Sir Per. What letter is that, sir?
John. Letter,sir!
Sir Per. Give it me, sir.
John. An't please you, sir, it is not mine.
Sir Per. Deliver it this instant, sirrah, or I'll break your head.
John. [Giving the letter.] There, there your honour.
Sir Per. Begone, rascal.—This, I suppose, will let us intill the whole business.
John. [Aside..] You have got the letter, old surly, but the packet is safe in my pocket. I'll go and deliver that, however, for I will be true to poor Mrs. Constantia in spite of you. [Exit.
Sir Per. [Reading the letter.] Um—um 'and bless my eyes with the sight of you.'—Um—um 'throw myself into your dear arms.' Zoons! 'this letter is invaluable.—-Aha! madam—yes—this will do—this will do, I think.—Let me see, how is it directed—'To Mr. Melville.' Vary weel. [Enter Betty.] O! Betty, you are an excellent wench,—this letter is worth a million.
Bet. Is it as I suspected?—to her gallant?