Lady _Grace._ I hope my Lady has had no hurt, Mr. _Moody_. _John Moody._ Noa, an't please your Ladyship, she was never in better humour: There's money enough stirring now. _Man._ What has been the matter, _John_? _John Moody._ Why, we came up in such a hurry, you mun think, that our tackle was not so tight as it should be. _Man._ Come, tell us all----Pray how do they travel? _John Moody._ Why, i'the awld coach, Measter, and 'cause my lady loves to do things handsom, to be sure, she would have a couple of cart-horses clapt to th' four old geldings, that neighbours might see she went up to _London_ in her coach and six! And so _Giles Joulter_, the ploughman, rides postillion! _Man._ Very well! the journey sets out as it should do. [_Aside._] What, do they bring all the children with them too? _John Moody._ Noa, noa, only the younk squoire, and Miss _Jenny_. The other foive are all out at board, at half a crown a head, a week, with _Joan Growse_ at _Smoke-Dunghill_ farm. _Man._ Good again! a right _English_ academy for younger children! _John Moody._ Anon, Sir. [_Not understanding him._ Lady _Grace._ Poor souls! What will become of 'em? _John Moody._ Nay, nay, for that matter, Madam, they are in very good hands: _Joan_ loves 'em as thof' they were all her own: For she was wet-nurse to every mother's babe of 'um----Ay, ay, they'll ne'er want for a full belly there! Lady _Grace._ What simplicity! _Man._ The Lud 'a mercy on all good folks! what work will these people make! [_Holding up his hands._ Lord _Town._ And when do you expect him here, _John_? _John Moody._ Why we were in hopes to ha' come yesterday, an' it had no' been, that th' owld wheaze-belly horse tir'd: And then we were so cruelly loaden, that the two fore wheels came crash! down at once, in _Waggon-Rut Lane_, and there we lost four hours 'fore we could set things to rights again. _Man._ So they bring all their baggage with the coach then? _John Moody._ Ay, ay, and good store on't there is----Why my lady's geer alone were as much as fill'd four portmantel trunks, besides the great deal-box, that heavy _Ralph_ and the monkey sit upon behind. Lord _Town_, Lady _Grace_, and _Man._ Ha! ha, ha! Lady _Grace._ Well, Mr. _Moody_, and pray how many are they within the coach? _John Moody._ Why there's my Lady and his Worship; and the younk squoire, and Miss _Jenny_, and the fat lap-dog, and my lady's maid, Mrs. _Handy_, and _Doll Tripe_ the cook, that's all----Only _Doll_ puked a little with riding backward, so they hoisted her into the coach-box--and then her stomach was easy. Lady _Grace._ Oh! I see 'em! I see 'em go by me. Ah! ha! [_Laughing._