'sheepish'; that's much against him. Yet, can't he be cured of his timidity by being taught to be proud of his wife? Yes, and can't I -- But I vow I'm dis
|posing of the husband, before I have secured||185|
Enter Miss NEVILLE.
MISS HARD. I'm glad you're come, Neville, my dear. Tell me, Constance, how do I look this evening? Is there anything whimsical about me? Is it
|one of my well-looking days, child? Am I in||190|
MISS NEV. Perfectly, my dear. Yet, now I look again -- bless me! -- sure, no accident has happened among the canary birds or the gold-fishes? Has your
|brother or the cat been meddling? Or has the||195|
MISS HARD. No; nothing of all this. I have been threatened -- I can scarce get it out -- I have been threatened with a lover.
|MISS NEV. And his name --||200|
MISS HARD. Is Marlow.
MISS NEV. Indeed!
MISS HARD. The son of Sir Charles Marlow.
MISS NEV. As I live, the most intimate friend
|of Mr. Hastings, my admirer. They are never||205|
MISS HARD. Never.
MISS NEV. He's a very singular character, I as
|sure you. Among women of reputation and||210|
MISS HARD. An odd character, indeed! I shall
|never be able to manage him. What shall I||215|
|MISS NEV. I have just come from one of||220|
MISS HARD. And her partiality is such that she
|actually thinks him so. A fortune like yours||225|
MISS NEV. A fortune like mine, which chiefly
|consists in jewels, is no such mighty tempta||230|
|affections are fixed upon another.||235|
MISS HARD. My good brother holds out stoutly. I could almost love him for hating you so.
MISS NEV. It is a good-natured creature at bottom, and I'm sure would wish to see me married to
|anybody but himself. But my aunt's bell rings||240|
MISS HARD. Would it were bedtime, and all were
An alehouse room.
Several shabby fellows with punch and tobacco. TONY at the head of the table, a little higher than the rest: a mallet in his hand.
OMNES. Hurrea, hurrea, hurrea, bravo!
FIRST FELLOW. Now, gentlemen, silence for a song. The Squire is going to knock himself down2 for a song.
|OMNES. Ay, a song, a song.||5|
TONY. Then I'll sing you, gentlemen, a song I made upon this alehouse, 'The Three Pigeons.'
Let schoolmasters puzzle their brain,
With grammar, and nonsense, and learning;
Gives genus a better discerning. Let them brag of their heathenish gods,
Good liquor, I stoutly maintain, 10
Their Lethes, their Styxes, and Stygians; Their Quis, and their Quæs, and their Quods,
They're all but a parcel of pigeons.3 15
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll!
When Methodist preachers come down,
A-preaching that drinking is sinful,
I'll wager the rascals a crown,
But when you come down with your pence, For a slice of their scurvy religion,
They always preach best with a skinful. 20
I'll leave it to all men of sense,
But you, my good friend, are the pigeon.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll! 25
Then come, put the jorum4 about,
And let us be merry and clever,
Our hearts and our liquors are stout,
Here's the Three Jolly Pigeons forever.
Your bustards, your ducks, and your widgeons; But of all the birds in the air,
Let some cry up woodcock or hare, 30
Here's a health to the Three Jolly Pigeons.
Toroddle, toroddle, toroll!