Croa. My dear sir, be pacified. What can you have but asking pardon?
Lofty. Sis, I will not be pacified! Suspects! Who am I? To be used thus, have I paid court to men in favour to serve my friends, the Lords of the Treasury, Sir William Honeywood, and the rest of the gang, and talk to me of suspects! Who am I, I say—who am I?
Sir W. Since, sir, you’re so pressing for an answer, I’ll tell you who you are. A gentleman, as well acquainted with politics as with men in power; as well acquainted with persons of fashion as with modesty; with the Lords of the Treasury as with truth; and with all, as you are with Sir William Honeywood. I am Sir William Honeywood.
[Discovers his ensigns of the Bath.
Croa. Sir William Honeywood!
Hon. Astonishment! my uncle![Aside.
Lofty. So, then, my confounded genius has been all this time only leading me up to the garret, in order to fling me out of the window.
Croa. What, Mr. Importance, and are these your works? Suspect you! You who have been dreaded by the ins and outs. You who have had your hand to addresses, and your head stuck up in print-shops. If you were served right, you should have your head stuck up in the pillory.
Lofty. Ay, stick it where you will; for, by the lord, it cuts but a very poor figure where it sticks at present.
Oliver Goldsmith (1728–1774).