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Pat. I shall do myself the honour to pay my duty to you some other time, madam ; at present I really find myself a little indisposed.
219 The. Nay, I would by no means lay you under any restraint. But methinks the entertainment we have just been taking part of, should have put you into better spirits: I am not in an over-merry mood myself, yet, I swear, I could not look on the diversion of those honest folks, without feeling a certain gaieté de
226 Pat. Why, indeed, madam, it had one circumstance attending it, which is often wanting to more polite amusements; that of seeming to give undissembled satisfaction to those who were engaged in it.
The. Oh, infinite, infinite! to see the chearful, healthy looking creatures, toil with such a good will ! To me there were more genuine charms in their auk. ward stumping and jumping about, their rude measures, and homespun finery, than in all the dress, splendor, and studied graces, of a birth-night ball
237 Pat. 'Tis a very uncommon declaration to be made by a fine lady, madam : but certainly, however the artful delicacies of high life may dazzle and surprize, nature has particular attractions, even in a cottage, her most unadorned state, which seldom fail to affect us, tho’ we can scarce give a reason for it.
The. But you know, Patty, I was always a distracted admirer of the country ; no damsel in romance was ever fonder of groves and purling streams : had
I been born in the davs of Arcadia, with my present propensity, instead of being a fine lady, as you call me, I should certainly have kept a flock of sheep.
Pat. Well, madam, you have the sages, poets, and philosophers, of all ages, to countenance your way of thinking.
252 The. And you, my little philosophical friend, don't you think me in the right too ?
Pat. Yes, indeed, madam, perfectly.
Trust me, would you taste true pleasure,
Sure as in the sylvan scene :
Blest, who, no false glare requiring,
Seek the simple and serene.
THEODOSIA, MERVIN, FANNY. Mer. Yonder she is seated ; and, to my wish, most fortunately alone. Accost her as I desired.
Fan. Heaven bless you, my sweet lady—bless your honour's beautiful visage, and send you a good husband, and a great many of them.
The. A very comfortable wish upon my word : who are you, child?
271 Fan. A poor gipsey, an' please you,
about begging from charitable gentlemen and ladies_If you have ere a coal or a bit of whiting in your pocket, I'll write you the first letter of your sweetheart's name ; how many husbands
you will have ; and how many children, my lady: or, if you'll let me look at your line of life, I'll tell you whether it will be long or short, happy or miserable.
The. Oh! as for that, I know it already—you cannot tell me any good fortune, and therefore l'll hear Go about
282 Mer. Stay, madam, stay, [Pretending to lift a paper from ground.] you have dropt something-Fan, call the young gentlewoman back.
Fan. Lady, you have lost
Mer. Yes, that paper, lady; you dropt it as you got up from the chair.–Fan, give it to her honour. 289
The. A letter with my address ! [Takes the paper and reads. ] “ Dear Theodosia! Though the sight of me
was so disagreeable to you, that you charged me
never to approach you more, I hope my hand-wri“ting can have nothing to frighten or disgust you. I
am .not far off; and the person who delivers you this, can give you intelligence."--Come hither,
child : do you know any thing of the gentleman that wrote this? Fan. My lady
299 The. Make haste run this moment, bring me to him, bring him to me; say I wait with impatience ; tell him I will go, fly any where
Mer. My life, my charmer!
THEODOSIA, Mervin, Sir HARRY, Lady SYCA
MORE, FANNY, Gipsies. L. Syc. Sir Harry, don't walk so fast, we are not running for a wager.
S. Har. Hough, hough, hough.
L. Syc. Hey day, you have got a cough; I shall have you laid upon my hands presently. 309
S. Har. No, no, my lady, it's only the old affair.
L. Syc. Come here, and let me tye this handkerchief about your neck; you have put yourself into a muck sweat already. [Ties a handkercheif about his neck.]
Bardana this morning? I warrant you not now, though you
have been complaining of twitches two or three times; and you know the gouty season is coming on. Why will you be so neglectful of your health, Sir Harry? I protest I am forced to watch you like an infant.
S. Har. My lovey takes care of me, and I am obliged to her.
L. Syc. Well, but you ought to mind me then, since you are satisfied I never speak but for your good.I thought, Miss Sycamore, you were to have followed your papa and me into the garden.—How far did you go with that wench?
The. They are gipsies, madam, they say. Indeed I don't know what they are.
L. Syc. I wish miss, you would learn to give a rational answer.
330 S. Har. Eh! what's that? gipsies ! Have we gipsies here ! Vagrants, that pretend to a knowledge of future events; diviners, fortune-tellers?
Fan. Yes, your worship, we'll tell your fortune, or her ladyship’s, for a crum of bread, or a little broken victuals: what you throw to your dogs, an please you.
S. Har. Broken vi&tuals, hussey! How do you think we should have broken victuals ?-If we are at home, indeed, perhaps you might get some such thing from the cook : but here we are only on a visit to a friend's house, and have nothing to do with the kitchen at all.
L. Syc. And do you think, Sir Harry, it is necessary to give the creature an account.
S. Har. No, love, no; but what can you say to obstinate people?
- Get you gone, bold face.-I once knew a merchant's wife in the city, my lady, who had her fortune told by some of those gipsies. They said she should die at such a time, and I war