Ld. H. Overjoyed! thou'rt distracted, what ails the fellow? Where's Campley's song?
Trim. Oh! my lord, one would not think 'twas in him. Mr. Campley's really a very great poet; as for the song, 'tis only as they all end in rhyme: Ow—woe—isses—kisses—boy—joy. But, my lord, the other in long heroic blank verse.
[Reading it with a great tone.
Pray pay to Mr. William Trim, or order, the sum of—How sweetly it runs! Pactolian guineas chink every line.
Ld. H. How very handsomely this was done in Campley! I wondered, indeed, he was so willing to show his verses. In how careless a manner that fellow does the greatest actions!
Trim. My lord, pray my lord, shan't I go immediately to Cutpurse's?
Ld. H. No, sirrah, now we have no occasion for it.
Trim. No, my lord, only to stare him full in the face after I have received this money, not say a word, but keep my hat on, and walk out. Or perhaps not hear, if any I meet with speak to me, but grow stiff, deaf, and shortsighted to all my old acquaintance, like a sudden rich man as I am. Or, perhaps, my lord, desire Cutpurse's clerk to let me leave fifty pounds at their house, payable to Mr. William Trim, or order, till I come that way, or, a month or two hence, may have occasion for it: I don't know what bills may be drawn upon me. Then when the clerk begins to stare at me, till he pulls the great goose-quill from behind his ear [Pulls a handfull of farthings out] I fall a-reckoning the pieces as I do these farthings.
Ld. H. Well, sirrah, you may have your humour, but be sure you take four score pounds, and pay my debts immediately. If you meet any officer you ever see me in company with, that looks grave at Cutpurse's house, tell him I'd speak with him: We must help our friends. But learn moderation, you rogue, in your good fortune; be at home all the evening after, while I wait at Tom's to meet Campley, in order to see Lady Sharlot.
My good or ill in her alone is found,
And in that thought all other cares are drowned.
[Exeunt.