_Lat._ Whither can this Bookwit be gone? _Sim._ Oh! Mr. John, Mr. Lovemore is killed just now, since you went out of our house; and you and your master must have an hand in it. _Lat._ How? Lovemore killed! [_They seize_ LATINE. _Enter others with_ YOUNG BOOKWIT. _Y. Book._ Hands off, you dirty midnight rascals. Let me go, or---- _Const._ Sir, what were you running so fast for? There's a man killed in the Garden, and you're a fine gentleman, and it must be you--for good honest people only beat one another---- _Lat._ Nay, nay, we are all in a fair way to be fine gentlemen, Mr. Simon and all. _Const._ Hands off, rascals, you said just now--do you know what a constable is? _Y. Book._ The greatest man in the parish when all the rest are asleep. _Const._ Come, come, I find they are desperate fellows; we'll to the justice, and commit 'em immediately. I'll teach rascals to speak high-treason against a petty constable----[_Exeunt._[72] _Enter_ FREDERICK _and_ OLD BOOKWIT. _O. Book._ You well may be surprised at my waiting here for your coming home. But you'll pardon me, since it is to ease me of an anxiety that keeps me waking. _Fred._ I shall be very glad if I am capable of doing that. _O. Book._[73] You knew my Tom at Oxford, and I believe were not so hard a student, but you made some acquaintance in the town--therefore, pray tell me, do you know Mr. Newtown there--his family, descent, and fortune? _Fred._ What Newtown? _O. Book._ I'll tell you, sir, what you young fellows take most notice of old ones for--a token that you needs must know him by--he's the father of the fair Matilda, your celebrated beauty of that town. _Fred._ I assure you, sir, I never heard of the father or daughter till this instant; therefore I'm confident there's no such beauty. _O. Book._ Oh, sir, I know your drift--you're tender of informing me for my son's sake! He told me all himself. I know all the progress of his love with the young lady; how he was taken in the night in her bedchamber by his pistol going off, the family disturbance that was raised upon it, which he composed by marrying--I know it all. _Fred._ Is Tom Bookwit then married at Oxford? _O. Book._ He is, indeed, sir; therefore our affairs are now so linked that 'twill be an ill office both to the Newtowns and to us to conceal anything from me that relates to them. _Fred._ A man can't be said to conceal what he does not know----But it seems it was Mr. Bookwit gave you this account himself. _O. Book._ Yes, sir; I told you, sir, I had it from himself. _Fred._ Then I'm sure there was nothing left out; he never tells a story by halves. _O. Book._ Why, then, you think my son's a liar.