and my bridge, and my flow'ring trees, and my bed of Dutch tulips—Matters look'd but dim laſt night, my Lord; I feel the dew in my great toe—but I would put on a cut ſhoe that I might be able to walk you about—I may be laid up to-morrow.
L. Ogle. I pray heav'n you may! [aſide.]
Sterl. What ſay you, my Lord!
L. Ogle. I was ſaying, Sir, that I was in hopes of ſeeing the young ladies at breakfaſt: Mr. Sterling, they are, in my mind, the fineſt tulips in this part of the world—he, he.
Cant. Braviſſimo, my Lor!—ha, ha, he.
Sterl. They ſhall meet your Lordſhip in the garden—we won't loſe our walk for them; I'll take you a little round before breakfaſt, and a larger before dinner, and in the evening you ſhall go the Grand Tower, as I call it, ha, ha, ha.
L. Ogle. Not a foot, I hope, Mr. Sterling—conſider your gout, my good friend—You'll certainly be laid by the heels for your politeneſs—he, he, he.
Cant. Ha, ha, ha—'tis admirable! en veritè!—
Sterl. If my young man [to Lovewell] here, would but laugh at my jokes, which he ought to do, as Mounſeer does at yours, my Lord, we ſhould be all life and mirth.
L. Ogle. What ſay you, Cant, will you take my kinſman under your tuition? you have certainly the moſt companionable laugh I ever met with, and never out of tune.
Cant. But when your lorſhip is out of ſpirits.
L. Ogle. Well ſaid, Cant,—but here comes my nephew, to play his part.
Enter Sir John Melvil.
Well, Sir John, what news from the iſland of Love? have you been ſighing and ſerenading this morning?
Sir John. I am glad to ſee your Lordſhip in ſuch ſpirits this morning.
