hand.) I say, sirrah, you are a dirty, sneaking, curious fellow. What business had you to stand listening at my lady's door when I was dressing her for dinner?
CHARVILLE.
I mistuke the door, gentlewoman, judging as how it was the parlour.
SMOOTHLY.
Take you care again, lest I mistuke your nose for the handle of the door, and give it such a turn as shan't be for the beautifying of that knave's face of yours.
DICKENSON.
Fy, Mrs. Smoothly! don't rate him so for a mistake.
SMOOTHLY.
Mistake truly! he mistakes every nook and corner in the house, where he can stick himself up to listen, for the parlour.—Take care, sirrah; for if I catch that snout of yours again where it should not be, I'll take the tongs in my hand, and treat you as St. Dunstan did the devil. I'll teach you to sneak, and to pry, and to haunt one so: I'll teach——
DICKENSON.
Nay, nay, Mrs. Smoothly, perhaps he is in love with you: you should have pity on the young man.
