A Series of Plays in which it is attempted to delineate The Stronger Passions of the Mind, Volume One/The Tryal Act 4
ACT IV.—Scene I.
Harwood's Lodgings. He is discovered walking about with an irregular disturbed step, his hair and dress all neglected and in disorder; he comes forward to the front of the stage.
Har. I have neither had peace nor sleep since I beheld her; O! that I had never known her! or know her only such as my first fond fancy conceived her!—I would my friend were come, I will open my heart to him, he perhaps will speak comfort to me, for surely that temper must be violent indeed, which generous affection cannot subdue; and she must be extravagant beyond all bounds of nature, who would ruin the fond husband who toils for her; no, no, nature makes not such, but when she sets her scowling mark upon them to warn us from our ruin. (Pauses, walks up and down, then comes forward again.) Insipid constitutions, good nature is a tiresome thing: passion subdued by reason is worth a score of it—and passion subdued by love?—O! that were better still!—yesterday, as I enter'd her door, I heard her name me to her cousin, with so much gentle softness in her voice, I blest her as she spoke.—Ah! if this were so, all might still be well; who would not struggle with the world, for such a creature as this—Ay, and I must struggle!—O! that this head of mine would give over thinking, but for one half hour! (Rings the bell.)
Enter Thomas.
What brings you here, Thomas?
Thom. Your bell rung, sir.
Har. Well, well, I did want something but I have forgot it. Bring me a glass of water. (Exit Thomas. Harwood sits down by a small writing-table, and rests his head upon his hand. Re-enter Thomas, with the water.) You have made good haste, Thomas.
Thom. I did make good haste, sir, lest you should be impatient with me.
Har. I am sometimes impatient with you, then? I fear indeed I have been too often so of late; but you must not mind it, Thomas, I mean you no unkindness.
Thom. Lord love you, sir! I know that very well! a young gentleman who takes an old man into his service, because other gentlemen do not think him quick enough, nor smart enough for them, as your honour has taken me, can never mean to show him any unkindness, I know it well enough; I am only uneasy because I fear you are not so well of late.
Har. I thank you, Thomas, I am not very well—I am not ill neither, I shall be better. (Pauses.) I think I have heard you say, you were a soldier in your youth?
Thom. Yes, sir.
Har. And you had a wife too, a woman of fiery mettle, to bear about your napsack?
Thom. Yes, sir, my little stout spirity Jane; she had a devil of a temper, to be sure.
Har. Yet you loved her notwithstanding?
Thom. Yes, to be sure, I did, as it were, bear her some kindness.
Har. I'll be sworn you did!—and you would have been very sorry to have parted with her.
Thom. Why death parts the best of friends, sir; we lived but four years together.
Har. And so, your little spirity Jane was taken so soon away from you? Give me thy hand, my good Thomas. (Takes his hand and presses it.)
Thom. (Perceiving tears in his eyes.) Lord, sir! dont be so distress'd about it; she did die, to be sure, but truly, between you and I, although I did make a kind of whimpering at the first, I was not ill pleased afterwards to be rid of her; for, truly, sir, a man who has got an ill tempered wife, has but a dog's life of it at the best.—Will you have your glass of water, sir?
Har. (Looking at him with dissatisfaction.) No, no, take it away; I have told you a hundred times not to bring me that chalky water from the court- yard. (Turns away from him.)
Enter Colonel Hardy.—Harwood signs to Thomas, and he goes out.
Har. My dear Colonel, this is kind; I am very glad to see you.
Col. It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man, that I should feel myself vain of the summons you have sent me, were I not afraid, from this dishabille, my dear Harwood, that you are indisposed.
Har. You are very good; I am not indisposed. I have indeed been anxious—I rested indifferently last night—I hope I see you well.
Col. Very well, as you may guess from the speed I have made in coming to you. These legs do not always carry me so fast; but you have something particular to say to me.
Har. I am very sensible of your friendship.—Pray, Colonel, be seated—(They sit down—a long pause,—Colonel Hardy, like one expecting to hear something; Harwood, like one who knows not how to begin.)—There are moments in a man's life, Colonel Hardy, when the advice of a friend is of the greatest value; particularly one, who has also been his father's friend.
Col. My heart very warmly claims both those relations to you, Harwood; and I shall be happy to advise you, as well as I am able.
Har. (After another pause.) I am about to commence a laborious profession.—The mind is naturally anxious.—(Pauses.)
Col. But you are too capable of exercising well that profession, to suffer much uneasiness.
Har. Many a man, with talents superiour to mine, has sunk beneath the burden.
Col. And many a man, with talents vastly inferiour to yours, has borne it up with credit.
Har. Ah! What avails the head with an estranged heart!
Col. You are disgusted, then, with your profession, and have, perhaps, conceived more favourably of mine? I am sorry for it: I hoped to see you make a figure at the bar; and your mother has long set her heart upon it.
Har. (With energy.) O, no! she must not! she shall not be disappointed!—Pardon me, my expressions have gone somewhat wide of my meaning.—I meant to have consulted you in regard to other difficulties.—
Col. And pardon me likewise, for interrupting you; but it appears to me, that an unlearned soldier is not a person to be consulted in these matters.
Har. It was not, altogether, of these matters I meant to speak—But, perhaps, we had better put it off for the present.
Col. No, no!
Har. Perhaps, we had better walk out a little way; we may talk with less restraint as we go.
Col. No, no, there are a thousand impertinent people about. Sit down again, and let me hear every thing you wish to say.
Har. (Pausing, hesitating, and much embarrassed.) There are certain attachments in which a man's heart may be so deeply interested—I would say so very—or rather I should say so strangely engaged, that—(hesitates and pauses.)
Col. O, here it is! I understand it now. But pray dont be so foolish about it, Harwood! You are in love?
Har. (Appearing relieved.) I thank your quickness, my dear Colonel, I fear it is somewhat so with me.
Col. And whence your fear? Not from the lady's cruelty?
Har. No, there is another bar in my way, which does, perhaps, too much depress my hopes of happiness.
Col. You have not been prudent enough to fall in love with an heiress?
Har. No, my dear sir, I have not.
Col. That is a great mistake, to be sure, wood; yet many a man has not advanced the less rapidly in his profession, for having a portionless wife to begin the world with. It is a spur to industry.
Har. (Looking pleased at him.) Such sentiments are what I expected from Colonel Hardy; and, were it not for female failings, there would be little risk in following them.—I dont know how to express it—I am perhaps too delicate in these matters—We ought not to expect a faultless woman.
Col. No, surely; and, if such a woman were to be found, she would be no fit companion for us.
Har. (Getting up, and pressing the Colonel's hand between his.) My dearest friend! your liberality and candour delight me!—I do, indeed, believe that many a man has lived very happily with a woman far from being faultless; and, after all, where is the great injury he sustains, if she should be a little violent and unreasonable?
Col. (Starting up from his seat.) Nay, heaven defend us from a violent woman; for that is the devil himself!—(Seeing Harwood's countenance change)—What is the matter with you, Harwood? She is not ill temper'd, I hope?
Har. (Hesitating.) Not—not absolutely so—She is of a very quick and lively disposition, and is apt to be too hasty and unguarded in her emotions.—I do not, perhaps, make myself completely understood.
Col. O! I understand you perfectly,—I have known ladies of this lively disposition, very hasty and unguarded too in their demands upon a man's pocket as well as his patience; but she may be of a prudent and economical turn. Is it so, Harwood?
Har. (Throwing himself into a chair very much distress'd.) I do not say it is, Colonel.
Col. (Putting his hand kindly upon his shoulder.) I am sorry to distress you so much, my dear friend, yet it must be so. I see how it is with you: pardon the freedom of friendship, but indeed an expensive and violent temper'd woman is not to be thought of: he who marries such a one forfeits all peace and happiness. Pluck up some noble courage, and renounce this unfortunate connexion.
Har. (Starting up.) Renounce it, Colonel Hardy! Is it from you I receive so hard, so unfeeling a request, who have suffered so much yourself from the remembrance of an early attachment? I thought to have been pitied by you.
Col. I was early chagrined with the want of promotion, and disappointed in my schemes of ambition, which gave my countenance something of a melancholy cast, I believe, and the ladies have been kind enough to attribute it to the effects of hopeless love; but how could you be such a ninny, my dear Harwood?
Har. I am sorry, sir, we have understood one another so imperfectly.
Col. Nay, nay, my young friend, do not carry yourself so distantly with me. You have sought a love-worn companion, and you have found a plain spoken friend. I am sorry to give you pain; deal more openly with me: when I know who this bewitching creature is, I shall, perhaps, judge more favourably of your passion
Har. It is Miss Agnes Withrington.
Col. Cousin to Miss Withrington the heiress?
Har. Yes it is she. What have I said to amaze you ?
Col. You amaze me, indeed!—,That little—forgive me if I were almost to say,—plain looking girl! Friendship would sympathize in your feelings; but, pardon me, Harwood, you have lost your wits.
Har. I believe I have, Colonel, which must plead my pardon, likewise, for expecting this friendship from you.
Col. You distress me.
Har. I distress myself still more, by suffering so long the pain of this conversation.
Col. Let us end it, then, as soon as you please. When you are in a humour to listen to reason, I shall be happy to have the honour of seeing you.
Har. When I am in that humour, sir, I will not balk it so much as to intrude upon your time.
Col. Let me see you, then, when you are not in that humour, and I shall the more frequently have the pleasure of your company. (Both bow coldly. Exit, Colonel Hardy.)
Har. (alone.) What a fool was I to send for this man!—A little plain looking girl! What do the people mean? They will drive me mad amongst them. Why does not the little witch wear high heels to her shoes, and stick a plume of feathers in her cap? Oh! they will drive me distracted!
SCENE II.
Mr. Withrington's House. Agnes discovered embroidering at a small table, Harwood standing by her, and hanging fondly over her as she works.
Har. How pretty it is! Now you put a little purple on the side of the flower.
Ag. Yes, a very little shade.
Har. And now a little brown upon that.
Ag. Even so.
Har. And thus you work up and down, with that tiny needle of yours, till the whole flower is completed. (Pauses, still looking at her working.) Why, Agnes, you little witch! you're doing that leaf wrong.
Ag. You may pick it out then, and do it better for me. I'm sure you have been idle enough all the morning, it is time you were employed about something.
Har. And so I will. (Sitting down by her, and taking hold of the work.)
Ag. (Covering the flower with her hand.) O! no, no!
Har. Take away that little perverse hand, and let me begin. (Putting his hand upon hers.)
Ag. What a good for nothing creature you are! you can do nothing yourself, and you will suffer no body else to do any thing. I should have had the whole pattern finished before now, if you had not loitered over my chair so long,
Har. So you can't work when I look over you? Then I have some influence upon you? O you sly girl! you are caught in your own words at last.
Ag. Indeed, Harwood, I wish you would go home again to your law-books and your precedent hunting; you have mispent a great deal of time here already.
Har. Is it not better to be with you in reality than only in imagination? Ah! Agnes! you little know what my home studies are.—Law, said you! how can I think of law, when your countenance looks upon me from every black lettered page that I turn? When your figure fills the empty seat by my side, and your voice speaks to me in the very mid-day stillness of my chamber? Ah! my sweet Agnes! you will not believe what a foolish fellow I have been, since I first saw you.
Ag. Nay, Harwood, I am not at all incredulous of the fact, it is only the cause of it which I doubt.
Har. Saucy girl! I must surely be revenged upon you for all this.
Ag. I am tired of this work. (Getting up.)
Har. O! do not give over.—Let me do something for you—Let me thread your needle for you—I can thread one most nobly.
Ag. There then. (Gives him a needle and silk.)
Har. (Pretending to scratch her hand with it.) So ought you to be punished. (Threads it awkwardly.)
Ag. Ay, nobly done, indeed! but I shall work no more to-day.
Har. You must work up my needleful.
Ag. I am to work a fool's cap in the corner by-and-by, I shall keep your needleful for that. I am going to walk in the garden.
Har. And so am I.
Ag. You are?
Har. Yes, I am. Go where you will, Agnes, to the garden or the field, the city or the desert, by sea or by land, I must e'en go too. I will never be where you are not, but when to be where you are is impossible.
Ag. O! there will be no getting rid of you at this rate, unless some witch will have pity upon me, and carry me up in the air upon her broomstick.
Har. There, I will not pretend to follow you, but as long as you remain upon the earth, Agnes, hang me! if I can find in my heart to budge an inch from your side.
Ag. You are a madman.
Har. You are a sorceress.
Ag. You are an idler.
Har. You are a little mouse.
Ag. Come, come, get your hat then, and let us go. (Aside, while he goes to the bottom of the stage for his hat.) Bless me! I have forgot to be ill-humour'd all this time. [Exit, hastily.
Har. (Coming forward) Gone for her shawl, I suppose,. How delightful she is! how pleasant every change of her countenance! How happy must his life be, spent even in cares and toil, where leisure hours are cheer'd with such a creature as this!
Ag. (Without, in an angry voice) Dont tell me so: I know very well how it is, and you shall smart for it too, you lazy, careless, impudent fellow! And, besides all this, how dare you use my kitten so?
Har. (Who listened with a rueful face) Well, now, but this is humanity: she will not have a creature ill used.—I wish she would speak more gently though.
Ag. (Entering.) Troublesome, provoking, careless fellow!
Har. It is very provoking in him to use the poor kitten ill.
Ag. So it is; but it is more provoking still to mislay my clogs, as he does.
Enter Servant, with clogs.
Ser. Here they are, madam.
Ag. Bring them here, I say, (looks at them.) These are Miss Withrington's clogs, you blockhead! (Throws them to the other side of the stage in a passion.) I must go without them, I find. (To Harwood.) What are you musing about? If you dont chuse to go with me, good morning.
Har. (Sighing deeply.) Ah, Agnes! you know too well that I cannot stay behind you.[Exeunt.
SCENE III.
Miss Withrington's Dressing-room. Enter Mariane, who turns back again towards the door, and calls to Agnes without.
Mar. Agnes, cousin Agnes, where are you going?
Ag. (Without.) I am returning to Miss Eston, whom I have left in the parlour, talking to the dog.
Mar. Well let her talk to the dog a little longer, and let me talk to you.
Enter Agnes,
I have set Betty to watch at the higher windows to give notice of Sir Loftus's approach, that we may put ourselves in order to receive him; for I am resolved to have one bout more with him, and discharge him for good, I am quite tired of him now.
Ag. Do you expect him?
Mar. I am pretty sure he will come about this time, and I must be prepared for him. I have a good mind to tell him, at once, I despise him, and that will be a plain easy way of finishing the business.
Ag. No, no, my sweet Mariane! we must send him off with eclat. You have played your part very well hitherto; keep it up but for this last time, and let Eston and I go into the closet and enjoy it.
Mar. Well then, do so: I shall please you for this once.
Enter Betty, in haste.
Bet. to Mar. Sir Loftus is just coming up the side path, madam, and he'll be at the door immediately.
Ag. I'll run and bring Eston directly.[Exit.
Mar. (Looking at the door of the closet.) Yes, it is very thin: they will hear well, and see through the key hole.
Re-enter Agnes with Miss Eston, in a great hurry.
Est. La! I have torn my gown in my haste.
Ag. Come along, come along.
Est. It it is not so bad a tear though as Mrs. Thomson got the—
Ag. Come, come, we must not stay here. (Pushes Eston into the closet, and follows. Mariane and Betty place a table with books, and a chair, near the front of the stage.)
Est. (Looking from the closet.) La! Mariane, how I long to hear you and him begin. I shall be so delighted!
Mar. For heaven sake shut the door! he will be here immediately. (Shuts the door upon her, and continues to set the room in order.)
Est. (Looking out again) La! Mariane, do you know how many yards of print Lady Squat has got round her new—(Agnes from behind, claps her hand on Eston's mouth, and draws her into the closet.—Mariane seats herself by the table, pretending to read. Exit Betty, and enter Sir Loftus, a servant announcing him.)
Sir Loft. You are very studious this morning, Miss Withrington.
Mar. (Carelessly.) Ha! how do you do?
Sir Loft. You have been well amus'd, I hope?
Mar. So, so. I must put in a mark here, and not lose my place. (Looking on the table.) There is no paper—O, there is some on the other table: pray do fetch it me! (Pointing to a table at the bottom of the stage.) I am very lazy. (Sits down again indolently.)
Sir Loft. (Fetching the paper, and presenting it with a condescending yet self-important air.) I have the honour to obey you, ma'am.
Mar. I thank you; you are a very serviceable creature, I am sure.
Sir Loft. (Drawing himself up proudly, but immediately correcting himself.) I am always happy to serve Miss Withrington.
Mar. O! I know very well the obliging turn of your disposition. (Tosses her arm upon the table, and throws down a book.) I am very stupid this morning. (Sir Loftus picks up the book, and gives it to her rather sulkily; and she in receiving it drops an ivory ball under the table.) Bless me! What is the matter with all these things? pray lift it for me, good Sir Loftus! I believe you must creep under the table for it though. (He stoops under the table with a very bad grace, and she slyly gives it a touch with her foot, which makes it run to the other side of the stage.) Nay, you must go further off for it now. I am very troublesome.
Sir Loft. (Goes after it rather unwillingly, and presenting it to her with still a worse grace.) Madam, this is more honour than I—(mumbling.)
Mar. O, no! Sir Loftus, it is only you that are too good. (Lolling carelessly in her chair.) It is so comfortable to have such a good creature by one! your fine fashionable men are admired to be sure, but I dont know how, I feel always restrained in their company. With a good obliging creature like you now, I can be quite at my ease: I can just desire you to do any thing.
Sir Loft. Upon my honour, madam, you flatter me very much indeed. Upon my honour, I must say, I am rather at a loss to conceive how I have merited these commendations.
Mar. O! Sir Loftus, you are too humble, too diffident of yourself. I know very well the obliging turn of your disposition to every body.
Sir Loft. (aside.) Damn it! is she an ideot? (aloud.) Your good opinion, madam, does me a great deal of honour, but I assure you, ma'am, it is more than I deserve. I have great pleasure in serving Miss Withrington;—to be at the service of every body is an extent of benevolence I by no means pretend to.
Mar. Now why are you so diffident, Sir Loftus? Did not old Mrs. Mumblecake tell me the other day, how you ran nine times to the apothecary's to fetch green salve to rub her monkey's tail.
Sir Loft. She told you a damn'd lie then! (Biting his lip, and, walking up and down with hasty strides.) Damn it! this is beyond all bearing! I run nine times to the apothecary's to fetch green salve for her monkey's tail! If the cursed hag says so again I'll bury her alive!
Mar. Nay, dont be angry about it. I'm sure I thought it very good in you, and I said so to every body.
Sir Loft. You have been so obliging as tell all the world too?
Mar. And why should not I have the pleasure of praising you?
Sir Loft. Hell and the devil! (Turning on his heel, and striding up and down, and muttering as he goes, whilst she sits carelessly with her arms crossed.)
Mar. My good Sir Loftus, you will tire yourself. Had you not better be seated?
Sir Loft. (Endeavouring to compose himself.) The influence you have over me, ma'am, gets the better of every thing. I would not have you mistake my character, however; if love engages me in your service you ought to receive it so. I have been less profuse of these attentions to women of the very first rank and fashion; I might therefore have hoped that you would lend a more favourable ear to my passion.
Mar. Indeed you wrong me. You dont know how favourable my ear may be disposed: sit down here and tell me all about it. (Sir Loftus revolts again at her familiarity, but stifles his pride and sits down by her.)
Sir Loft. Permit me to say, madam, that it is time we should come to an explanation of each other's sentiments.
Mar. Whenever you please, sir.
Sir Loft, (Bowing.) I hope then, I may be allowed to presume, that my particular attentions to you, pardon me, ma'am, have not been altogether disagreeable to you.
Mar. O! not at all. Sir Loftus.
Sir Loft. (Bowing again.) I will presume then, still farther, ma'am, and declare to you, that from the very day which gave birth to my passion, I have not ceased to think of you with the most ardent tenderness.
Mar. La! Sir Loftus, was it not of a Wednesday?
Sir Loft. (Fretted.) Upon my word I am not so very accurate: it might be Wednesday, or Friday, or any day.
Mar. Of a Friday, do you think? it runs strangely in my head that we saw one another first of a Wednesday.
Sir Loft. (Very much fretted.) I say, ma'am, the day which gave birth to my love—
Mar. O! very true! You might see me first of a Wednesday, and yet not fall in lave with me till the Friday. (Sir Loftus starts up in a passion, and strides up and down,—Mariane rising from her seat carelessly,) I wonder where William has put the nuts I bought for Miss Eston's squirrel. I think I hear a mouse in the cupboard. (Goes to the bottom of the room, and opens a small cupboard in the wall, whilst Sir Loftus comes forward to the front.)
Sir Loft. (aside.) Damn her freaks! I wish the devil had the wooing of her. (Pauses.) I must not lose her for a trifle though; but when she is once secured, I'll be revenged! I'll vex her! I'll drive the spirit out of her. (Aloud, as she comes forward from the cupboard.) My passion for you. Miss Withrington, is too generous and disinterested to merit this indifference.
Mar. I'm glad they have not eat the nuts though.
Sir Loft. (aside.) Curse her and her nuts! I'll tame her! (aloud.) My sentiments for you, ma'am, are of so delicate and tender a nature, they do indeed deserve your indulgence. Tell me then, can the most disinterested, the most fervent love, make any impression on your heart? I can no longer exist in this state of anxiety! at your feet let me implore you—(Seems about to kneel, but rather unwilling, as if he wished to be prevented.)
Mar. Pray, Sir Loftus, dont kneel there! my maid has spilt oil on the floor.
Sir Loft. Since you will not permit me to have the pleasure of kneeling at—
Mar. Nay, I will not deprive you of the pleasure,—There is no oil spilt here. (Pointing to a part of the floor very near the closet door.)
Sir Loft. I see it would be disagreeable to you.
Mar. I see very well you are not inclined to condescend so far.
Sir Loft. (Kneeling directly.) Believe me, madam, the pride, the pleasure of my life, is to be devoted to the most adorable—(Mariane gives a significant cough, and Agnes and Eston burst from the closet, the door opening on the outside, comes against Sir Loftus as he kneels, and lays him sprawling on the floor.)
Ag. Est. and Mar. (Speaking together.) O Sir Loftus! poor Sir Loftus! (All coming about him, pretending to assist him to get up.)
Sir Loft. Damn their bawling! they will bring the whole family here!
Enter Mr. Withrington and Opal: Sir Loftus, mad with rage, makes a desperate effort, and gets upon his legs. Opal stands laughing at him without any ceremony, whilst he bites his lips, and draws himself up haughtily.
Mar. (to Sir Loft.) I'm afraid you have hurt yourself?
Sir Loft. (shortly) No, Ma'am.
Ag. Hav'nt you rubbed the skin off your shins, Sir Loftus?
Sir Loft. No, ma'am,
Est. Nor off your toes, Sir Loftus?
Sir Loft. No, ma'am.
Ag. I'm sure he has hurt his poor dear nose, but he is ashamed to own it.
Sir Loft. Neither toes nor nose! Devil take it!
With. Get along, girls, and dont torment this poor man any longer. I am afraid, Sir Loftus, the young gipsies have been making a fool of you.
Sir Loft. Sir, it is neither in your power nor their's to make a fool of me.
Op. Ha, ha, ha, ha! 'Faith Prettyman you must forgive me! ha, ha, ha, ha! I never thought in my life to have caught you at such low prostrations. But dont be so angry, man! though you do make a confounded silly figure, it must be confess'd. Ha, ha, ha, ha!
Sir Loft. to Op. Sir, your impertinence and yourself are equally contemptible: and I desire you would no longer take the trouble of intruding yourself into my company, nor of affronting me, as you have hitherto done, with your awkward imitation of my figure and address.
Op. What the devil do you mean? I imitate your figure and address! I scorn to—I will not deny that I may have insensibly acquired a little of them both for—for—(Hesitating.)
Ag. For he has observed people laughing at him of late.
Sir Loft. (Turning on his heel.) He is beneath my resentment.
Mar. Be not so angry, good Sir Loftus! let us end this business for the present, and when I am at leisure to hear the remainder of your declarations, which has been so unfortunately interrupted, I'll send and let you know.
Sir Loft. No, 'faith, madam! you have heard the last words I shall ever say to you upon the subject. A large fortune may make amends for an ordinary person, madam, but not for vulgarity and impertinence. Good morning. (As he is going out enter Servant.)
Ser. Lord Saunter, and Colonel Gorget are coming up stairs, to see how Sir Loftus Prettyman does after his fall.
Sir Loft. Hell and damnation! I'll go out by the other door.
Mar. That door is locked; you can't go that way.
Sir Loft. I'll burst it open then. (Runs to the door: they all get about him to prevent him.)
Sir Loft. ( Struggling.) What, is there no getting out from this den of devils? (Breaks from them, and Exit, leaving them laughing provokingly behind him.)
With. (Shaking his head.) This is too bad, this is too bad, young ladies! I am ashamed to have all this rioting and absurdity going on in my house.
Ag. Come away, uncle, and see him go down the back walk, from the parlour windows. I'll warrant you he'll stride it away most nobly. (Withrington follows, shrugging up his shoulders.) [Exeunt.