Sir R. An't I a baronet? Sir Robert Bramble, of Blackberry Hall, in the county of Kent? 'T is time you should know it, for you have been my clumsy, two-fisted valet these thirty years: can you deny that?
Hum. Hem!
Sir R. Hem? What do you mean by hem? Open that rusty door of your mouth, and make your ugly voice walk out of it. Why don't you answer my question?
Hum. Because, if I contradict you, I shall tell you a lie, and whenever I agree with you, you are sure to fall out.
Sir R. Humphrey Dobbins. I have been so long endeavoring to beat a few brains into your pate that all your hair has tumbled off before my point is carried.
Hum. What then? Our parson says my head is an emblem of both our honors.
Sir R. Ay; because honors, like your head, are apt to be empty.
Hum. No; but if a servant has grown bald under his master's nose, it looks as if there was honesty on one side, and regard for it on the other.
Sir R. Why, to be sure, old Humphrey, you are as honest as a—pshaw! the parson means to palaver us; but, to return to my position, I tell you I do n't like your flat contradiction.
Hum. Yes, you do.