Ash. Well, won't thee go and zee the ploughing match?
Henry. Tell me, will not those who obtain prizes be introduced to the Castle?
Ash. Ees, and feasted in the great hall.
Henry. My good friend, I wish to become a candidate.
Dame. You, Henry!
Henry. It is time I exerted the faculties Heaven has bestowed on me; and though my heavy fate crushes the proud hopes this heart conceives, still let me prove myself worthy of the place Providence has assigned me.—[Aside.] Should I succeed, it will bring me to the presence of that man, who (I know not why) seems the dictator of my fate.—[To them.] Will you furnish me with the means?
Ash. Will I!—Thou shalt ha' the best plough in the parish—I wish it were all gould for thy zake—and better cattle there can't be noowhere.
Henry. Thanks, my good friend—my benefactor—I have little time for preparation—So receive my gratitude, and farewell.
[Exit.
Dame. A blessing go with thee!