Vict. Oh! fie, this from you! But I know you won't flatter me, you're too much my friend.
Pen. Now, madam, you shall see. [Powders her.]—Now she looks like a sprite. [Aside.
Vict. Thank you, my dear; we'll take an hack. Our maids shall go with us. Come, dear friend. [Exeunt arm in arm.
Bet. Pray, Madam Lettice, be pleased to go on.
Lett. Indeed, Madam Betty, I must beg your pardon.
Bet. I am at home, dear Madam Lettice.
Lett. Well, madam, this is unkind. I don't use you with this ceremony. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.—Covent Garden.
Enter Young Bookwit and Latine after a flourish.
Y. Book. Victoria! Victoria! Victoria!