Scrub. Ay; he and the Count's footman were jabbering French, like two intriguing ducks in a mill-pond: and, I believe, they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.
Dor. What sort of livery has the footman?
Scrub. Livery! lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizened with lace: and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles—he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so—[Walks in a French Air.] and has fine long hair, tied up in a bag.——Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of man than I.
Mrs. Sul. That may easily be—But what shall we do now, sister?
Dor. I have it——This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning, the first hides the latter by abundance——Scrub.
Scrub. Madam.
Dor. We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction.
Scrub. Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt.
Dor. You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you are butler to-day.
Scrub. Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday.