your maſter's is ſo heady, that a pint of it overſets a claret-drinker.
Ch. Maid. Don't be rude! bleſs me!—I ſhall be ruin'd—what will become of me?
Bruſh. I'll take care of you, by all that's honourable.
Ch. Maid. You are a baſe man to uſe me ſo—I'll cry out, if you don't let me go—that is Miſs Sterling's chamber, that Miſs Fanny's, and that Madam Heidelberg's. [pointing.
Bruſh. And that my Lord Ogleby's, and that my Lady what d'ye call'em: I don't mind ſuch folks when I'm ſober, much leſs when I am whimſical—rather above that too.
Ch. Maid. More ſhame for you, Mr. Bruſh!—you terrify me—you have no modeſty.
Bruſh. O but I have, my ſweet ſpider-bruſher!—for inſtance, I reverence Miſs Fanny—ſhe's a moſt delicious morſel and fit for a prince—with all my horrors of matrimony, I could marry her myſelf—but for her ſiſter—
Miſs Sterl. There, there, Madam, all in a ſtory!
Ch. Maid. Bleſs me, Mr. Bruſh!—I heard ſomething!
Bruſh. Rats, I ſuppoſe, that are gnawing the old timbers of this execrable old dungeon—If it was mine, I would pull it down, and fill your fine canal up with the rubbiſh; and then I ſhould get rid of two damn'd things at once.
Ch. Maid. Law! law! how you blaſpheme!—we ſhall have the houſe upon our heads for it.
Bruſh. No, no, it will laſt our time—but as I was ſaying, the eldeſt ſiſter—Miſs Jezabel—
Ch. Maid. Is a fine young lady for all your evil tongue.
Bruſh. No—we have ſmoak'd her already; and unleſs ſhe marries our old Swiſs, ſhe can have none of us—no, no, ſhe wont do—we are a little too nice.
Ch. Maid.
