Doric. I am astonish'd!
Let. Well, hang it, I'll take heart.—Why, he is but a Man, you know, Cousin;—and I'll let him see I wasn't born in a Wood to be scar'd by an Owl. [Half apart; advances, and looks at him through her fingers.] He! he! he! [Goes up to him, and makes a very stiff formal curtesy.]—[He bows.]—You have been a great Traveller, Sir, I hear?
Dor. Yes, Madam.
Let. Then I wish you'd tell us about the fine sights you saw when you went over-sea.—I have read in a book, that there are some countries where the Men and Women are all Horses.—Did you see any of them?
Mrs. Rack. Mr. Doricourt is not prepared, my dear, for these enquiries; he is reflecting on the importance of the question, and will answer you——when he can.
Let. When he can! Why, he's as slow in speech, as Aunt Margery, when she's reading Thomas Aquinas;—and stands gaping like mum-chance.
Mrs. Rack. Have a little discretion.
Let. Hold your tongue!—Sure I may say what I please before I am married, if I can't afterwards.—D'ye think a body does not know how to talk to a Sweetheart. He is not the first I have had.
Dor. Indeed!
Let. Oh, Lud! He speaks!—Why, if you must know—there was the Curate at home:—when Papa was a-hunting, he used to come a suitoring, and make speeches to me out of books.—No body knows what a mort of fine things he used to say to me;—and call me Venis, and Jubah, and Dinah!