Dor. And pray, fair Lady, how did you answer him?
Let. Why, I used to say, Look you, Mr. Curate, don't think to come over me with your flim-flams; for a better Man than ever trod in your shoes, is coming over-sea to marry me;—but, ifags! I begin to think I was out.—Parson Dobbins was the sprightfuller man of the two.
Dor. Surely this cannot be Miss Hardy!
Let. Laws! why, don't you know me! You saw me to-day—but I was daunted before my Father, and the Lawyer, and all them, and did not care to speak out:—so, may be, you thought I couldn't;—but I can talk as fast as any body, when I know folks a little:—and now I have shewn my parts, I hope you'll like me better.
Enter Hardy.
Har. I foresee this won't do!—Mr. Doricourt, may be you take my Daughter for a Fool; but you are mistaken: she's a sensible Girl, as any in England.
Dor. I am convinced she has a very uncommon understanding, Sir. [Aside.] I did not think he had been such an Ass.
Let. My Father will undo the whole.—Laws! Papa, how can you think he can take me for a fool! when every body knows I beat the Potecary at Conundrums last Christmas-time? and didn't I make a string of names, all in riddles, for the Lady's Diary?—There was a little River, and a great House; that was Newcastle.—There was what a Lamb says, and three Letters; that was Ba, and k-e-r, ker, Baker.—There was—
Hardy. Don't stand ba-a-ing there. You'll make me mad in a moment!—I tell you, Sir, that for all that, she's dev'lish sensible.
Doric. Sir, I give all possible credit to your assertions.