Roch. A curate’s son.
Tin. A curate’s! Better be a yeoman’s son!
Was it the rector’s son, he might be known,
Because the rector is a rising man,
And may become a bishop. He goes light,
The curate ever hath a loaded back!
He may be called the yeoman of the church,
That sweating does his work, and drudges on,
While lives the hopeful rector at his ease.
How made you his acquaintance, pray?
Roch. We read
Latin and Greek together.
Tin. Dropping them—
As, now that you’re a lord, of course you’ve done—
Drop him—You’ll say his lordship’s not at home.
Will. So please your lordship, I forgot to say,
One Richard Cricket likewise is below.
Tin. Who?—Richard Cricket! You must see him, Rochdale!
A noble little fellow! A great man, sir!
Not knowing whom, you would be nobody!
I won five thousand pounds by him!
Roch. Who is he?
I never heard of him.
Tin. What! never heard
Of Richard Cricket!—never heard of him!
Why, he’s the jockey of Newmarket; you
May win a cup by him, or else a sweepstakes.
I bade him call upon you. You must see him.
His lordship is at home to Richard Cricket.
Roch. Bid him wait in the ante-room.
[Williams goes out.]