Col. Why a large and stately stag, with a pair of horns on his head, heavens bless you, your worship might be seen to wear 'em, comes towards our Geat a puffing and blawing like a cow in hard labour——Now says I to myself, says I, if my measter refuse to let this fine youth come in, why then he's a fool, d'ye see—So I opens him the geat, pulls off my hat with both my honds, and said you're welcome, kind Sir, to our house.
Mr. Barn. Well, well!
Col. Well, well, ay, and so it is well, as you shall straightway find——So in he trots, and makes directly towards our barn, and goes bounce, bounce, against the door, as boldly as if he had been measter on't——he turns'en about and thwacks'n down in the stra, as who would say, here will I lay me till to-morrow morning—But he had no fool to deal with——for to the kitchen goes I, and takes me down a musquet, and with a breace of balls, I hits'n such a slap in the feace, that he ne'er spoke a word more to me——Have I done well or no measter?
Mr. Barn. Yes, you have done very well for once.
Col. But this was not all, for a parcel of dogs came yelping after their companion, as I suppose; so I goes to the back yard-door, and as many as came by, shu, says I, and drove them into the gearden, so there they are as safe as in a pawnd——ha, ha,——but I can but think what a power of pasties we shall have at our house, ha, ha.
[Exit Colin.
Mr. Barn. I see Providence takes some care of me: this cou'd never have happened in a better time.
SCENE III.
Enter Cook.