Col. No more, if you please, Royston: we are to speak of this no more.
Enter Jonathan.
Jon. Did your honour call?
Roy. No, sirrah. (Jonathan goes, as if he were looking for something, and takes a sly peep behind the screen, to see if they are all there.) What are you peeping there for? get along, you hound! Does he want to make people believe I keep rary shews behind the wainscot? (Exit, Jonathan.) But as I was a saying, Colonel, perhaps the young man is in love. He, he, he!
Col. No, no, let us have no more of it.
Roy. But 'faith, I know that he is so! and I know the lady too. She is a cousin of my own, and I am as well acquainted with her, as I am with my own dog.—But you dont ask me what kind of a girl she is. (To the Colonel.)
Col. Give over now, Royston: she is a very good girl, I dare say.
Roy. Well, you may think so, but—(Making significant faces) But—I should not say all I know of my own cousin, to be sure, but—
Har. What are all those cursed grimaces for? Her faults are plain and open as her perfections: these she disdains to conceal, and the others it is impossible.
Roy. Softly, Harwood, dont be in a passion, unless you would imitate your mistress; for she has not the gentlest temper in the world.
