AMANDA.
Good Sir Tunbelly, you must consent.
BERINTHIA.
Come, you have been young yourself, Sir Tunbelly.
SIR TUNBELLY CLUMSY.
Well then, if I must, I must; but turn—turn that sneering lord out, however, and let me be revenged on somebody. But first look whether I am a barbarian or not; there, children, I join your hands; and when I’m in a better humour, I’ll give you my blessing.
LOVELESS.
Nobly done, Sir Tunbelly! and we shall see you dance at a grandson’s christening yet.
MISS HOYDEN.
By goles, though, I don’t understand this! What! an’t I to be a lady after all? only plain Mrs.—What’s my husband’s name, nurse?
NURSE.
Squire Fashion.
MISS HOYDEN.
Squire, is he?—Well, that’s better than nothing.
LORD FOPPINGTON.
[Aside.] Now I will put on a philosophic air, and show these people, that it is not possible to put a man of my quality out of countenance.—[Aloud.] Dear Tam, since things are fallen out, pr’ythee give me leave to wish thee joy; I do it de bon coeur, strike me dumb! You have married into a family of great politeness and uncommon elegance of manners, and your bride appears to be a lady beautiful in person, modest in her deportment, refined in her sentiments, and of nice morality, split my windpipe!
MISS HOYDEN.
By goles, husband, break his bones if he calls me names!
TOM FASHION.
Your lordship may keep up your spirits with your grimace, if you please; I shall support mine, by Sir Tunbelly’s favour, with this lady and three thousand pounds a year.