_Banks._ Madam, I never aspired to an enviable rank in life: but hitherto pride and prudence kept me above the reach of pity: but obligations from a stranger--
_Lady Am._ He really a stranger, and attempt to free thee? But, friend, [_To Rover._] thou hast assumed a right which here belongeth alone to me. As I enjoy the blessings which these lands produce, I own also the heart delighting privilege of dispensing those blessings to the wretched. Thou mad'st thyself my worldly banker, and no cash of mine in thine hands, [_Takes a note from a pocket book._] but thus I balance our account. [_Offers it._]
_Rover._ "Madam, my master pays me, nor can I take money from another hand, without injuring his honour, and disobeying his commands."
"Run, run, Orlando, carve on every tree, The fair, the chaste, the unexpressive she."
[_Runs off._
_Banks._ But, sir, I insist you'll return him his money. [_To Twitch._] Stop! [_Going._]
_Twitch._ Aye, stop! [_Holds the skirt of his coat._]
_Lady Am._ Where dwelleth he?
_Banks._ I fancy, where he can, madam. I understand, from his discourse, that he was on his way to join a company of actors in the next town.
_Lady Am._ A profane stage-player with such a gentle, generous heart!
Yet so whimsically wild, like the unconscious rose, modestly shrinking from the recollection of its own grace and sweetness.
_Enter_ JANE, _from the house, more dressed_.
_Jane._ Now, my lady, I'm fit to attend your ladyship. I look so genteelish, mayhap her ladyship may take me home with her.
_Lady Am._ This maiden may find out for me whither he goeth.
[_Aside._] Call on my steward, and thy legal demands shall be satisfied. [_To Twitch._]
_Jane._ Here, coachman, drive up my lady's chariot, nearer to our door. [_Calls off._] Charott! If she'd take me with her, la! how all the folks will stare. [_Aside._] Madam, though the roads are so very dusty, I'll walk all the way on foot to your ladyship's house--ay, though I should spoil my bran new petticoat.
_Lady Am._ Rather than sully thy garment, thou shalt be seated by me.
Friend, be cheerful; thine and thy sister's sorrows shall be but an April shower.
_Jane._ Oh, your ladyship!--Ecod, if I didn't think so--[_Aside._]
_Enter_ SIM.
Here, you Sim, order the charott for us.
_Sim._ Us! Come, come, Jane, I've the little tilt cart to carry you.
_Jane._ Cart! [_Exeunt severally._
SCENE II.
_Before an Inn._
_Enter_ ROVER _and_ WAITER.
_Rover._ Hillo! friend, when does the coach set out for London?
_Waiter._ In about an hour, sir.
_Rover._ Has the Winchester coach passed?
_Waiter._ No, sir. [_Exit._
_Rover._ That's lucky! Then my trunk is here still. Go I will not.
Since I've lost the fellowship of my friend Dick, I'll travel no more, I'll try a London audience, who knows but I may get an engagement.
This celestial lady quaker! She must be rich, and ridiculous for such a poor dog as I am, even to think of her. How Dick would laugh at me if he knew--I dare say by this she has released my kind host from the gripe--I should like to be certain, though.
_Enter_ LANDLORD.
_Land._ You'll dine here, sir? I'm honest Bob Johnstone; kept the Sun these twenty years. Excellent dinner on table at two.
_Rover._ "Yet my love indeed is appetite; I'm as hungry as the sea, and can digest as much."
_Land._ Then you won't do for my shilling ordinary, sir; there's a very good ordinary at the Saracen's head, at the end of the town.
Shou'dn't have thought indeed, hungry foot travellers to eat like----coming, sir. [_Exit._
_Rover._ I'll not join this company at Winchester. I will take a touch at a London theatre. The public there are candid and generous, and before my merit can have time to create enemies, I'll save money, and,--"a fig for the Sultan and Sophy."
_Enter_ JANE, _at the back, and_ SIM, _watching her_.
_Jane._ Ay, that's he!
_Rover._ But if I fail, by Heaven I'll overwhelm the manager, his empire, and--"himself in one prodigious ruin."
_Jane._ Ruin! Oh Lord! [_Runs back._]
_Sim._ What can you expect, when you follow young men? I've dodg'd you all the way.
_Jane._ Well! wasn't I sent?
_Sim._ Oh yes, you were sent--very likely. Who sent you?
_Jane._ It was--I won't tell it's my lady, 'cause she bid me not.
[_Aside._]
_Sim._ I'll keep you from sheame--a fine life I should have in the parish, rare fleering, if a sister of moine should stand some Sunday at church in a white sheet, and to all their flouts what could I say?
_Rover._ Thus, "I say my sister's wrong'd, my sister _Blowsabella_, born as high and noble as the _attorney_--do her justice, or by the gods I'll lay a scene of blood, shall make this _haymow_ horrible to Beebles."--"Say that, Chamont."
_Sim._ I believe it's full moon. You go hoame to your place, and moind your business.
_Jane._ My lady will be so pleas'd I found him! I don't wonder at it, he's such a fine spoken man.
_Sim._ Dang it! Will you stand here grinning at the wild bucks.