_Lett._ Hist, hist! I am, methinks, however, loth to discover you, because servants must do as they're bid; for I know it was not to see me, but some message from your master you came about. _Lat._ I offered to bring a letter from him, in hopes to see you, my dearest. I'll not give it at all; I don't care, my dearest. [_Kisses her hand._ _Lett._ Pho! pho! now you are rude, because you know one dare not discover you. You do what you will.--How he kisses one's hand: I warrant he has kissed his betters. [_Aside._]--Pray, did you never live in a lady's service? _Lat._ No; nor do I value any of the sex but your dear self, Mrs. Lettice.--I would be discovered. [_Aside._]--I'm in a rapture! in a flame! _Pen._ [_Within._] Who's there? _Lett._ Hist, hist! could not you have forced a kiss quietly?--Madam! madam!--Hold me fast. Show the letter, my lady's coming.--I tell you, sir, she will receive no message at all. Get you downstairs, you impudent!--Hold me faster yet; she loves your master. [_Softly aside to_ LATINE. _Enter_ PENELOPE _and_ VICTORIA. _Pen._ What can this mean? What fellow's that has seized the wench? _Lett._ Madam, madam, here's Mr. Bookwit's footman drunk, and has directly stole upstairs with some ill design, I fear, on me--but has a letter from his master to your ladyship. _Pen._ Call up the servants: Simon, William, Kate, Alf! I'll have the rascal well basted for his insolence--served just as his master deserves. _Lat._ [_Kneeling._] Let not those lips, more sweet than labour of Hyblæan bees, utter a sentence, as if a Libyan lioness on a mountain gave thee suck, and thou wert the obdurate offspring of a rock. _Vict._ Hyblæan! Libyan! Obdurate! Ridiculous. The fellow has got his master's cant! Ha! ha! ha! _Pen._ I'll put him out of it, I'll warrant you. What, will no one come up there? _Enter_ Servants _with brooms, &c._ _Lat._ Oh! for the force of eloquence to allay and reconcile the passion of this angry mansion!--I had like to have said plain house, which had been against the laws of buskin, in which I would at present talk. [_Aside._ _Pen._ Did you ever hear anything like this? Ha! ha! _Maid._ Madam, shall I beat him? _Lat._ Ah! culinary fair, compose thy rage; thou whose more skilful hand is still employed in offices for the support of nature, descend not from thyself, thou bright cookmaid----There! sunk again! [_Aside._]--With heightened gusts and quickening tastes, by you what would be labour else is made delight. Thou great robust, let not thy hand all red assault a life it rather should preserve. _Maid._ Good madam, excuse me, I can't touch him----I have bowels for him. [_Weeping._ _Sim._ I wish I had his learning. I'll warrant he buys in everything wherever he lives. _Lat._ This, madam, this faithful paper tells you the passions of the tenderest heart that ever bled for cruel maid. Oh, Victoria! did you but hear his sighs, his restless hours!--how often he repeats Victoria!