Miss B. I promised Henry your protection.
Sir Philip. Indeed! that was much. Well I will see your rustic here. This infant passion must be crushed. Poor wench! some artless boy has caught thy youthful fancy.—Thy arm, my child.
[Exeunt.
SCENE II.
A Lawn before the Castle.
Enter Henry and Ashfield.
Ash. Well! here thee'rt going to make thy bow to Sir Philip. I zay, if he should take a fancy to thee, thou'lt come to farm, and zee us zometimes, wo'tn't, Henry?
Henry. [Shaking his hand.] Tell me, is that Sir Philip Blandford, who leans on that lady's arm?
Ash. I don't know, by reason, d'ye zee, I never zeed'un. Well, good bye! I declare thee doz look quite grand with thic golden prize about thy neck, vor all the world like the lords in their stars, that do come to theas pearts to pickle their skins in the zalt zea ocean! Good b'ye, Henry!
[Exit.