Cler. Bridget?
Niece. Bridget.
Cler. Bridget?
Niece. Spare my confusion, I beseech you, sir; and if you have occasion to mention me, let it be by Parthenissa,[500] for that's the name I have assumed ever since I came to years of discretion.
Cler. The insupportable tyranny of parents, to fix names on helpless infants which they must blush at all their lives after! I don't think there's a surname in the world to match it.
Niece. No! What do you think of Tipkin?
Cler. Tipkin! Why, I think if I was a young lady that had it I'd part with it immediately.
Niece. Pray, how would you get rid of it?
Cler. I'd change it for another. I could recommend to you three very pretty syllables—What do you think of Cleremont?
Niece. Cleremont! Cleremont! Very well—but what right have I to it?