Miss Rich. Very extraordinary this.
Follower. But very true. What makes the bread rising? the parle vous that devour us. What makes the mutton five pence a pound? the parle vous that eat it up. What makes the beer threepence halfpenny a pot—
Honeyw. Ah! the vulgar rogues, all will be out. Right, gentlemen, very right upon my word, and quite to the purpose. They draw a parallel, madam, between the mental taste, and that of our senses. We are injured as much by French severity in the one, as by French rapacity in the other. That's their meaning.
Miss Rich. Though I don't see the force of the parallel, yet, I'll own, that we should sometimes pardon books, as we do our friends, that have now and then agreeable absurdities to recommend them.
Bailiff.—"Taste us! By the Lord,
madam, they devour us."—p. 292.
Bailiff. That's all my eye. The king only can pardon, as the law says; for set in case——
Honeyw. I'm quite of your opinion, sir. I see the whole drift of your argument. Yes, certainly our presuming to pardon any work, is arrogating a power that belongs to another. If all have power to condemn, what writer can be free?
Bailiff. By his habus corpus. His habus corpus can set him free at any time. For set in case—
Honeyw. I'm obliged to you, sir, for the hint. If madam, as my friend observes, our laws are so careful of a gentleman's person, sure we ought to be equally careful of his dearer part, his fame.