THOMAS Bravo, faith!—Odd! I warrant she has a set of thousands at least:—but does she draw kindly with the captain?
FAG
As fond as pigeons.
THOMAS
May one hear her name?
FAG Miss Lydia Languish.—But there is an old tough aunt in the way; though, by-the-by, she has never seen my master—for we got acquainted with miss while on a visit in Gloucestershire.
THOMAS
Well—I wish they were once harnessed together in matrimony.—But pray,
Mr. Fag, what kind of a place is this Bath?—I ha' heard a deal of
it—here's a mort o' merrymaking, hey?
FAG Pretty well, Thomas, pretty well—'tis a good lounge; in the morning we go to the pump-room (though neither my master nor I drink the waters); after breakfast we saunter on the parades, or play a game at billiards; at night we dance; but damn the place, I'm tired of it: their regular hours stupify me—not a fiddle nor a card after eleven!—However, Mr. Faulkland's gentleman and I keep it up a little in private parties;—I'll introduce you there, Thomas—you'll like him much.
THOMAS
Sure I know Mr. Du-Peigne—you know his master is to marry Madam Julia.
FAG
I had forgot.—But, Thomas, you must polish a little—indeed you
must.—Here now—this wig!—What the devil do you do with a wig,
Thomas?—None of the London whips of any degree of ton wear wigs now.
THOMAS More's the pity! more's the pity! I say.—Odd's life! when I heard how the lawyers and doctors had took to their own hair, I thought how 'twould go next:—odd rabbit it! when the fashion had got foot on the bar, I guessed 'twould mount to the box!—but 'tis all out of character, believe me, Mr. Fag: and look'ee, I'll never gi' up mine—the lawyers and doctors may do as they will.
FAG
Well, Thomas, we'll not quarrel about that.