Oliv. From some melancholy place, I warrant, sir, since they have lost your good company.
Eliza. So!
Nov. From a place where they have treated me at dinner with so much civility and kindness, a pox on them! that I could hardly get away to you, dear madam.
Oliv. You have a way with you so new and obliging, sir!
Eliza. You hate flattery, cousin! [Apart to Olivia.
Nov. Nay, faith, madam, d'ye think my way new? Then you are obliging, madam. I must confess, I hate imitation, to do anything like other people. All that know me do me the honour to say, I am an original, faith. But, as I was saying, madam, I have been treated to-day with all the ceremony and kindness imaginable at my Lady Autumn's. But, the nauseous old woman at the upper end of her table—
Oliv. Revives the old Grecian custom, of serving in a death's head with their banquets.
Nov. Ha! ha! fine, just, i'faith, nay, and new. 'Tis like eating with the ghost in "The Libertine:"[100] she would frighten a man from her dinner with her hollow invitations, and spoil one's stomach—
Oliv. To meat or women. I detest her hollow cherry cheeks: she looks like an old coach new painted; affecting an unseemly smugness, whilst she is ready to drop in pieces.