Scrub. Because he speaks English as if he had lived here all his life, and tells lies as if he had been a traveller from his cradle.
Arch. And this priest, I'm afraid, has converted the affection of your Gipsey.
Scrub. Converted! ay, and perverted, my dear friend—for, I'm afraid he has made her a whore, and a papist—but this is not all; there's the French count and Mrs. Sullen, they're in the confederacy, and for some private ends of their own too, to be sure.
Arch. A very hopeful family yours, brother Scrub; I suppose the maiden lady has her lover too?
Scrub. Not that I know—She's the best of them, that's the truth on't: but they take care to prevent my curiosity, by giving me so much business, that I'm a perfect slave—What d'ye think is my place in this family?
Arch. Butler, I suppose.
Scrub. Ah, lord help you—I'll tell you—Of a Monday I drive the coach, of a Tuesday I drive the plough, on Wednesday I follow the hounds, a Thursday I dun the tenants, on Friday I go to market, on Saturday I draw warrants, and a Sunday I draw beer.
Arch. Ha! ha! ha! if variety be a pleasure in life, you have enough on't, my dear brother——but what ladies are those?
Scrub. Ours, ours; that upon the right hand is Mrs. Sullen, and the other Mrs. Dorinda——don't mind them, sit still, man——
Enter Mrs. Sullen and Dorinda.