JARVIS. O! quite amusing. BUTLER. I find my wines a-going, sir; and liquors don't go without mouths, sir; I hate a drunkard, sir. HONEYW. Well, well, Philip, I'll hear you upon that another time, so go to bed now. JARVIS. To bed! Let him go to the devil. BUTLER. Begging your honour's pardon, and begging your pardon, master Jarvis, I'll not go to bed, nor to the devil neither. I have enough to do to mind my cellar. I forgot, your honour, Mr. Croaker is below. I came on purpose to tell you. HONEYW. Why didn't you show him up, blockhead? BUTLER. Show him up, sir? With all my heart, sir. Up or down, all's one to me. _Exit._ JARVIS. Ay, we have one or other of that family in this house from morning till night. He comes on the old affair, I suppose; the match between his son, that's just returned from Paris, and Miss Richland, the young lady he's guardian to. HONEYW. Perhaps so. Mr. Croaker, knowing my friendship for the young lady, has got it into his head that I can persuade her to what I please. JARVIS. Ah! if you loved yourself but half as well as she loves you, we should soon see a marriage that would set all things to rights again. HONEYW. Love me! Sure, Jarvis, you dream. No, no; her intimacy with me never amounted to more than friendship—mere friendship. That she is the most lovely woman that ever warmed the human heart with desire, I own. But never let me harbour a thought of making her unhappy, by a connection with one so unworthy her merits, as I am. No, Jarvis, it shall be my study to serve her, even in spite of my wishes; and to secure her happiness, though it destroys my own. JARVIS. Was ever the like? I want patience. HONEYW. Besides, Jarvis, though I could obtain Miss Richland's consent, do you think I could succeed with her guardian, or Mrs. Croaker, his wife; who, though both very fine in their way, are yet a little opposite in their dispositions, you know? JARVIS. Opposite enough, Heaven knows; the very reverse of each other; she all laugh and no joke, he always complaining and never sorrowful; a fretful poor soul, that has a new distress for every hour in the four-and-twenty— HONEYW. Hush, hush, he's coming up! he'll hear you. JARVIS. One whose voice is a passing bell— HONEYW. Well, well, go do. JARVIS. A raven that bodes nothing but mischief; a coffin and cross bones; a bundle of rue; a sprig of deadly nightshade; a—(HONEYWOOD, _stopping his mouth, at last pushes him off_.) _Exit_ JARVIS. HONEYW. I must own, my old monitor is not entirely wrong. There is something in my friend Croaker's conversation that quite depresses me. His very mirth is an antidote to all gaiety, and his appearance has a stronger effect on my spirits than an undertaker's shop.—Mr. Croaker, this is such a satisfaction— _Enter_ CROAKER.