(As he goes to the door again, it opens, and enters from the house, Betty, crying with a bundle in her hand.)
Bet. O dear me! O dear me!
Har. What is the matter with you, my good girl?
Bet. I'm sure it was not my fault, and she has abused me worser than a heathen.
Har. That is hard indeed.
Bet. Indeed it is, sir; and all for a little nasty essence bottle, which was little better than a genteel kind of a stink at the best, and I am sure I did but take out the stopper to smell to it, when it came to pieces in my hand like an egg shell; if bottles will break, how can I help it; but la! sir, there is no speaking reason to my mistress, she is as furious and as ill tempered as a dragon.
Har. Dont distress yourself, Miss Agnes Withrington will make amends to you for the severity of your mistress.
Bet. She truly! she is my mistress herself, and she has abused me, O dear me,—If it had been Miss Withrington, she would not have said a word to me, but Miss Agnes is so cross, and so ill natured, there is no living in the house with her.
Har. Girl, you are beside yourself.
Bet. No, sir, god be praised! but she is beside herself, I believe. Does she think I am going to live in her service to be call'd names so, and compared to a blackamoor too? if I had been waiting maid to the queen, she would not have compared