Our modern Cato soon lost his coolness and courage, screw'd his nose up to his foretop, rapp'd out a dozen oaths in high Dutch, limp'd away to his lodgings, and was there laid up for a month--Ha, ha, ha! _Enter a Servant, and delivers a Card to_ Sir Luke. Sir LUKE _reads_. "Sir Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's company to dine. An answer is desired." Gadso! a little unlucky; I have been engag'd for these three weeks. SERJEANT. What, I find Sir Gregory is return'd for the corporation of _Fleesum_. Sir LUKE. Is he so? Oh ho!--That alters the case.--George, give my compliments to Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and dine there. Order Joe to run to alderman Inkle's, in Threadneedle-street; sorry can't wait upon him, but confin'd to bed two days with _new influenza_. CHARLOT. You make light, Sir Luke, of these sort of engagements. Sir LUKE. What can a man do? These damn'd fellows (when one has the misfortune to meet them) take scandalous advantage; teaze, When will you do me the honour, pray, Sir Luke, to take a bit of mutton with me? Do you name the day--They are as bad as a beggar, who attacks your coach at the mounting of a hill; there is no getting rid of them, without a penny to one, and a promise to t'other. SERJEANT. True; and then for such a time too--three weeks! I wonder they expect folks to remember. It is like a retainer in Michaelmas term for the summer assizes. Sir LUKE. Not but, upon these occasions, no man in England is more punctual than---- _Enter a Servant, who gives_ Sir Luke _a Letter_. From whom? SERVANT. Earl of Brentford. The servant waits for an answer. Sir LUKE. Answer!--By your leave, Mr. Serjeant and Charlot. [_Reads._] "Taste for music--Mons. Duport--fail--Dinner upon table at five"--Gadso! I hope Sir Gregory's servant an't gone. SERVANT. Immediately upon receiving the answer. Sir LUKE. Run after him as fast as you can--tell him, quite in despair--recollect an engagement that can't in nature be missed,--and return in an instant. CHARLOT. You see, Sir, the Knight must give way for my Lord. Sir LUKE. No, faith, it is not that, my dear Charlot; you saw that was quite an extempore business.--No, hang it, no, it is not for the title; but to tell you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any man in the world; it is that makes me fond of his house. CHARLOT. By the choice of his company he gives an unanswerable instance of that. Sir LUKE. You are right, my dear girl. But now to give you a proof of his wit: You know Brentford's finances are a little out of repair, which procures him some visits that he would very gladly excuse. SERJEANT. What need he fear? His person is sacred; for by the tenth of William and Mary-- Sir LUKE. He knows that well enough; but for all that-- SERJEANT. Indeed, by a late act of his own house, (which does them infinite honour) his goods or chattels may be---- Sir LUKE.