THE TRYAL.
ACT I.— SCENE I.
Mr. Withrington's house: Enter Withrington and his two Nieces hanging upon his arms, coaxing him in a playful manner as they advance towards the front of the Stage.
With. Poo, poo, get along, young gipsies, and dont teaze me any more.
Ag. So we will, my good sir, when you have granted our suit.
Mar. Do, dear uncle, it will be so pleasant!
With. Get along, get along. Dont think to wheedle me into it. It would be very pleasant, truly, to see an old fellow, with a wig upon his bald pate, making one in a holy-day mummery with a couple of mad caps.
Ag. Nay, dont lay the fault upon the wig, good sir, for it is as youthful, and as sly, and as saucy looking as the best head of hair in the county. As for your old wig indeed, there was so much curmudgeon-like austerity about it, that young people fled from before it, as, I dare say, the birds do at present, for I am sure that it is stuck up in some cherry orchard, by this time, to frighten the sparrows.
