COT. Is a heavy charge;—I am aware of it. But I must go. Farewell, Bolt! Good by, Mizzle! Excellent steady creatures! Oh, were all like them, the tragedy of George Barnwell would never have been written.
(Exit, L. H.)
BOLT. Ha, ha, ha! why don’t you laugh, Mizzle?
MIZ. Because I don’t see any joke.
BOLT. Then look at me—I’m a perpetual joke!—I’m all point, like a porcupine—all fire, like a poet’s heart, and light as his breeches pocket. Old Cotton has gone out all day—ha, ha! don’t you take? don’t you twig? A’n’t you fly? A’n’t you awake?
MIZ. Yes, I’m awake, but I don’t see.
BOLT. We are to mind the shop, are we? I say never mind it—let’s go out.
MIZ. Nonsense! you know master and we are like a man and woman in a weather-house—when one goes out the other stays at home.
BOLT. And so, when the old man’s back is turned, we are to shew our heads are turned, by stopping in the shop all day—selling check’d neck-handkerchiefs and baby’s red stockings? Not we!—we’ll go out and have some fun, Bobby.
MIZ. No, no! it wont do; we must take care of the shop.