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Show Love and a Bottle. 52 him off purely. But prithee, Ned, where had you this fine Jewel ? (Viewing one ty'd to the Watch. Lov. Pfhaw! A Trifle, a Trifle; from a Miftrefs - Take care on't tho'. But hark ye, George; don't pufh too home; have a care of whipping thro' the Guts. Roeb.- Gad, I'm afraid one or both of us m a y fall. But d'ye hear, Ned, remember you fent m e on this Errant, and are therefore anfwerable for all Mifchief; if 1 do whip my jAdverlary through the Lungs, or fo, remember you fet me upon't. 1 Lov. Well, honeft George, you won't believe how much you oblige m e in this Courtefie. Roeb. You know always I oblige m y felf by ferving my Friend. • 1 never thought this Spark was a Coward before. _ * (Afide. Lov. I never imagin'd this Fellow was fo eafie before. > LA fide.) Well, good Succefs to us both; and when we meet, we'll relate all Tranfaclions that pafs. J Roeb. That you're a Fool. Lov. That you're an Afs. (Exeunt fever ally, Uughingr Re-enter Lovewell croffing the Stage hafiilyi Mockmode and Lyrick following him. Lyr. Mr. Lovewell, a word w'ye. Lov. Let it be fhort, pray Sir, for m y Bus'nefs is urgent, and'tis almoft dark. Lyr. I'm reconcil'd to the'Squire, and wantonly the Pre-fentment of a Copy of Verfes, to ingratiate m y felf wholly, throughly. Let m e have that piece 1 lent juft now. Lov. A y , ay, with all m y Heart.-Here,-Farewel. (Pulls the Poem haflily, and jufiles out a Letter with it, which Mockmode takes up. Lyr. N o w , Sir, here's a Poem, (which according to the way of ws Poets) I fay, was written at fifteen ; but between you and I it was made at five and twenty. Mock. Five and twenty! When is a Poet at Age? pray, Sir ? Lyr. At the third Night of his firft Play; for hes never a M a n till then. Mock. But when at Years of Difcretion ? Lyr. W h e n they leave Writing, and that's feldom or never. • Mock. But w h o are your Guardians ? . Lyr. The Criticks, w h o with their good Will, wou'd never let us \ •• . • c- o-m e to Age, Bu.t w, hat have you got there ? Mack. |
