Part 21 (1/2)

SHARP. Just now, say you; gone in with Lucy?

SET. I saw him, sir, and stood at the corner where you found me, and overheard all they said: Mr. Bellmour is to marry 'em.

SHARP. Ha, ha; it will be a pleasant cheat. I'll plague Heartwell when I see him. Prithee, Frank, let's tease him; make him fret till he foam at the mouth, and disgorge his matrimonial oath with interest. Come, thou'rt musty--

SET. [_To_ SHARPER.] Sir, a word with you. [_Whispers him_.]

VAIN. Sharper swears she has forsworn the letter--I'm sure he tells me truth;--but I'm not sure she told him truth: yet she was unaffectedly concerned, he says, and often blushed with anger and surprise: and so I remember in the park. She had reason, if I wrong her. I begin to doubt.

SHARP. Say'st thou so?

SET. This afternoon, sir, about an hour before my master received the letter.

SHARP. In my conscience, like enough.

SET. Ay, I know her, sir; at least, I'm sure I can fish it out of her: she's the very sluice to her lady's secrets: 'tis but setting her mill agoing, and I can drain her of 'em all.

SHARP. Here, Frank, your bloodhound has made out the fault: this letter, that so sticks in thy maw, is counterfeit; only a trick of Sylvia in revenge, contrived by Lucy.

VAIN. Ha! It has a colour; but how do you know it, sirrah?

SET. I do suspect as much; because why, sir, she was pumping me about how your wors.h.i.+p's affairs stood towards Madam Araminta; as, when you had seen her last? when you were to see her next? and, where you were to be found at that time? and such like.

VAIN. And where did you tell her?

SET. In the Piazza.

VAIN. There I received the letter--it must be so--and why did you not find me out, to tell me this before, sot?

SET. Sir, I was pimping for Mr. Bellmour.

SHARP. You were well employed: I think there is no objection to the excuse.

VAIN. Pox of my saucy credulity--if I have lost her, I deserve it. But if confession and repentance be of force, I'll win her, or weary her into a forgiveness.

SHARP. Methinks I long to see Bellmour come forth.

SCENE V.

SHARPER, BELLMOUR, SETTER.

SET. Talk of the devil: see where he comes.

SHARP. Hugging himself in his prosperous mischief--no real fanatic can look better pleased after a successful sermon of sedition.

BELL. Sharper! Fortify thy spleen: such a jest! Speak when thou art ready.

SHARP. Now, were I ill-natured would I utterly disappoint thy mirth: hear thee tell thy mighty jest with as much gravity as a bishop hears venereal causes in the spiritual court. Not so much as wrinkle my face with one smile; but let thee look simply, and laugh by thyself.