Bal. Who, that bluff fellow in the sash? I don't know him.
Wor. But I engage he knows you and every body at first sight: his impudence were a prodigy, were not his ignorance proportionable; he has the most universal acquaintance of any man living, for he won't be alone, and nobody will keep him company twice: then he's a Cæsar among the women, veni, vidi, vici, that's all. If he has but talked with the maid, he swears he has lain with the mistress: but the most surprising part of his character is his memory, which is the most prodigious and the most trifling in the world.
Bal. I have known another acquire so much by travel as to tell you the names of most places in Europe, with their distances of miles, leagues, or hours, as punctually as a postboy; but for any thing else as ignorant as the horse that carries the mail.
Wor. This is your man, sir, add but the traveller's privilege of lying, and even that he abuses: this is the picture, behold the life.
Enter Brazen.
Brazen. Mr. Worthy, I'm your servant, and so forth—Harkye, my dear!
Wor. Whispering, sir, before company, is not manners, and when nobody's by 'tis foolish.
Brazen. Company! mort de ma vie! I beg the gentleman's pardon—who is he?
Wor. Ask him.
Brazen. So I will. My dear! I am your servant, and so forth—Your name, my dear?