Kite. I shall, sir.
Plume. But hold, have you made any use of your fortune-teller's habit since you arrived?
Kite. Yes, yes, sir; and my fame's all about the country for the most faithful fortune-teller that ever told a lie—I was obliged to let my landlord into the secret, for the convenience of keeping it so; but he is an honest fellow, and will be faithful to any roguery that is trusted to him. This device, sir, will get you men, and me, money, which, I think, is all we want at present—But yonder comes your friend, Mr. Worthy—Has your honour any further commands?
Plume. None at present. [Exit Kite.] 'Tis indeed, the picture of Worthy, but the life is departed.
Enter Worthy.
What, arms across, Worthy! methinks you should hold them open when a friend's so near—The man has got the vapours in his ears, I believe. I must expel this melancholy spirit.
| Spleen, thou worst of fiends below, |
| Fly, I conjure thee, by this magic blow. |
[Slaps Worthy on the Shoulder.
Wor. Plume! my dear captain! welcome. Safe and sound returned!
Plume. I escaped safe from Germany, and sound, I hope, from London: you see I have lost neither leg, arm, nor nose. Then for my inside, 'tis neither troubled with sympathies, nor antipathies; and I have an excellent stomach for roast beef.