Y. Book. When, pray sir, are you to be immortal?
Char. On Friday next. I'm very unhappy our acquaintance is to be short. I'm very sorry your business is not over, sir, that, if it must be, we might go together.
Y. Book. I'm highly obliged to you, sir.
Char. Yet let me tell you, sir, because by secret sympathy I'm yours, I must acquaint you, if you can obtain the favour of an opportunity and a crucible, I can show projection—directly Sol, sir, Sol, sir, more bright than that high luminary the Latins called so—wealth shall be yours; we'll turn each bar about us into golden ingots.[74] Sir, can you lend me half-a-crown?
Y. Book. Oh, sir, a trifle between such old acquaintance.
Storm. You'll be indicted, sir, to-morrow. I would advise you, when your indictment's read, to one thing: that is, don't cavil at false Latin; but if by chance there should be a word of good, except to that, and puzzle the whole court.
Y. Book. Sir, I'm obliged——
Storm. I defy the world to say I ever did an ill thing; I love my friend. But there is always some little trifle given to prisoners they call garnish; we of the road are above it, but o' t'other side of the house, silly rascals that came voluntarily hither——such as are in for fools, signed their own mittimus, in being bound for others,—may perhaps want it. I'll be your faithful almoner.
Y. Book. Oh, by all means, sir. [Gives him money.
Storm. Pray, sir, is that your footman?