Scare. But I am afraid I am not qualified for a translator, for I understand no language but my own.
Book. What, and translate Virgil?
Scare. Alas! I translated him out of Dryden.
Book. Lay by your hat, sir—lay by your hat, and take your seat immediately. Not qualified!—thou art as well versed in thy trade as if thou hadst laboured in my garret these ten years. Let me tell you, friend, you will have more occasion for invention than learning here. You will be obliged to translate books out of all languages, especially French, that were never printed in any language whatsoever.
Scare. Your trade abounds in mysteries.
Book. The study of bookselling is as difficult as the law: and there are as many tricks in the one as the other. Sometimes we give a foreign name to our own labours, and sometimes we put our names to the labours of others. Then, as the lawyers have John-a-Nokes and Tom-a-Stiles, so we have Messieurs Moore near St Paul's and Smith near the Royal Exchange.
SCENE VI.—To them, LUCKLESS.
Luck. Mr Bookweight, your servant. Who can form to himself an idea more amiable than of a man at the head of so many patriots working for the benefit of their country.
Book. Truly, sir, I believe it is an idea more agreeable to you than that of a gentleman in the Crown-office paying thirty or forty guineas for abusing an honest tradesman.
Luck. Pshaw! that was only jocosely done, and a man who lives by wit must not be angry at a jest.