daughter, and I have not time enough to lay a plan for Her—[Bell rings.] And now I'll go to my Lord, for I have nothing elſe to do. [going.
Enter Canton with news-papers in his hand.
Cant. Monſieur Bruſh—Maiſtre Bruſh—My Lor ſtirra yet?
Bruſh. He has juſt rung his bell—I am going to him.
Cant. Depechez vous donc. [Exit Bruſh.] [Puts on ſpeftacles.] I wiſh de Deviel had all deſe papiers—I forget, as faſt as I read—De Advertiſe put out of my head de Gazette, de Gazette de Chronique, and ſo dey all go l'un apres l'autre—I muſt get ſome nouvelle for my Lor, or he'll be enragée contre moi—Voyons!—[Reads in the papers.] Here is noting but Anti-Sejanus & advertiſe
Enter Maid with chocolate things.
Vat you vant, child?
Ch. Maid. Only the chocolate things, Sir.
Cant. O ver well—dat is good girl—and ver prit too! [Exit Maid.
Lord Ogleby within.
L. Ogle. Canton, he, he—[coughs.]—Canton!
Cant. I come my Lor—vat ſhall I do?—I have no news—He vill make great tintamarre!—
L. Ogle. [within.] Canton, I ſay, Canton! Where are you?—
Enter Lord Ogleby leaning on Bruſh.
Cant. Here my Lor, I aſk pardon my Lor, I have not finiſh de papiers—
L. Ogle. Dem your pardon, and your papers—I want you here. Canton.
Cant. Den I run, dat is all—[ſhuffles along—Lord Ogleby leans upon Canton too, and comes forward.
L. Ogle. You Swiſs are the moſt unaccountable mixture—you have the language and the impertinence of the French, with the lazineſs of Dutchmen.
