You were always full of nonsense and tricks; but this is past endurance.
BLOUNT.
My dear Madam! can't you endure that the eloquence you have so ardently admired should belong to your own accomplished lord;—should be the produce, as one may say, of your own flesh and blood?
LORD WORRYMORE.
Yes, my dear life! you must pardon both him and me: for, had you known the speech to be of my composition, you would not have done it justice, I fear.—Don't pout so, my dear! (in a soothing voice.) nay, don't pout. I like you for admiring what is good, let the author of it be who he may. He! he! he! he!
BLOUNT.
And because the orator has received his due, must the poet go unhonoured? Mr. Clermont there is waiting to see his bust served with its garland also; and as there is no wig on his head, your Ladyship cannot be deceived in that quarter.
