Miss B. I dare say he is, sir? but on this occasion, I think I ought to dance with the young man, who gained the prize—I think it would be most pleasant—most proper, I mean; and I am glad you agree with me.—So, sir, if you'll accept my hand—
[Henry takes it.
Sir Abel. Very pleasantly settled, upon my soul!—Bob, won't you dance?
Handy, jun. I dance!—no, I'll look at them—I'll quietly look on.
Sir Abel. Egad now, as my wife's away, I'll try to find a pretty girl, and make one among them.
Ash. That's hearty!—Come, Dame, hang the rheumatics!—Now, lads and lasses, behave pratty, and strike up.
[A dance.
[Handy, jun. looks on a little, and then begins to move his legs—then dashes into the midst of the dance, and endeavours to imitate every one opposite to him; then being exhausted, he leaves the dance, seizes the fiddle, and plays 'till the curtain drops.]