_Scrub._ Because he keeps his horses always ready saddled, and his footman talks French!
_Scrub._ Ay; he and the Count's footman were jabbering French, like two intriguing ducks in a mill-pond: and, I believe, they talked of me, for they laughed consumedly.
_Dor._ What sort of livery has the footman?
_Scrub._ Livery! lord, madam, I took him for a captain, he's so bedizened with lace: and then he has a silver-headed cane dangling at his knuckles--he carries his hands in his pockets, and walks just so--[_Walks in a French Air._] and has fine long hair, tied up in a bag.----Lord, madam, he's clear another sort of man than I.
_Mrs. Sul._ That may easily be--But what shall we do now, sister?
_Dor._ I have it----This fellow has a world of simplicity, and some cunning, the first hides the latter by abundance----Scrub.
_Dor._ We have a great mind to know who this gentleman is, only for our satisfaction.
_Scrub._ Yes, madam, it would be a satisfaction, no doubt.
_Dor._ You must go and get acquainted with his footman, and invite him hither to drink a bottle of your ale, because you are butler to-day.
_Scrub._ Yes, madam, I am butler every Sunday.
_Mrs. Sul._ O brave sister! o'my conscience, you understand the mathematics already--'Tis the best plot in the world;--your mother, you know, will be gone to church, my spouse will be got to the alehouse, with his scoundrels, and the house will be our own--so we drop in by accident, and ask the fellow some questions ourselves. In the country, you know, any stranger is company, and we are glad to take up with the butler in a country dance, and happy if he'll do us the favour.
_Scrub._ Oh, madam! you wrong me: I never refused your ladyship the favour in my life.
_Dor._ Scrub, we'll excuse your waiting--Go where we ordered you.
_Arch._ Well, Tom, I find you are a marksman.
_Aim._ A marksman! who so blind could be as not discern a swan among the ravens?
_Aim._ Aimwell! call me Oroondates, Cesario, Amadis, all that romance can in a lover paint, and then I'll answer. O, Archer, I read her thousands in her looks! she looked like Ceres in her harvest; corn, wine, and oil, milk and honey; gardens, groves, and purling streams, played on her plenteous face.