Cant. [with his ſpectacles.] En veritè, non.—'Tis very ſmooſe and brillian—but I tote dat you might take a little by way of prevention.
L. Ogle. You thought like an old fool, Monſieur, as you generally do—The ſurfeit-water, Bruſh! [Bruſh pours out.] What do you think, Bruſh, of this family, we are going to be connected with?—Eh!
Bruſh. Very well to marry in, my Lord; but it would not do to live with.
L. Ogle. You are right, Bruſh—There is no waſhing the Blackamoor white—Mr. Sterling will never get rid of Black-Fryars, always taſte of the Borachio—and the poor woman his ſiſter is ſo buſy and ſo notable, to make one welcome, that I have not yet got over her firſt reception; it almoſt amounted to ſuffocation! I think the daughters are tolerable—Where's my cephalick ſnuff? [Bruſh gives him a box.
Cant. Dey tink ſo of you, my Lor, for dey look at noting elſe, ma foi.
L. Ogle. Did they?—Why, I think they did a little—Where's my glaſs? [Bruſh puts one on the table.] The youngeſt is delectable. [Takes ſnuff.
Cant. O, ouy, my Lor—very delect, inteed; ſhe made doux yeux at you, my Lor.
L. Ogle. She was particular—the eldeſt, my nephew's lady, will be a moſt valuable wife; ſhe has all the vulgar ſpirits of her father, and aunt, happily blended with the termagant qualities of her deceaſed mother.—Some pepper-mint water, Bruſh!—How happy is it, Cant, for young ladies in general, that people of quality overlook every thing in a marriage contract but their fortune.
Cant. C'eſt bien heureux, et commode auſſi.
L. Ogle. Bruſh, give me that pamphlet by my bed-ſide—[Bruſh goes for it.] Canton, do you wait in the anti-chamber, and let nobody interrupt me till I call you.
Cant. Muſh goot may do your Lorſhip!
