Enter Old Bookwit.
There he is——
O. Book. Oh, Mr. Frederick! too late, too late was our care; they met last night, and then the fatal act was done. You'll excuse, sir, a father's sorrow——I can't speak much, but you may guess what I hope from you.
Fred. You may depend upon ingenuous usage in the prosecution. I'm going instantly to Penelope's with this learned gentleman, to know what she can say to this matter. I desired you, in the note I sent you, to purchase the favour of your son's being brought thither, where he and you may be witnesses of what shall pass. I seek not his blood, nor would neglect a justice to my deceased friend.
O. Book. I believe my son and the rest are going thither ere this; and I desire this worthy serjeant's favour and advice, since we both mean the same thing—only to act with honour, if his life may be saved.
Love. I'll do what's just to the deceased and the survivor.
O. Book. I'll leave you, but will take care to come in just afore the criminals arrive. [Exit.
Love. The poor old gentleman! Prithee, let's go; I long to see my lovely torment, Penelope.
Fred. I'll but leave word within. [Exeunt.