A Trip to Scarborough; and, The Critic

by Richard Brinsley Sheridan

MISS HOYDEN.
Pray, father, what do you intend to do with him—hang him?

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
That, at least, child.

NURSE.
Ay, and it’s e’en too good for him too.

LORD FOPPINGTON.
Madame la gouvernante, I presume: hitherto this appears to me to be one of the most extraordinary families that ever man of quality matched into. [Aside.]

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
What’s become of my lord, daughter?

MISS HOYDEN.
He’s just coming, sir.

LORD FOPPINGTON.
My lord! what does he mean by that, now? [Aside.]

Re-enter TOM FASHION and LORY. Stap my vitals, Tam, now the dream’s out! [Runs.]

TOM FASHION.
Is this the fellow, sir, that designed to trick me of your daughter?

SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
This is he, my lord. How do you like him? Is not he a pretty fellow to get a fortune?