Luck. That's no easy thing, Marplay.
Mar. jun. Yes, sir. Odes, odes, a man may be obliged to write those, you know.
Luck, and Wit. Ha, ha, ha! that's true indeed.
Luck. But about my tragedy, Mr Marplay.
Mar. jun. I believe my father is at the playhouse: if you please, we will read it now; but I must call on a young lady first—Hey, who's there? Is my footman there? Order my chair to the door. Your servant, gentlemen.—Caro vien. [Exit, singing.
Wit. This is the most finished gentleman I ever saw; and hath not, I dare swear, his equal.
Luck. If he has, here he comes.
SCENE VII.—LUCKLESS, WITMORE, BOOKWEIGHT.
Luck. Mr Bookweight, your very humble servant.
Book. I was told, sir, that you had particular business with me.