Ash. The dater of Sir Philip Blandford.
Henry. What exquisite sweetness! Ah! should the father but resemble her, I shall have but little to fear from his severity.
Ash. Miss, thic be the young man that ha got'n the goulden prize.
Miss B. This! I always thought ploughmen were coarse, vulgar creatures, but he seems handsome and diffident.
Ash. Ees, quite pratty behaved—it were I that teach'd un.
Miss B. What's your name?
Henry. Henry.
Miss B. And your family?
[Henry, in agony of grief, turns away, strikes his forehead, and leans on the shoulder of Ashfield.]
Dame. [Apart to Miss B.] Madam, I beg pardon, but nobody knows about his parentage; and when it is mentioned, poor boy! he takes on sadly—He has lived at our house ever since we had the farm, and we have had an allowance for him—small enough to be sure—but, good lad! he was always welcome to share what we had.