My old Friend, the Humourist, who is liberal of Talk in his Wine, I must confess, sometimes lets his Vain-Glory bring his Discourse under some Suspitions; especially, when upon the Strain of his Intimacy with King Charles. He tells how that Prince, seeing him one Morning in the Park, obliged him to take a Breakfast with him at Whitehall: As soon as they were got into the Lodgings, the King called for Kate, meaning the Queen, made her salute his Friend, and asked her how she could entertain them. The Queen, he says, seeing a Stranger, made some little Hesitations: But at last, My Dear, says she, we have nothing but a Rib of cold Beef at present, for yesterday, you know, was Washing-Day. In short, he tells this Story with so much Gravity, that you must either consent to believe it, or be obliged to fight him, for suspecting the Truth of it.
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