_Frank._ [_Smiling._] I shall not respect his memory less, sir, for knowing his occupation. _Sir Simon._ But the world will, you blockhead: and, for your sake, for the sake of our posterity, I would cross the cart breed, as much as possible, by blood. _Frank._ Is that of consequence, sir? _Sir Simon._ Isn't it the common policy? and the necessities of your boasters of pedigree produce a thousand intermarriages with people of no pedigree at all;--till, at last, we so jumble a genealogy, that, if the devil himself would pluck knowledge from the family tree, he could hardly find out the original fruit. [_Exeunt severally._ _Enter TOM SHUFFLETON, from the Park, following LADY CAROLINE BRAYMORE._ _Shuff._ "The time is come for Iphigene to find, "The miracle she wrought upon my mind;" _Lady Car._ Don't talk to me. _Shuff._ "For, now, by love, by force she shall be mine, "Or death, if force should fail, shall finish my design." _Lady Car._ I wish you would finish your nonsense. _Shuff._ Nonsense:--'tis poetry; somebody told me 'twas written by Dryden. _Lady Car._ Perhaps so;----but all poetry is nonsense. _Shuff._ Hear me, then, in prose. _Lady Car._ Psha!--that's worse. _Shuff._ Then I must express my meaning in pantomime. Shall I ogle you? _Lady Car._ You are a teasing wretch;--I have subjected myself, I find, to very ill treatment, in this petty family;--and begin to perceive I am a very weak woman. _Shuff._ [_Aside._] Pretty well for that matter. _Lady Car._ To find myself absolutely avoided by the gentleman I meant to honour with my hand,--so pointedly neglected!---- _Shuff._ I must confess it looks a little like a complete cut. _Lady Car._ And what you told me of the low attachment that---- _Shuff._ Nay, my dear Lady Caroline, don't say that I told you more than---- _Lady Car._ I won't have it denied:--and I'm sure 'tis all true. See here--here's an odious parchment Lord Fitz Balaam put into my hand in the park.--A marriage license, I think he calls it--but if I don't scatter it in a thousand pieces---- _Shuff._ [_Preventing her._] Softly, my dear Lady Caroline; that's a license of marriage, you know. The names are inserted of course.--Some of them may be rubbed a little in the carriage; but they may be filled up at pleasure, you know.----Frank's my friend,----and if he has been negligent, I say nothing; but the parson of the parish is as blind as a beetle. _Lady Car._ Now, don't you think, Mr. Shuffleton, I am a very ill used person? _Shuff._ I feel inwardly for you, Lady Caroline; but my friend makes the subject delicate. Let us change it. Did you observe the steeple upon the hill, at the end of the park pales? _Lady Car._ Psha?--No. _Shuff._ It belongs to one of the prettiest little village churches you ever saw in your life. Let me show you the inside of the church, Lady Caroline.