Fred. You, sir, his favourite servant, pray speak honestly the truth of what you know to this learned gentleman, who is counsel in this case.
Y. Book. Sir, he is not——
Love. Pray, sir, give the servant leave first.
Lat. Know, then, I am not what I seem, but a gentleman of a plentiful fortune. I am thus dressed to carry on such gay pursuits as should offer in this town. Not to detain you, Mr. Bookwit sent me late last night with a letter to one of these ladies. Coming from thence, as I crossed, I saw Lovemore in the Garden. He stopped me, and, after some questions concerning my message to this house, to which he did not like my answers, he struck me. We fought—I left him dead upon the spot; of which this gentleman is guiltless.
O. Book. How! was it you, then, that killed Mr. Lovemore?
Lat. 'Twas this unhappy hand gave him his death, but so provoked—
Y. Book. Who could believe that any pleasing passion
Could touch a breast loaded with guilt like mine?
But all my mind is seized with admiration
Of thy stupendous friendship. What then—
Could'st thou hold thy innocent hand up at a bar
With felons, to save thy friend?
How shall I chide or praise thy brave imposture?
Ah, sir, believe him not! He cannot bear the loss of me whom he o'ervalues; therefore with highest gallantry he offers a benefit which 'twere the meanest baseness to receive.
But death's more welcome than a life so purchased.
Lat. We all know you can talk, and gild things as you please, but the lady's servant knows I was taken near the body when you——
Y. Book. Sir, do but hear me—[Pushing away Lat.