Pen. I thank you, dearest; I don't doubt it indeed.
Vict. Where are you going now, my dear? O fie! this is not like a friend—Do I use you so, dear madam?
Pen. Nay, indeed, madam, I must wait on you.
Vict. Indeed you shan't—indeed you shan't. [Pen. follows Vict.
Pen. Well, madam, will you promise, then, to be as free with me?—Thus does she hope to work me out of my lover, by being made my confident—but that baseness has been too fashionable to pass any more. I have not trusted her, the cunning creature. I begin to hate her so—I'll never be a minute from her. [Exit.
SCENE II.—Covent Garden.
Enter Old Bookwit, Young Bookwit, and Latine.
O. Book. Well, Tom, where have you sauntered about since I saw you? Is not the town mightily increased since you were in it?
Y. Book. Ay, indeed, I need not have been so impatient to have left Oxford. Had I stayed a year longer, they had builded to me.