_Sir H._ Generality of women! Why there again, you're out. They're all alike, sir: I never heard of any one that was particular, but one. _Colonel S._ Who was she, pray? _Sir H._ Penelope, I think she's called, and that's a poetical story too. When will you find a poet in our age make a woman so chaste? _Colonel S._ Well, Sir Harry, your facetious humour can disguise falsehood, and make calumny pass for satire; but you have promised me ocular demonstration that she favours you: make that good, and I shall then maintain faith and female to be as inconsistent as truth and falsehood. _Sir H._ But will you be convinced, if our plot succeeds. _Colonel S._ I rely on your word and honour, Sir Harry. _Sir H._ Then meet me half an hour hence at the Shakspeare; you must oblige me by taking a hearty glass with me toward the fitting me out for a certain project, which this night I undertake. _Colonel S._ I guess, by the preparation, that woman's the design. _Sir H._ Yes, 'faith.--I am taken dangerously ill with two foolish maladies, modesty and love: the first I'll cure with Burgundy, and my love by a night's lodging with the damsel. A sure remedy. _Probatum est._ _Colonel S._ I'll certainly meet you, sir. [_Exeunt severally._ _Enter_ CLINCHER JUNIOR _and_ DICKY. _Clinch. jun._ Ah, Dick, this London is a sad place, a sad vicious place: I wish that I were in the country again. And this brother of mine--I'm sorry he's so great a rake: I had rather see him dead than see him thus. _Dicky._ Ay, sir, he'll spend his whole estate at this same Jubilee. Who d'ye think lives at this same Jubilee? _Clinch. jun._ Who, pray? _Dicky._ The Pope. _Clinch. jun._ The devil he does! My brother go to the place where the Pope dwells! He's bewitched, sure! _Enter_ TOM ERRAND, _in_ CLINCHER SENIOR'S _Clothes_. _Dicky._ Indeed, I believe he is, for he's strangely altered. _Clinch. jun._ Altered! Why, he looks like a Jesuit already. _Tom._ This lace will sell. What a blockhead was the fellow to trust me with his coat! If I can get cross the garden, down to the water-side, I am pretty secure. _Clinch. jun._ Brother?--Alaw! Oh, gemini! Are you my brother? _Dicky._ I seize you in the kings name, sir. _Tom._ Oh, lord! should this prove some parliament man now! _Clinch. jun._ Speak, you rogue, what are you? _Tom._ A poor porter, and going of an errand. _Dicky._ What errand? Speak, you rogue. _Tom._ A fool's errand, I'm afraid. _Clinch. jun._ Who sent you? _Tom._ A beau, sir. _Dicky._ No, no; the rogue has murdered your brother, and stripped him of his clothes. _Clinch. jun._ Murdered my brother! Oh, crimini! Oh, my poor Jubilee brother! Stay, by Jupiter Ammon, I'm heir though. Speak, sir, have you killed him? Confess that you have killed him, and I'll give you half a crown. _Tom._ Who I, sir? Alack-a-day, sir, I never killed any man, but a carrier's horse once.