Lady. And then, you know, you eat so many cakes, and such a quantity of almonds and raisins, and oranges after dinner.
Gent. How could I have got down Belcour’s insufferable wine, that tasted of the cork, like the fag bottle at a tavern dinner, without eating something?
Lady. And I am sure you drank a glass of Madeira with every mouthful almost at dinner; for I observed you.
Gent. Why how could one swallow such ill-dressed things, half cold too, without drinking? I can’t conceive what makes me feel so unwell this evening; these flatulencies will certainly kill me. It must be the easterly wind we have had for these three days that affects me: indeed, most of my acquaintance are complaining, and the doctors say, disorders are very prevalent now.——What can I have? John, make me a tumbler of brandy and water—make it strong, and put ginger enough in it. I have not the least appetite—what can I have?
Lady. There is ham, and, I believe, some chicken—
Gent. Why, do you think I have the stomach of a ploughman, that I can eat such insipid things! Is there nothing else?
Lady. There is a loin of pork—perhaps you could relish a chop, nicely done?
Gent. Why, if it was nicely done, very nicely, perhaps I could; I’ll try—but remember it must be done to a moment, or I shan’t be able to touch it—and made hot—and some nice gravy. Confound these parties!—could any thing be more stupid. While Martin was sleeping on one side of me, there was Bernard on the other did nothing but bore me about his horses, and his wines, and his pictures, till I wished them all at old Harry—I think I shall have done with parties.
Lady. I am sure, my dear, they are no pleasure to me; and, if they were, I pay dear enough for it: for you generally come home in an ill humour—and your health and your pocket too suffer for it. Your last bill came to more than ninety pounds, besides your expenses at Cheltenham—and the next thing, I suppose, will be a voyage to Madeira, or Lisbon—and then what will become of us?
Gent. What, do you grudge me the necessaries of life? It is I that am the sufferer—