_Mrs. Cler._ Madam, I must beg your pardon; I can't possibly like all that vast load of meat that you are sending in to table, besides, 'tis so offensively sweet, it wants that haut-goût we are so delighted with in France.[100] _Aunt._ You'll pardon it, since we did not expect you--Who is this? [_Aside._ _Mrs. Cler._ Oh, madam, I only speak for the future; little saucers are so much more polite. Look ye, I'm perfectly for the French way; where'er I'm admitted, I take the whole upon me. _Sir Har._ The French, madam, I'd have you to know---- _Mrs. Cler._ You'll not like it at first, out of a natural English sullenness, but that will come upon you by degrees. When I first went into France I was mortally afraid of a frog, but in a little time I could eat nothing else, except salads. _Aunt._ Eat frogs! have I kissed one that has ate frogs? Paw! paw! _Mrs. Cler._ Oh, madam, a frog and a salad are delicious fare; 'tis not long come up in France itself, but their glorious monarch has introduced the diet which makes 'em so spiritual. He eradicated all gross food by taxes, and, for the glory of the monarch, sent the subject a-grazing--but I fear I defer the entertainment and diversion of the day. _Hump._ Now father, uncle, before we go any further, I think 'tis necessary we know who and who's together; then I give either of you two hours to guess which is my wife--and 'tis not my cousin; so far I'll tell you. _Sir Har._ How! What do you say? But oh! you mean she is not your cousin now, she's nearer akin; that's well enough. Well said, Numps; ha! ha! ha! _Hump._ No, I don't mean so; I tell you I don't mean so--My wife hides her face under her hat. [_All looking at_ FAINLOVE. _Tip._ What does the puppy mean? His wife under a hat! _Hump._ Ay, ay, that's she, that's she--A good jest, 'faith! _Sir Har._ Hark ye, Numps, what dost mean, child? Is that a woman, and are you really married to her? _Hump._ I am sure of both. _Sir Har._ Are you so, sirrah? then, sirrah, this is your wedding dinner, sirrah--Do you see, sirrah, here's roast meat. _Hump._ Oh, oh! what, beat a married man! Hold him, Mr. Clerimont, Brother Pounce, Mr. Wife; nobody stand by a young married man! [_Runs behind_ FAINLOVE. _Sir Har._ Did not the dog say Brother Pounce? what, is this Mrs. Ragout? this Madam Clerimont? Who the devil are you all? but especially who the devil are you two? [_Beats_ HUMPHRY _and_ FAINLOVE _off the Stage, following._ _Tip._ [_To_ POUNCE.] Master Pounce, all my niece's fortune will be demanded now--for I suppose that red coat has her. Don't you think you and I had better break? _Pounce._ [_To_ TIPKIN.] You may as soon as you please, but 'tis my interest to be honest a little longer. _Tip._ Well, Biddy, since you would not accept of your cousin, I hope you han't disposed of yourself elsewhere.