woman exchanging compliments at Billingsgate; but some of his verses,—they were amongst the most famous
Jeremy.—She's here, Sir.
Mrs. Foresight.—Now, Sister!
Mrs. Frail.—O Lord! what must I say?
Scandal.—Humour him, Madam, by all means.
Valentine.—Where is she? Oh! I see her; she comes, like Riches, Health, and Liberty at once, to a despairing, starving, and abandoned wretch. Oh—welcome, welcome!
Mrs. Frail.—How d'ye, Sir? Can I serve you?
Valentine.—Hark'ee—I have a secret to tell you, Endymion and the moon shall meet as on Mount Latmos, and we'll be married in the dead of night. But say not a word. Hymen shall put his torch into a dark lanthorn, that it may be secret; and Juno shall give her peacock poppy-water, that he may fold his ogling tail; and Argus's hundred eyes be shut—ha! Nobody shall know, but Jeremy.
Mrs. Frail.—No, no; we'll keep it secret; it shall be done presently.
Valentine.—The sooner the better. Jeremy, come hither—closer—that none may overhear us. Jeremy, I can tell you news; Angelica is turned nun, and I am turning friar, and yet we'll marry one another in spite of the Pope. Get me a cowl and beads, that I may play my part; for she'll meet me two hours hence in black and white, and a long veil to cover the project, and we won't see one another's faces 'till we have done something to be ashamed of, and them we'll blush once for all. . . . . .
Enter Tattle.
Valentine.—You!—who are you! No; I hope not.
Tattle.—I am Jack Tattle, your friend.
Valentine.—My friend! What to do? I am no married man, and thou canst not lye with my wife; I am very poor, and thou canst not borrow money of me. Then, what employment have I for a friend?
Tattle.—Hah! A good open speaker, and not to be trusted with a secret.
Angelica.—Do you know me, Valentine?
Valentine.—Oh, very well.
Angelica.—Who am I?
