Sir _Fran._ Well, Count! I mun say it, this was koynd, indeed! Count _Bas._ Sir _Francis_! give me leave to bid you welcome to _London_. Sir _Fran._ Psha! how dost do, mon----waunds, I'm glad to see thee! A good sort of a house this! Count _Bas._ Is not that master _Richard_? Sir _Fran._ Ey! ey! that's young hopeful----why dost not baw, _Dick_? Squ. _Rich._ So I do, feyther. Count _Bas._ Sir I'm glad to see you----I protest Mrs. _Jane_ is grown so, I should not have known her. Sir _Fran._ Come forward, _Jenny_. _Jenny._ Sure, papa, do you think I don't know how to behave myself? Count _Bas._ If I have permission to approach her, Sir _Francis_. _Jenny._ Lord, Sir, I'm in such a frightful pickle---- [_Salute._ Count _Bas._ Every dress that's proper must become you, Madam,----you have been a long journey. _Jenny._ I hope you will see me in a better, to-morrow, Sir. [_Lady ~Wrong.~ whispers Mrs. ~Moth.~ pointing to ~Myrtilla~._ _Moth._ Only a niece of mine, Madam, that lives with me: she will be proud to give your Ladyship any assistance in her power. Lady _Wrong._ A pretty sort of a woman.----_Jenny_, you two must be acquainted. _Jenny._ O, Mama! I am never strange, in a strange place! [_Salutes ~Myrtilla~._ _Myr._ You do me a great deal of honour, Madam----Madam, your Ladyship's welcome to _London_. _Jenny._ Mama! I like her prodigiously! she call'd me my Ladyship. Squ. _Rich._ Pray mother, mayn't I be acquainted with her too! Lady _Wrong._ You, you clown! stay 'till you learn a little more breeding first. Sir _Fran._ Od's heart! my Lady _Wronghead_! why do you balk the lad? how should he ever learn breeding, if he does not put himself forward? Squ. _Rich._ Why ay, feather, does moather think 'at I'd be uncivil to her? _Myr._ Master has so much good-humour, Madam, he would soon gain upon any body. [_He kisses ~Myr~._ Squ. _Rich._ Lo' you there, Moather: and you would but be quiet, she and I should do well enough. Lady _Wrong._ Why, how now, sirrah! Boys must not be so familiar. Squ. _Rich._ Why, an' I know nobody, haw the murrain mun I pass my time here, in a strange place? Naw you and I and sister, forsooth, sometimes in an afternoon moy play at one and thirty bone-ace, purely. _Jenny._ Speak for yourself, Sir! D'ye think I play at such clownish games? Squ. _Rich._ Why and you woant yo' ma' let it aloane; then she, and I, mayhap, will have a bawt at All-fours, without you. Sir _Fran._ Noa! Noa! _Dick_, that won't do neither; you mun learn to make one at Ombre, here, Child. _Myr._ If Master pleases, I'll shew it him. Squ. _Rich._ What! the _Humber_! Hoy day! why does our River run to this Tawn, Feather? Sir _Fran._ Pooh! you silly Tony! Ombre is a geam at cards, that the better sort of people play three together at.