Hardcastle.—"You must not be
so talkative, Diggory."—p. 333.
Hard. What, will nobody move?
1. Serv. I'm not to leave this place.
2. Serv. I'm sure it's no place of mine.
3. Serv. Nor mine, for sartain.
Digg. Wauns, and I'm sure it canna be mine.
Hard. You numskulls! and so while, like your betters, you are quarrelling for places, the guests must be starved. O you dunces! I find I must begin all over again.—But don't I hear a coach drive into the yard? To your posts, you blockheads. I'll go in the mean time and give my old friend's son a hearty welcome at the gate.
Exit Hardcastle.
Digg. By the elevens, my place is gone quite out of my head.