Oliv. No more than a Priest Compassion; he thinks me at Hackney, [making Wax Babies], where he intends to visit me within these three days,—But I forgot to tell you, our Brother, Sir Merlin, lodges in this House with you; and shou’d he know you—
Geo. ’Tis impossible—I’ve not see him, or my Father, these five Years. Absence, my Growth, and this unexpected Equipage, will not be penetrated by his Capacity.
Oliv. True, he’ll never look for his Brother George, in the Gallantry and Person of Monsieur Lejere—My good Father expects you home, like the prodigal Son, all torn and tatter’d, and as penitent too.
Geo. To plod on here, in a laborious Cheating, all my Youth and Vigour, in hopes of drunken Pleasures when I’m old; or else go with him into Wales, and there lead a thoughtless Life, hunt, and drink, and make love to none but Chamber-maids. No, my Olivia, I’ll use the sprightly Runnings of my Life, and not hope distant Pleasures from its Dregs.
Oliv. For that, use your Discretion; now equip your self to your present Business; the more simply you are clad and look, the better. I’ll home and expect you. Exit.
Geo. Do so, my good Sister; a little formal Hypocrisy may do, ’twill relish after Liberty; for a Pleasure is never so well tasted, as when it’s season’d with some Opposition.
Enter Britton.
Britt. Sir, I’ve News to tell you, will surprize you; Prince Frederick is arriv’d.
Geo. Is’t possible? I left him going for Flanders.
Britt. Passing by our Door, and seeing your Livery, [he] enquir’d for you; and finding you here, alighted just now. But see, Sir, he’s here.