Squ. Rich. Why, I was but running after sister, and t'other young woman, into a little room just naw: and so with that, they flapt the door full in my feace, and gave me such a whurr here—I thought they had beaten my brains out! so I gut a dab of wet brown paper here, to swage it a while.
Lady Wrong. They serv'd you right enough! will you never have done with your horse-play?
Sir Fran. Pooh! never heed it, Lad! it will be well by to-morrow—the Boy has a strong head!
Man. Yes, truly, his skull seems to be of a comfortable thickness.
[Aside.
Sir Fran. Come, Dick, here's Cousin Manly——Sir, this is your God-son.
Lady Wrong. Oh! here's my daughter too.
Enter Miss Jenny.
Squ. Rich. Honour'd Gudfeyther! I crave leave to ask your blessing.
Man. Thou hast it, Child——and if it will do thee any good, may it be to make thee, at least, as wise a man as thy father.