_Pen._ I wish I had taken her advice in going; he means her all this while [_Aside._]--Pshaw, this is downright fooling. Let's go, my dear; leave him to the woods, as you say--I wish 'twas full of bears. [_Aside._ _Vict._ No; now I'll stay to plague him. _Pen._ No, you shan't stay.--Sir, we have given ourselves the diversion to see you, and confront you in your falsehoods; in which you have entangled yourself to that degree, you know not even the woman you pretend to; and therefore, sir, I so far despise you, that if you should come after me with your fiddles, I'll have a porter--ready to let you in. [_Aside._ _Vict._ I don't know how to threaten a gentleman in that manner, but I'm sure I shall never entertain any man that has disobliged my friend, while my name's Victoria! [_Exeunt arm in arm._ _Lat._ Master, methinks these ladies don't understand wit. They were very rough with you. _Y. Book._ Ay, they were somewhat dull. But really Victoria discovered herself at her going, methinks, agreeably enough. _Lat._ I believe they are irrecoverably lost. Pox on't, when I gave you so many signs, too. _Y. Book._ Well, hang thinking. Let's to the tavern, and in every glass name a new beauty, till I either forget, or am inspired with some new project to attain her. While in a lovely bowl I drown my care, She'll cease to be, or I to think her, fair. [_Exeunt._ ACT THE FOURTH. SCENE I.--_Covent Garden._ _Enter_ YOUNG BOOKWIT _and_ LATINE. _Young Book._ This Roebuck has almost done my business. Rigby's an honest fellow, and would not poison us. The wine had good-humour, mirth, and joy in it. My blood beats high and frolic. What says my dear lackey? Ha! _Lat._ Why, sir, I say, sir, that I am in so noble, so exalted a condition, that I almost forget I am your honour's footman. _Y. Book._ Do but your business well to-night. _Lat._ Who says the tongue stutters, legs falter, and eyes fail with drink? 'Tis false, my dear master, my tongue runs faster than ever; my legs so brisk and nimble, that I can't stand still; and my eyes are better than ever they were; for I see everything double--But the letter, the letter, I warrant I give it her. _Y. Book._ Here, here, Jack, take it. _Lat._ Let's come nearer the lamp. This is the foul copy of it that 'tis wrapped in. Let me judge. Now I'll be sedate. Let me read it again. _Y. Book._ But you look cursedly fluttered; they'll say you're drunk. Let's see, I must comb your wig a little. _Lat._ I shall be kicked for this letter here about the middle. You should not talk of joys so soon; you should write miserable a fortnight or three weeks longer--I shall be kicked. _Y. Book._ What then? what then? A man of your philosophy must needs remember, the body's but the mere organ of the mind. Kicks come under the topic of things without. What shall I do for powder for this smart bob? [_Combs out his own wig into_ LAT'S. _Lat._ 'Tis no matter, sir; powder comes under the notion of things without.