Rover. But if I fail, by Heaven I'll overwhelm the manager, his empire, and—"himself in one prodigious ruin."
Jane. Ruin! Oh Lord! [Runs back.]
Sim. What can you expect, when you follow young men? I've dodg'd you all the way.
Jane. Well! wasn't I sent?
Sim. Oh yes, you were sent—very likely. Who sent you?
Jane. It was—I won't tell it's my lady, 'cause she bid me not. [Aside.]
Sim. I'll keep you from sheame—a fine life I should have in the parish, rare fleering, if a sister of moine should stand some Sunday at church in a white sheet, and to all their flouts what could I say?
Rover. Thus, "I say my sister's wrong'd, my sister Blowsabella, born as high and noble as the attorney—do her justice, or by the gods I'll lay a scene of blood, shall make this haymow horrible to Beebles."—"Say that, Chamont."
Sim. I believe it's full moon. You go hoame to your place, and moind your business.
Jane. My lady will be so pleas'd I found him! I don't wonder at it, he's such a fine spoken man.