Twi. Are you sure of it?
Mean. Sure:—he blinds Sir Luke, (who by the bye is no great politician) but I know his Lordship—and if he thought he was sure of his ground—(and he thinks he shall be sure of it soon)—then—
Twi. I'll insinuate myself and join his party—but, in the mean time, preserve good terms with Sir Luke, in case any thing shou'd fall in my way there.—Who is Mr. Haswell?
Mean. He pretends to be a man of principle and sentiment—flatter him on that.
Twi. The easiest thing in the world—no people like flattery better than such as he.—They will bear even to hear their vices praised.—I will myself undertake to praise the vices of a man of sentiment till he shall think them so many virtues.—You have mentioned no Ladies, but the Lady of the house yet.
Mean. There is no other Lady, except a pretty girl who came over from England, about two years ago, for a husband, and not succeeding in another part of the country, is now recommended to this house—and has been here three or four months.
Twi. Let me alone, to please her.
Mean. Yes—I believe you are skilled.
Twi. For the art of flattery, no one more.
Mean. But damn it—it is not a liberal art.