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nute in my own custody; so throw off your livery
ing a livery, would refuse two thousand pounds, let
the condition be what it would —No, no, sir; but
For whatsoe'er the sages charge on pride,
ACT THE THIRD.
LADY BOUNTIFUL’s House.
Mrs. Sul. Ha! has has my dear sister, let me embrace thee : now we are friends indeed ; for I shall have a secret of yours, as a pledge for mine. Dor. But do you think that I am so weak as to fall in love with a fellow at first sight 3 Airs. Sul. Pshaw now you spoil all; why should not we be as free in our friendships as the men I warrant you, the gentleman has got to his confidant already, has avowed his passion, toasted your health, and called you ten thousand angels. Dor. Your hand, sister, I an’t well. Mrs. Sul. So—come, child, up with it—hem a little--so—now, tell me, don’t you like the gentleman that we saw at church just now : Dor. The man's well enough Mrs. Sul. Well enough Is he not a demigod, a Narcissus, a star, the man i the moon 2 Dor. O, sister, I’m extremely ill. Mrs. -ul. Come, unbosom yourself—the man is perfectly a pretty fellow; I saw him when he first came into church. Dor. I saw him too, sister, and with an air that shone, methought, like rays about his person.
Mrs. Sul. Well said, up with it. Dr. No forward coquette bebaviour, no airs to set himself off, no studied looks nor artful posture, but nature did it all. Mrs. Sul. Better and better COnne— Dor. But, then his looks—Did you observe his eyes Mrs. Sul. Yes, yes, I did—his eyes; well, what of his eyes? Dur. Sprightly, but not wandering; they seemed to view, but never gazed on any thing but me—and then his looks so humble were, and yet so noble, that they aimed to tell me, that he could with pride die at my feet, though he scorned slavery any where else. Airs. Sul. The physic works purely—How dye. find yourself now, my dear : Dor. Hem much better, my dear.—O, here comes our Mercury.—
One touch more;
Well, Scrub, what news of the gentleman 2
Scrub. Madam, I have brought you a whole packet of news.
Dor. Open it quickly; come.
Sérub. In the first place, I inquired who the gentleman was They told me he was a stranger. Secondly, I asked, what the gentleman was They answered and said, that they never saw him before. Thirdly, I inquired what countryman he was They replied, 'twas more than they knew. Fourthly, I demanded, whence he came 2. Their answer was, they could not tell. And, fifthly, I asked, whither he went? And they replied, they knew nothing of the matter.—And this is all could learn. - Mo. Sul. But what do the people say? can't they guess: - -
Scrub. Why, some think he's a spy; some guess he's a mountebank; some say one thing, some another;—but, for my own part, I believe he's a jesuit. Dor. A jesuit ! Why a jesuit? Scrub. Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his footman talks French Mrs. Sul. His footman Scrub. Ay; he and the Count's footman were jabbering French, like two intriguing ducks in a millpond : and, I believe, they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly. Dor. What sort of livery has the footman : Scrub. Livery! lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizened with lace: and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles—he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so— [Walks in a French Air.] and has fine long hair, tied up in a bag. Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of man than I. Mrs. Sul. That may easily be—But what shall we do now, sister 2 Dor, I have it This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning, the first hides the latter by abundance—Scrub. Scrub. Madam. Dor. We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction. Scrub. Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt. Dor. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you are butler to-day. Scrub. Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday. Mrs. Sul. O brave sister! o'my conscience, you understand the mathematics already—'Tis the best plot in the world;—your mother, you know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse, with his scoundrels, and the house will be our own—so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country, you know, any stranger is company, and we are glad to take up with a butler in a country dance, and happy if he'll do us the favour. Scrub. Oh, madam you wrong me: I never refused your ladyship the favour in my life.
Gip. Ladies, dinner's upon table.
Dor. Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting—Go where we ordered you.
Scrub. I shall. [Exeunt.
Enter AIM w. ELL and ARCHER.
Arch. Well, Tom, I find you are a marksman. Aim. A marksman who so blind could be as not discern a swan among the ravens : Arch. Well, but harkye, Aimwell— Aim. Aimwell! call me Oroondates, Cesario, Amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I'll answer. O, Archer, I read her thousands in
her looks she looked like Ceres in her harvest; corn,
wine, and oil, milk and honey; gardens, groves, and purling streams, played on her plentecus face. Arch. Her face – her pocket, you mean. The corn, wine, and oil, lies there. In short, she has twenty thousand pounds, that's the English on't. Aim. Her eyes