John Mood. Ods flesh! But I mun hye me whoam! th' Coach will be coming every hour naw——but Measter charg'd me to find your Worship out; for he has hugey business with you; and will certainly wait upon you, by that time he can put on a clean neckcloth.
Man. O John! I'll wait upon him.
John Mood. Why you wonno' be so kind, wull ye?
Man. If you'll tell me where you lodge.
John Mood. Just i'th' street next to where your Worship dwells, the sign of the Golden Ball——It's Gold all over; where they sell ribbands and flappits, and other sort of geer for Gentlewomen.
Man. A Milliner's?
John Mood. Ay, ay, one Mrs. Motherly: Waunds! she has a couple of clever girls there stitching i'th' foreroom.
Man. Yes, yes, she's a woman of good business, no doubt on't——Who recommended that house to you, John?
John Mood. The greatest good fortune in the world, sure! For as I was gaping about streets, who should look out of the window there, but the fine Gentleman, that was always riding by our Coach side, at York Races——Count——Basset; ay, that's he.
Man. Basset? Oh, I remember; I know him by sight.