CHARLES.
Let us talk of something else—my dog is dead, I will try to make myself easy—I wish I could forget the torments it endured.—It is a very fine evening.
EDWARD.
Look, look! What do I see yonder in that tree?
WILLIAM.
It is a parrot.
EDWARD.
How fortunate!—It is Falkland’s parrot; it has flown away from him, and perched itself there: it looks frightened. How vexed he will be—he should not have that creature again for ten guineas.
CHARLES.
How the poor creature trembles.—I can climb softly up the tree and catch it;—do not make a noise.