Vict. Hyblæan! Libyan! Obdurate! Ridiculous. The fellow has got his master's cant! Ha! ha! ha!
Pen. I'll put him out of it, I'll warrant you. What, will no one come up there?
Enter Servants with brooms, &c.
Lat. Oh! for the force of eloquence to allay and reconcile the passion of this angry mansion!—I had like to have said plain house, which had been against the laws of buskin, in which I would at present talk. [Aside.
Pen. Did you ever hear anything like this? Ha! ha!
Maid. Madam, shall I beat him?
Lat. Ah! culinary fair, compose thy rage; thou whose more skilful hand is still employed in offices for the support of nature, descend not from thyself, thou bright cookmaid——There! sunk again! [Aside.]—With heightened gusts and quickening tastes, by you what would be labour else is made delight. Thou great robust, let not thy hand all red assault a life it rather should preserve.
Maid. Good madam, excuse me, I can't touch him——I have bowels for him. [Weeping.
Sim. I wish I had his learning. I'll warrant he buys in everything wherever he lives.
Lat. This, madam, this faithful paper tells you the passions of the tenderest heart that ever bled for cruel maid. Oh, Victoria! did you but hear his sighs, his restless hours!—how often he repeats Victoria!