Pick. Well, sister, this plan of yours succeeds I hope to your satisfaction—he’ll make a mighty pretty page, sister—what an engaging air, he has sister; this is some revenge for her treatment of my poor boy (aside).
Miss P. I perceive this to be all a contrivance, and the boy is taught to insult me thus—you may repent of this unparalleled treatment of unprotected innocence.
[Exit.
Pick. What, she means her lover, the player-man, I suppose, but I’ll watch her, and her consols too; and if I catch him again in my house, it shall be his last appearance this season; I can tell him that, and the next part he plays, shall be Captain Macheath in the prison scene, egad.
[Exit.
Enter Little Pickle, alone.
Little P. There they go, ha! ha! ha! my scheme has gone on rarely, rather better than theirs, I think.—Blessing on the old nurse for consenting to it—I’ll teach ’em to turn people out of doors—let me see, what trick shall I play ’em now—suppose I set the house on fire—no—no—’tis too soon for that as yet—that will do very well bye and bye—let me consider—I wish I could see my sister, I’ll discover myself to her, and then we might contrive something together nicely—that staircase leads to her room, I’ll try and call her (goes to the door and listens) there’s nobody in the way!—Hist! hist!—Maria—Maria—she hears me, she’s coming this way—(runs and hides himself.)
Enter Maria.
Maria. Sure somebody called me (looks around). No, there’s nobody here—heigho—I’ve almost cryed myself blind about my poor brother, for so I shall always call him, ay, and love him too—(going).
Little P. (running forward) Maria!—sister!—stop an instant.