Farmer (reads the newspaper). French fleet at sea—Hum!
Landlady. O gemini: Mr. Drake’s Spanish hat is the sweetest, tastiest thing! Mr. Finsbury, I protest—
Finsb. Why, ma’m, I knew a lady of your taste couldn’t but approve of it. My own invention entirely, ma’m. But it’s nothing to the captain’s cap, ma’m. Indeed, ma’m, Mr. Wheeler, the captain that is to be, has the prettiest taste in dress. To be sure, his sandals were my suggestion; but the mantle he has the entire credit of, to do him justice; and when you see it, ma’m, you will be really surprised; for (for contrast, and elegance, and richness, and lightness, and propriety, and effect, and costume) you’ve never yet seen anything at all to be compared to Captain Wheeler’s mantle, ma’m.
Farmer (to the Landlady). Why, now, pray, Mrs. Landlady, how long may it have been the fashion for milliners to go about in men’s clothes?
Landlady (aside to Farmer). Lord, Mr. Hearty, hush! This is Mr. Finsbury, the great man-milliner.
Farm. The great man-milliner! This is a sight I never thought to see in Old England.
Finsb. (packing up band boxes). Well, ma’m, I’m glad I have your approbation. It has ever been my study to please the ladies.
Farm. (throws a fancy mantle over his frieze coat). And is this the way to please the ladies, Mrs. Landlady, nowadays?
Finsb. (taking off the mantle). Sir, with your leave—I ask pardon—but the least thing detriments these tender colours; and as you have just been eating cheese with your hands—
Farm. ’Tis my way to eat cheese with my mouth, man.