_Ld. H._ Oh, I'm his humble servant; but he must have his own terms. We can't starve, nor must my fellows want. But methinks this is a calm midnight, I've heard no duns to-day---- _Trim._ Duns, my lord? Why now your father's dead, and they can't arrest you. I shall grow a little less upon the smooth with 'em than I have been. Why, friend, says I, how often must I tell you my lord is not stirring: His lordship has not slept well, you must come some other time; your lordship will send for him when you are at leisure to look upon money-affairs; or if they are so saucy, so impertinent as to press to a man of your quality for their own--there are canes, there's Bridewell, there's the stocks for your ordinary tradesmen. But to an haughty, thriving Covent Garden mercer, silk or laceman, your lordship gives your most humble service to him, hopes his wife's well. You have letters to write, or you'd see him yourself, but you desire he would be with you punctually such a day, that is to say the day after you are gone out of town. _Ld. H._ Go, sirrah, you're scurrilous; I won't believe there are such men of quality. D'ye hear, give my service this afternoon to Mr. Cutpurse, the agent, and tell him I'm obliged to him for his readiness to serve me, for I'm resolved to pay my debts forthwith---- [_A voice without._ I don't know whether he is within or not. Mr. Trim, is my lord within?] _Ld. H._ Trim, see who it is. I ain't within, you know. [_Exit_ TRIM. _Trim._ [_Without._] Yes, sir, my lord's above; pray walk up---- _Ld. H._ Who can it be? he owns me, too. _Enter_ CAMPLEY _and_ TRIM. Dear Tom Campley, this is kind! You are an extraordinary man indeed, who in the sudden accession of a noble fortune can be still yourself, and visit your less happy friends. _Cam._ No; you are, my lord, the extraordinary man, who, on the loss of an almost princely fortune, can be master of a temper that makes you the envy, rather than pity, of your more fortunate, not more happy friends. _Ld. H._ O, sir, your servant--but let me gaze on thee a little, I han't seen thee since I came home into England--most exactly, negligently, genteelly dressed! I know there's more than ordinary in this [_beating_ CAMPLEY'S _breast_]. Come, confess, who shares with me here? I must have her real and poetical name. Come; she's in sonnet, Cynthia; in prose, mistress. _Cam._ One you little dream of, though she is in a manner of your placing there. _Ld. H._ My placing there? _Cam._ Why, my lord, all the fine things you've said to me in the camp of my Lady Sharlot, your father's ward, ran in my head so very much, that I made it my business to become acquainted in that family, which I did by Mr. Cabinet's means, and am now in love in the same place with your lordship. _Ld. H._ How? in love in the same place with me, Mr. Campley? _Cam._ Ay, my lord, with t'other sister--with t'other sister.