SCAN. What think you of that noble commoner, Mrs. Drab?
TATT. Pooh, I know Madam Drab has made her brags in three or four places, that I said this and that, and writ to her, and did I know not what—but, upon my reputation, she did me wrong—well, well, that was malice—but I know the bottom of it. She was bribed to that by one we all know—a man too. Only to bring me into disgrace with a certain woman of quality—
SCAN. Whom we all know.
TATT. No matter for that. Yes, yes, everybody knows. No doubt on’t, everybody knows my secrets. But I soon satisfied the lady of my innocence; for I told her: Madam, says I, there are some persons who make it their business to tell stories, and say this and that of one and t’other, and everything in the world; and, says I, if your grace—
SCAN. Grace!
TATT. O Lord, what have I said? My unlucky tongue!
VAL. Ha, ha, ha.
SCAN. Why, Tattle, thou hast more impudence than one can in reason expect: I shall have an esteem for thee, well, and, ha, ha, ha, well, go on, and what did you say to her grace?
VAL. I confess this is something extraordinary.
TATT. Not a word, as I hope to be saved; an errant lapsus linguæ. Come, let’s talk of something else.