive how one of those sneaking academics could personate such a character; for we, bred in camps, have a behaviour that shows we are used to act before crowds. _Pen._ 'Tis certainly so; nay, he has been confronted with it, as plainly as I speak to you, and yet not blushed for it, but carried it as if he knew not the man---- _Y. Book._ That may be; 'tis want of knowing themselves makes those coxcombs so confident. _Pen._ The faithless! shameless! Well, then, to see, if possible, such a one may be brought to that sense, I tell you, this worthy hero two days ago was in hanging-sleeves at Oxford, and is called Mr. Bookwit. Ha! ha! _Y. Book._ Well, was it not well enough carried? Pooh, I knew you well enough, and you knew me, before you writ to me for Mr. Bookwit's son. But I fell into that way of talking purely to divert you. I knew you a woman of wit and spirit, and that acting that part would at least show I had fire in me, and wished myself what I would be half an age to serve and please you--suffer in camps all the vicissitudes of burning heats and sharp afflicting colds-- _Vict._ Look you, sir, I shall tell Mrs. Matilda Newtown, your spouse at Oxford, what you are saying to another lady. _Pen._ Prithee cousin, never give yourself the trouble to meddle in such a work; one hardly knows how to speak it to a gentleman, but don't touch the affairs of so impudent a liar.