Ash. Ha, ha, ha! [Laughing loudly.] Excuse my tittering a bit—but your axing mysel vor I be so domm'd zilly [Bowing and laughing.]—Ah! you stare at I beceas I be bashful and daunted.
Sir Abel. You are very bashful, to be sure. I declare I'm quite weary.
Ash. If you'll walk into the castle, you may zit down, I dare zay.
Sir Abel. May I indeed? you are a fellow of extraordinary civility.
Ash. There's no denying it, zur.
Sir Abel. No, I'll sit here.
Ash. What! on the ground! Why you'll wring your ould withers—
Sir Abel. On the ground—no, I always carry my seat with me [Spreads a small camp chair.]—Here I'll sit and examine the surveyor's account of the castle.
Ash. Dickens and daizeys! what a gentleman you wou'd be to shew at a vair!
Sir Abel. Silence fellow, and attend—"An account of the castle and domain of Sir Philip Blandford, intended to be settled as a marriage portion on his daughter, and the son of Sir Abel Handy,—by Frank Flourish, surveyor.—Imprimis—The premises command an exquisite view of the Isle of Wight."—Charming! delightful! I don't see it though [Rising.]—I'll try with my new glass—my own invention—[He looks through the glass.] Yes, there I caught it—Ah! now I see it plainly—Eh! no—I don't see it, do you?