A DRAMATIC NOVEL, IN ONE ACT-BY GEORGE COLMAN, THE ELDER. SCENE I.-An Apartment in Honeycombe's House. Enter POLLY, with a book in her hand. Polly. Well said, Sir George! O the dear man! But so-"With these words the enraptur'd baronet (Reading) concluded his declaration of love."So!" But what heart can imagine, (Reading.) what tongue describe, or what pen delineate, the amiable confusion of Emilia?"-Well, now for it." Reader, if thou art a courtly reader, thou hast seen, at polite tables, iced cream crimsoned with raspberries; or, if thou art an uncourtly reader, thou hast seen the rosy-finger'd morning dawning in the golden east;"-Dawning in the golden east; very pretty-"Thou hast seen, perhaps, (Reading.) the artificial vermillion on the cheeks of Cleora, or the vermillion of nature on those of Sylvia; thou hast seen-in a word, the lovely face of Emilia was overspread with blushes." -This is a most beautiful passage, I protest; well, a novel for my money; lord, ford, my stupid papa has no taste. He has no notion of humour, and character, and the sensibility of delicate feeling. (Affectedly.) And then mamma-but where was Ì? Oh, here-" overspread with blushes. (Reading.) Sir George, touched at her confusion, gently seized her hand, and softly pressing it to his bosom, (Acting it as she reads.) where the pulses of his heart beat quick, throbbing with tumultuous passion, in a plaintive tone of voice breathed out, Will you not answer me, Emilia?"-tender creature!" She, half raising (Reading and acting.) her downcast eyes, and half inclining her averted head, said, in faltering accents-Yes, sir!" Well, now!" Then gradually recovering, with ineffable sweetness she prepared to address him; when Mrs. Jenkinson bounced into the room, threw | down a set of China in her hurry, and strewed the floor with porcelain fragments; then turning Emilia round and round, whirled her out of the apartment in an instant, and struck Sir George dumb with astonishment at her appearance. She raved; but the baronet resuming his accustomed effrontery" Enter Nurse. Ob, nurse, I am glad to see you. Well, and howNur. Well, chicken. Polly. Tell me, tell me all this instant. Did you see him? Did you give him my letter? Did he write? Will he come? Shall I see him? Have you got the answer in your pocket? Have you Nur. Blessings on her, how her tongue runs! Polly. Nay, but come, dear uursee, tell me, what did he say? Nur. Say? why he took the letter. Nur. And kiss'd it a thousand times, and read it a thousand times, and Polly. Oh, charming! Nur. And ran about the room, and blest himself, and, heaven preserve us, curst himself, and— Polly. Very fine! very fine! Nur. And vowed he was the most miserable creature upon earth, and the happiest man in the world, and Polly. Prodigiously fine! excellent! My dear, dear nursee. (Kissing her.) Come, give me the Nur. Letter, chicken! what letter? [letter. Polly. The answer to mine. Come then!" Nur. I have no letter. He had such a peramble to write, by my troth I could not stay for it. Polly. Psha! Nur. How soon you're affronted now; he said he'd send it some time to-day. Polly. Send it some time to-day! I wonder, now, (As if musing.) how he will convey it. Will he squeeze it, as he did the last, into the chickenhouse in the garden? Or will he write it in lemonjuice, and send it in a book, like blank paper? Or will he throw it into the house enclosed in an orange? Or will he[has. Nur. Heavens bless her, what a sharp wit she Polly. I have not read so many books for nothing. Novels, nursee, novels! A novel is the only thing to teach a girl life, and the way of the world, and elegant fancies, and love to the end of the chapter. Nur. Yes, yes, you are always reading your simple story-books. The Ventures of Jack this, and the History of Betsy t'other, and Sir Humphrys, and women with hard Christian names. You had better read your prayer-book, chicken. Polly. Why so I do; but I am reading this now; (Looking into the book.) "She raved, but the baronet" I really think I love Mr. Scribble as well as Emilia did Sir George. Do you think, narsee, I should have had such a good notion of love so early, if I had not read novels? Did not I make a conquest of Mr. Scribble in a single night at dancing? But my cross papa will hardly ever let me go out; and then, I know life as well as if I had been in the beau monde all my days. I can tell the nature of a masquerade as well as if I had been at twenty. I long for a mobbing scheme with Mr. Scribble in the two shilling gallery, or a snug party a little way out of town in a postchaise; and then, I have such a head full of intrigues and contrivances. Oh, nursee, a novel is the only thing. Nur. Contrivances! Ay, marry, you have need of contrivances. Here are your papa and mamma fully resolved to marry you to young Mr. Ledger, Mr. Simeon the rich Jew's wife's nephew, and all the while your head runs upon nothing but Mr. Scribble. Polly. A fiddle-stick's end for Mr. Ledger! I tell you what, nursee, I'll marry Mr. Scribble, and not marry Mr. Ledger, whether papa and mamma choose it or no. And how do you think I'll contrive it? Nur. How, chicken? Polly. Why, don't you know? Nur. No, indeed. Polly. And can't you guess? Nur. No, by my troth, not I. his old gouty legs. Ah, my sweeting, my precious Mr. Honeycombe, d'ye love your nown dear wife? says mamma; and then their old eyes twinkle, and they're as loving as Darby and Joan-Eh! nursee. Nur. Oh fie, chicken. Polly. And then, perhaps, in comes my utter aversion, Mr. Ledger, with his news from the 'Change, and his 'Change Alley wit, and his thirty per cent. (Mimicking.) and stocks have risen one and a half and three-eighths. I'll tell you what, nursee, they would make fine characters for a novel, all three of them. Nur. Ah, you're a graceless bird; but I must go down stairs, and watch if the coast's clear, in case of a letter. Polly. Could not you go to Mr. Scribble's again after it? Nur. Again! indeed, Mrs. Hot-upon't. Polly. Do now, my dear nursee, pray do; and call at the circulating library as you go along, for the rest of this novel, "The History of Sir George Trueman and Emilia;" and tell the bookseller to be sure to send me "The British Amazon," and "Tom Faddle," and the rest of the new novels this winter, as soon as ever they come out. Nur. Ah, pise on your naughty novels, I say. [Exit. Polly. Ay, go now, my dear nursee, go, there's a good woman. What an old fool it is; with her pise on it-and fie, chicken-and no, by my troth. (Mimicking.) Lord! what a strange house I live in; not a soul in it, except myself, but what are all queer animals, quite droll creatures. There's papa and mamma, and the old foolish nurse. Re-enter Nurse, with a band-box. Oh, nursee, what brings you back so soon? What have you got there? Nur. Mrs. Commode's 'prentice is below, and has brought home your new cap, chicken. box.) Well, I swear this is a mighty pretty cap, Polly. Let me see, let me see. (Opening the isn't it, nursee? Ha! what's this? (Looking into the box.) Oh, charming! a letter! did not I tell you so? Let's see, let's see. (Opening the letter hastily, it contains three or four sheets.) Joy of my soul-only hope-eternal bliss. (Dipping into different places. The cruel blasts of coyness and disdain blow out the flame of love, but then the virgin breath of kindness and compassion blows it in again. Polly. O lord, 'tis the commonest thing in the Prodigious pretty! isn't it, nursee? (Turning over world. I intend to elope. Nur. Elope, chicken? what's that? Polly. Why, in the vulgar phrase, run away, that's all. Nur. Mercy on us!-Run away. Polly. Yes, run away, to be sure. Why there's nothing in that, you know. Every girl elopes when her parents are obstinate and ill-natur'd about marrying her. It was just so with Betsy Thompson, and Sally Wilkins, and Clarinda, and Leonora in the History of Dick Careless, and Julia in the Adventures of Tom Ramble, and fifty others; did not they all elope? and so will I too. I have as much right to elope as they had; for I have as much love, and as much spirit, as the best of them. Nur. Why, Mr. Scribble's a fine man to be sure, a gentleman every inch of him. Polly. So he is, a dear, charming man! Will you elope too, nursee? Nur. Not for the varsal world. Suppose, now, chicken, your papa and mamma— Polly. What care I for papa and mamma? Have not they been married and happy long enough ago? and are they not still coaxing, and fondling, and kissing each other all the day long? Where's my dear love, (Mimicking.) my beauty? says papa, hobbling along with his crutch-headed cane, and the leaves.) Nur. Yes, that is pretty, but what a deal there is on't. It's an old saying and a true one, the more there's said, the less there's done. Ah, they wrote otherguess sort of letters, when I was a girl. (While she talks, Polly reads.) Polly. Lord, nursee, if it was not for novels and love-letters, a girl would have no use for her writing and reading. But what's here? (Reading.) Poetry! "Well may I cry out with Alonzo, in the Revenge Where didst thou steal those eyes? From heaven? Thou didst, and 'tis religion to adore them!" Excellent! oh! he's a dear man. ter-carrier below; she'll never bring you another, Nur. Ay, to be sure; but you forget your letif you don't speak to her kindly. Polly Speak to her! why, I'll give her a crown, SCENE II.-Another Apartment. Honey. Ah! my beauty! (Looking very fondly.) Mrs. H. Do you love your own dear wife? (Tenderly.) Honey. Dearly. She knows I do. Don't you, my beauty? Mrs. H. Ah, you're a dear, dear man. (Rising and kissing him.) He does loves her; and he's her own husband; and she loves him most dearly and tenderly, that she does. (Kissing him.) Honey. My beauty! I have a piece of news for Mrs. H. What is it, my sweeting? [you. Honey. The paper here says, that young Tom Seaton, of Aldersgate-street, was married yesterday at Bow Church, to Miss Fairly of Cornhill. Mrs. H. A flaunting, flaring hussy; she a husband! Honey. But what does my beauty think of her own daughter? Mrs. H. Of our Polly, sweeting? Honey. Ay, Polly; what sort of a wife d'ye think she'll make, my love? I concluded thing with Mr. Simeon yesterday, and expect Mr. Ledger every minute. Ledg. Well, Miss. Polly. (Aside.) He speaks! what shall I say to him? Suppose I have a little sport with him. I will, I'll indulge myself with a few airs of distant flirtation at first, and then treat him like a dog. I'll use him worse than Nancy Howe ever did Mr. Hickman. Pray, sir, (To Ledger.) did you ever read the History of Emilia? Ledg. Not I, Miss, not I. I have no time to think of such things, not I. I hardly ever read anything, except the Daily Advertiser, or the List at Lloyd's; nor write neither, except it's my name, now and then. I keep a dozen clerks for nothing in the world else but to write. Polly. A dozen clerks! Prodigious! Ledg. Ay, a dozen clerks. Business must be done, Miss! We have large returns, and the balance must be kept on the right side you know. In regard to last year now-Our returns from the every-first of January to the last of December, fifty-nine, were to the amount of sixty thousand pounds sterling. We clear, upon an average, at the rate of twelve per cent. Cast up the twelves in sixty thousand, and you may make a pretty good guess at our net profits. Mrs. H. Think, my sweeting! why I think, if she loves him half so well as I do my own dear man, that she'll never suffer him out of her sight; that-(They both ogle fondly.) Oh, my dear, it's impossible to say how dearly I love you. (Kissing and fondling him.) Enter LEDGER. Ledg. Hey-day! what now, good folks, what now? Are you so much in arrear? or are you paying off principal and interest both at once Honey. My dear! Consider-Mr. Ledger isMrs. H. What signifies Mr. Ledger? He is one of the family, you know, my sweeting. Ledg. Ay, so I am, never mind me, never mind me. Though, by-the-by, I should be glad of somebody to make much of me, too. Where's Miss Polly? Polly. Net profits! Ledg. Ay, Miss, net profits; Simeon and Ledger are names as well known as any in the Alley, and good for as much at the bottom of a piece of paper. But no matter for that, you must know that I have an account to settle with you, Miss. You're on the debtor side in my books, I can tell you, Miss. Polly, In your debt, Mr. Ledger! Ledg. Over head and ears in my debt, Miss. Polly. I hate to be in debt of all things; pray let me discharge you at once, for I can't endure to be dunn'd. Ledg. Not so fast, Miss, not so fast. Right reckoning makes long friends; suppose, now, we Honey. That's right, that's right. Here, John! should compound this matter, and strike a balance Where's Polly? Enter JOHN. John. In her own room, sir. Honey. Tell her to come here; and hark ye, John, while Mr. Ledger stays, I am not at home to anybody else. [Exit John. Ledg. Not at home! are those your ways? If I was to give such a message to my servant, I should expect a commission of bankruptcy out against me the next day. Honey. Ay, you men of large dealings; it was so with me, when I was in business. But where's this girl? what can she be about? My beauty, do step yourself, and send her here immediately. Mrs. H. I will, my sweeting! Mr. Ledger, your servant. B'ye, dearest! [Exit. Honey. Ha, ha! you see, Mr. Ledger, you see what you are to come to; but I beg pardon, I quite forgot; have you break fasted? Ledg. Breakfasted! ay, four hours ago, and done an hundred tickets since, over a dish of coffee, at Jonathan's. Let me see, (Pulling out his watch.) bless my soul, it's eleven o'clock! I wish Miss would come. It's transfer-day. I must be at the Bank, before twelve, without fail. Honey. Oh, here she comes. in favour of both parties. Polly. How d'ye mean? Mr. Ledger. Ledg. Why then, in plain English, Miss, I love you-I'll marry you; my uncle Simeon and Mr. Honeycombe have settled the matter between them; I am fond of the match, and hope you are the same. There's the sum total. Polly. Is it possible that I can have any charms for Mr. Ledger? Ledg. Charms, Miss? You are all over charms. I like you, I like your person, your family, your fortune; I like you altogether. The Omniums, eh, Miss! I like the Omniums, and don't care how large a premium I give for them. Polly. Lord, sir. Ledg. Come, Miss, let's both set our hands to it, and sign and seal the agreement, without loss of time or hindrance of business. Polly. Not so fast, sir, not so fast; right reckoning makes long friends, you know, Mr. Ledger. Ledg. Miss! Polly. After so explicit and polite a declaration on your part, you will expect, no doubt, some suitable returns on mine. Ledg. To be sure, Miss, to be sure; ay, ay, let's examine the per contra. Polly. What you have said, Mr. Ledger, has, I take it for granted, been very sincere. Ledg. Very sincere, upon my credit, Miss. Polly. For my part, then, I must declare, however unwillingly Ledg. Out with it, Miss! Polly. That the passion I entertain for you is tern! I am now going to be treated just as you equally stronghave been before me. Ledg. Oh brave! Polly. And that I do, with equal, or more sin- have no more novels-Get along I say. No pen cerity Ledg. Thank you, Miss; thank you! Polly. Hate and detest Ledg. How! how! Polly. Loathe and abhor you. Ledg. What, what! Polly. Your sight is shocking to me, your conversation odious, and your passion contemptible. Ledg. Mighty well, Miss; mighty well. Polly. You are a vile book of arithmetic, a table of pounds, shillings, and pence. You are uglier than a figure of eight, and more tiresome than the multiplication-table. There's the sum total. Ledg. Very fine, very fine, Miss! Mr. Honeycombe shall know this, "He'll bring you below par again, I warrant you. [Exit. Polly. Ha, ha, ha! There he goes! Ha, ha, ha! I have out-topped them all; Miss Howe, Narcissa, Clarinda, Polly Barnes, Sophy Willis, and all of them. None of them ever treated an odious fellow with half so much spirit. This would make an excellent chapter in a new novel. But here comes papa, in a violent passion, no doubt. No matter, it will only furnish materials for the next chapter. Enter HONEYCOMBE. Honey. What is the meaning of this extraordinary behaviour? How dare you treat Mr. Ledger so ill, and behave so undutifully to your papa, and mamma? You are a spoilt child; your mamma and I have been too fond of you. Polly. Lord! papa, how can you be so angry with me? I am as dutiful as any girl in the world. But there's always an uproar in the family about marrying the daughter; and now poor I must suffer in my turn. Honey. Hark ye, Miss! Why did not you receive Mr. Ledger as your lover? Polly. Lover! Oh, dear papa! he has no more of a lover about him! He never so much as cast one languishing look towards me, never once prest my hand, or struck his breast, or threw himself at my feet, or-Lord! I read such a delightful declaration of love in the new novel this morning. First, papa, Sir George Trueman Honey. Devil take Sir George Trueman! these cursed novels have turned the girl's head; isn't Mr. Ledger a husband of your papa and mamma's providing? and ar'n't they the properest persons to dispose of you? Polly. Dispose of me! See there now; why you have no notion of these things, papa! Your head's so fall of trade and commerce, that you would dispose of your daughter like a piece of merchandise; but my heart is my own property, and at nobody's disposal but my own. Sure, you would not consign me, like a bale of silk, to Ledger and Co. eh! papa! Honey. Her impudence amazes me. You're an undutiful Polly. Not at all undutiful, papa; hut I hate Mr. Ledger; I can't endure the sight of him; nay, more, to tell you the whole truth, my heart is devoted to another. I have an insuperable passion for him; and nothing shall shake my affection for my dear Mr. Scribble. Honey. Mr. Scribble! Who's Mr. Scribble? I'll turn you out of doors; I'll have you confin'd to your chamber; get out of my sight; I'll have you fock'd up this instant. Polly. Lock'd up! I thought so. Whenever a poor girl refuses to marry any horrid creature her parents provide for her, then she's to be lock'd up immediately. Poor Clarissa! Poor Sophy Wes Honey. Those abominable books! But you shall and ink to scrawl letters-Why don't you go? Nor no trusty companion-Get along. I'll have you lock'd up this instant, and the key of your chamber shall be in your mamma's custody. Polly. Indeed, papa, you need not give my mamma so much trouble. I have Honey. Get along, I say. Polly. I have read of such things as ladders of When we woo, Bill and coo. Pretty! and a plain proof I shan't have much trouble with her. I'll make short work on't: I'll carry her off to-day, if possible, clap up a marriage at once, and then down upon our marrow-bones, and ask pardon and blesing of papa and mamma. (Noise without.) Here she comes. Honey. (Without.) Get along, Isay! Up to your own chamber, hussy! Polly. (Without.) Well, papa, I am Scrib. O the devil! Her father coming up with her! What shall I do? (Running about.) Where shall I hide myself? I shall certainly be discoverd. I'll get up the chimney. Zounds! they are just here! Ten to one the old cuff may not stay with her. I'll pop into this closet. [Exit. Enter HONEYCOMBE and POLLY. Honey. Here, Mistress Malapert, stay here, if you please, and chew the cud of disobedience and mischief in private. Polly. Very well, papa. Honey. Very well! 'Tis not very well: I have a good mind to keep you upon bread and water this month. I'll-I'll-But I'll say no more. I'll lock you up, and carry the key to your mamma: she'll take care of you. You will have Mr. Scribble: let's see how he can get to you now. (Shewing the key.) [Exit, locking the door. Polly. And so I will have Mr. Scribble, too, do what you can, old Squaretoes. I am provided with pen, ink, and paper, in spite of their teeth. I remember that Clarissa had cunning drawers made on purpose to secure those things, in case of an accident: I am very glad I have had caution enough to provide myself with the same implements of intrigue, though with a little more ingenuity, Indeed, now they make standishes, and tea-chests, and dressing-boxes, in all sorts of shapes and figures; but mine are of my own invention. Here I've got an excellent ink-horn in my pin-cushion, and a case of pens, and some paper, in my fan: (Produces them.) I will write to Mr. Scribble im mediately: Ishall certainly see him eaves-dropping about our door the first opportunity, and then I'll toss it to him out of the window. (Sits down to write.) Scrib. (Putting his head out of the door of the closet.) A clear coast, I find. The old codger's gone, and has locked me up with his daughter: so much the better. Pretty soul! what is she about?writing? A letter to me, I'll bet ten to one: I'll go and answer it in propriâ personá. (Comes forward, and stands behind Polly, looking over her writing.) Polly. (Writing.) Me-in-your-arms. Let me see what have I written? (Reading.) My dearest dear, Mr. Scribble. Scrib. I thought so. Polly. (Reading.) I am now writing in the most cruel confinement. Fly then, oh fly to me on the wings of love, release me from this horrid gaol, and imprison me in your arms.' Scrib. That I will, with all my heart. (Embracing her.) Polly. Oh! (Screaming.) Scrib. O, the devil! why do you scream so? I shall be discovered, in spite of fortune. (Running about.) Honey. And who is your master, sir? Scrib. A gentleman. Polly. Papa don't suspect who he is. I must speak for him. (Aside.) This honest young man belongs to the gentleman I told you I was devoted to, Mr. Scribble, papa. Honey. To Mr. Scribble, does he? Very fine! Scrib. Yes, sir, to Mr. Scribble; a person of fortune and character; a man of fashion, sir! Miss Polly need not blush to own her passion for him: I don't know a finer gentleman about town than Mr. Scribble. Polly. Lord, how well he behaves! We shall certainly bam the old gentleman. (A side.) Honey. Get out of my house this instant! I've a good mind to have you tossed in a blanket, or dragged through a horse-pond, or tied neck and heels, and I've a good mind to carry you before the sitting alderman, you dog, you! Scrib. I won't give you that trouble, sir. Miss Honeycombe, I kiss your hands: you have no further commands for my master, at present, ma'am? your compliments, I suppose? Polly. Compliments! My best love to my dear Mr. Scribble. Scrib. Pretty soul! Polly. Bless me! is it you? Hush! (Running to Honey. This is beyond all patience! Out of my the door.) Here's my father coming up stairs I pro-house, sirrah! Where are all my fellows? I'll have test! Scrib. What the dence shall I do? I'll run into the closet again. Polly. O no! he'll search the closet: jump out of the window. Scrib. I beg to be excused. Polly. Lord! here's no time to-he's here: get under the table. (Scribble hides.) Lie still: what shall I say? (Sils down by the table.) Enter HONEYCOMBE. Honey. How now, , bussy? What's all this noise? Polly. Sir! (Affecting surprise.) Honey. What made you scream so violently? Polly. Scream, papa! Honey. Scream, papa! Ay, scream, hussy! What made you scream, I say? Polly. Lord, papa! I have never opened my lips; but have been in a philosophical reverie ever since you left me. Honey. I am sure I thought I heard-But, how now, hussy? what's here? pens, ink, and paper! How came you by these? So, so! fine contrivances! (Examining them.) And a letter began, too! Cruel confinement-wings of love-your arms. (Reading.) Ah! you forward slut! But I am glad I have discovered this. I'll seize these moveables. So, so! now write, if you can: nobody shall come near you send to him, if you can. Now see how Mr. Scribble will get at you! Now I have you safe, mistress! and now, ha, ha! now you may make love to the table. Heyday! what's here? a man! (Seeing Scribble.) There was a noise, then! Have I caught you, madam? Come, sir; come out of your hole. (Scribble comes from under the table.) A footman! Who the devil are you, sir? Where did you come from? What d'ye want? How came you here? Eh? sirrah! [him? Scrib. Sir-I-I-What the deuce shall I say to him? Honey. Speak, rascal! Scrib. Sir-I-I-I came about a little business to Miss Honeycombe. Honey. Business! Ay, you look like a man of business, indeed! What! you were to carry this scrawl of a love-letter, I suppose? Eh? sirrah! Scrib. A lucky mistake! I'll humour it. (Aside.) Honey. What's that you mutter? Whose livery is this? Who do you belong to, fellow? Scrib. My master. you thrown out of the window. You shall be trundled down stairs headlong, you shall. Scrib. Patience, old gentleman; I shall go out of the house the same way I came into it: and let me tell you, sir, by way of a kind way at parting, that, scold Miss Polly ever so much, watch her ever so narrowly, or confine her ever so closely, Mr. Scribble will have her, whether you will or no. [Exit. Honey. An impudent dog! I'll have his livery stript over his ears, for his insolence. As for you, my young mistress, I'll bring down your high spirit, I warrant you! There, ma'am! sit there, if you please. (Forcing her into a chair.) We'll send you the "Whole Duty of Man," or the "Practice of Piety," to read; or a chair, a screen, or a carpet, to work with your needle. We'll find you employment: some other books than novels, and some better company than Mr. Scribble's footman. Have done with your nonsense, and learn to make a pudding, you baggage! [Exit. Polly. Well, this is a curious adventure, truly! If I could but make my escape now, after all, it would be admirable: I am sure Mr. Scribble would not go far from the house. Let me see: how can I manage it? Suppose I force the lock, or take off the screws of it, or get the door off the hinges: I'll try. (Going, stops.) Or, hold; I have a brighter thought than any of them: I'll set fire to the house, and so be carried off, like stolen goods, in the confusion. A most excellent contrivance: I must put it in practice. (Noise without.) O dear! here's somebody coming. After unlocking the door, enter Nurse. Oh! nurse, is it you? I am heartily glad to see you. thought it had been papa, or mamma. I Nur. Ah, chicken, I have taken care of your mamma. Mr. Honeycombe brought her the key in a parlous fury, with orders to let nobody go near you, except himself. But, madam, I can't choose but laugh, madam had taken a glass extraordinary of her cordial, and I have left her fast asleep in her own chamber. Polly. The luckiest thing in the world. Now, my dear nursee, you may let your poor bird out of her cage. Away! away, this instant! Nur. Softly, chicken, softly; you ruined all with Mr. Scribble, just now, by making a noise, you know. Polly. Lord, nursee, I had no power of reflection: |