Manly. Come, tell us all: pray how do they travel?
John. Why i’ the auld coach, Measter; and cause my Lady loves to do things handsome, to be sure, she would have a couple of cart horses clapt to th’ four old geldings, that neighbours might see she went up to London in her coach and six! And so Giles Joulter the ploughman rides postilion!
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Lord Townley. And when do you expect them here, John?
John. Why, we were in hopes to ha’ come yesterday, an’ it had no’ been that th’ owld wheaze-belly horse tired; and then we were so cruelly loaden, that the two fore-wheels came crash down at once in Waggon-Rut Lane; and there we lost four hours ’fore we could set things to rights again.
Manly. So they bring all their baggage with the coach then?
John. Ay, ay, and good store on’t there is. Why, my Lady’s gear alone were as much as filled four portmantel trunks, besides the great deal box that heavy Ralph and the monkey sit on behind.
Lady Grace. Well, Mr. Moody, and pray how many are there within the coach?
John. Why, there’s my Lady and his Worship, and the young squoire, and Miss Jenny, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady’s maid Mrs. Handy, and Doll Tripe the cook; that’s all. Only Doll puked a little with riding backward, so they hoisted her into the coach-box, and then her stomach was easy.
Lady Grace. Oh! I see ’em go by me. Ah! ha!