Miss Dolly B. [Calling after him.] Colonel, make haste!
Tall. [Without.] Halloo, Doll! hip, my dainty Dolly!
Miss Dolly B. Squire Tallyho!—Oh, dear, what shall I do?
Enter Tallyho.
Tall. Well, Doll, are you ready, my sweet Gosling?—I've got a fine rosy, drunken friar here—but, when I get you over into Yorkshire, we'll be married over again—you remember my chaplain, honest Parson Thump?
Miss Dolly B. Lord, Squire, don't tell me of Parson Thump—what kept you so long?—here have I been crying my eyes out for you.
Tall. Crying—fudge—show—why, your eyes do look as if—-Ah, come now, you've an onion in your handkerchief?
Miss Dolly B. No, indeed, as I hope for—he! he! he!
Tall. Now, now, there—now, what's that for?
Miss Dolly B. I was laughing, to think of our marriage.