Mood. By the mass, 'twas well thought on; well, son, go you before, I'll speak but one word for a dish or two at dinner, and follow you to the licence office. Sirrah, stay you here, till my return.
[Exeunt Sir John and Moody.
Warn. Was there ever such a lucky rogue as I? I had always a good opinion of my wit, but could never think I had so much as now I find. I have now gained an opportunity to carry away Mrs Millisent, for my master to get his mistress by means of his rival, to receive all his happiness, where he could expect nothing but misery: After this exploit, I will have Lilly draw me in the habit of a hero, with a laurel on my temples, and an inscription below it; This is Warner, the flower of serving-men.
Enter Messenger.
Mess. Pray do me the favour to help me to the speech of Mr Moody.
Warn. What's your business?
Mess. I have a letter to deliver to him.
Warn. Here he comes, you may deliver it yourself to him.
Enter Moody.
Mess. Sir, a gentleman met me at the corner of the next street, and bid me give this into your own hands.
Mood. Stay, friend, till I have read it.