hear? Give me a word with you, if your senses can afford it. Dame. What would you have with me? What is your business here? Weazel. You're right, it must be business; nobody would come here for pleasure. Dame. No, nor is this a house of call for travellers. Weazel. That I can believe, if you are the representative of it; that is, as I may say, luce clarius. Dame. There's no such person here, so you may go your ways, before my master sends you packing. Weazel. You have a master, have you? Call him out, then, and let him direct me in my road to Roderick Penruddock, esquire, and I'll reward him for his pains. Dame. You'll reward my master! Saucy companion! If Roderick Penruddock is the gentleman you want, you need not go any further-there he lives. Weazel. There you lie, I believe. Penruddock in that cottage! Dame. Why not? Will you face me out, who have lived with him these twenty years? And what if it be but a cottage? Content is every thing; my good master is not proud. Weazel. Melancholy, I should think, if a constant memorandum of mortality can make him so.-He was cross'd in love in his younger days. Dame. That I know nothing of. Weazel. I don't say you was in the fault of it. Dame. He is a man of few words, to be sure; but then he has a world of learning in his head; everlastingly at his books. Weazel. Is he at 'em now? Dame. Deep,-not to be approached. Dame. To be sure: I never disturb him in his hours of study; at every other time he's kind and gentle as the dew of Heaven. |