long before Jones was able to attend her to the Harpſichord, where ſhe would kindly condeſcend, for Hours together, to charm him with the moſt delicious Muſic, unleſs when the Squire thought proper to interrupt her, by inſiſting on Old Sir Simon, or ſome other of his favourite Pieces.
Notwithſtanding the niceſt Guard which Sophia endeavoured to ſet on her Behaviour, ſhe could not avoid letting ſome Appearances now and then ſlip forth: For Love may again be likened to a Diſeaſe in this, that when it is denied a Vent in one Part, it will certainly break out in another. What her Lips therefore concealed, her Eyes, her Bluſhes, and many little involuntary Actions, betrayed.
One Day when Sophia was playing on the Harpſichord, and Jones was attending, the Squire came into the Room, crying, ‘There, Tom, I have had a Battle for thee below Stairs with thick Parſon Thwackum.—He hath been a telling Allworthy, before my Face, that the broken Bone was a Judgment upon thee. D—n it, ſays I, how can that be? Did not he come by it in Defence of a young Woman? A Judgment indeed! Pox, if he never doth any thing‘worſe,
