Gil. You know we used to do Jenny, some eighteen years ago; then I was waiter and ostler here, and you were dairy maid at squire—
Jenny. Well that’s all past, where is the use of looking back.
Gil. A great deal: when a man gets to the top of the hill by honest industry, I say he deserves to be taken by the neck and hurled down again, if he’s ashamed to turn about and look at the lowly road along which he once travelled.
Jenny. Well, I didn’t mean that.
Gil. No no, I know you meant no harm, Jenny—but you will talk—well I shall go and take a round.
Jenny. You’re going to the meadow, at One-Tree-Farm to mope yourself to death.
Gil. Why perhaps I may take a turn that way—but I shall be back soon—eh! who’s this?
Jenny. Why it’s the servant of the rich old gentleman, from the Indies.
Gil. Oh!—what he in the Dolphin?
Enter Label, dressed as servant. L. Jenny curtseys and Exit. L.