Const. Come, come, I find they are desperate fellows; we'll to the justice, and commit 'em immediately. I'll teach rascals to speak high-treason against a petty constable——[Exeunt.[72]
Enter Frederick and Old Bookwit.
O. Book. You well may be surprised at my waiting here for your coming home. But you'll pardon me, since it is to ease me of an anxiety that keeps me waking.
Fred. I shall be very glad if I am capable of doing that.
O. Book.[73] You knew my Tom at Oxford, and I believe were not so hard a student, but you made some acquaintance in the town—therefore, pray tell me, do you know Mr. Newtown there—his family, descent, and fortune?
Fred. What Newtown?
O. Book. I'll tell you, sir, what you young fellows take most notice of old ones for—a token that you needs must know him by—he's the father of the fair Matilda, your celebrated beauty of that town.
Fred. I assure you, sir, I never heard of the father or daughter till this instant; therefore I'm confident there's no such beauty.
O. Book. Oh, sir, I know your drift—you're tender of informing me for my son's sake! He told me all himself. I know all the progress of his love with the young lady; how he was taken in the night in her bedchamber by his pistol going off, the family disturbance that was raised upon it, which he composed by marrying—I know it all.
Fred. Is Tom Bookwit then married at Oxford?