BOSS. Why, yes, my figure I think is perfect--breadth of shoulders, smallness of waist, curve of back, flow of hip, and tolerable height, are the _materiel_ that go _towards_ forming a _good_ figure, and which _materiel_, I flatter myself, I possess. _(Crosses to L.)_ MISS SNA. _(Ogling him.)_ In an eminent degree. MISS SKY. Oho! The old maid having been defeated in one matrimonial attack, is about to commence another. BOSS. _(Aside.)_ I'll be hanged, but Miss Snare is a woman of taste. [_DAMPER and NIGGLE heard without, C.D._ NIG. I will not allow such a liberty: let me go, sir, let me go. DAM. Not without me. _Enter NIGGLE and DAMPER, C.D._ DAM. It's all true, he is going to be married; the lady is now waiting for him in a bye lane, in a post-chaise. One comfort, 'tis now ten minutes past his appointed time. NIG. I shall lose my temper. I will not be interfered with any longer--lies and slander I defy. I have lived fifty-five years in the world, longing since boyhood for the delights of matrimony; never before has my resolution been so fixed as it is now, and married I will be, in spite of the world. I will not be shut out from the cordialities of life. DAM. You shall not make a fool of yourself. NIG. I will. I will not trifle any longer with happiness now it is within my grasp. Let me go, sir, or I'll knock you down. Let me go. [_Breaks from him and runs off, F.E.L.; DAMPER buttoning up his coat._ DAM. He sha'n't escape, I'll follow him if it's to Africa. [_Exit F.E.L._ MISS SKY. Ha! ha! ha! the hunt is up--there they run--there _(Looks from window.)_ they run. Now Niggle, now Damper. Look at the heart stirring-chase, _(Singing.)_ "With a heigho! chevy; Hark! forward, hark! forward, tantivy. With a heigho! chevy; Hark! forward, hark! forward, tantivy. Hark! forward, hark! forward, Hark! forward, &c. Yoicks! Arise the burthen of my song; This day a stag must die!" [_Exit, F.E.L._ MISS SNA. What a strange turn in affairs, and what a singular lady is that Miss Skylark. BOSS. How does she get on with her bashful beau, Pinkey? MISS SNA. Nothing decided yet, she tells me. He still continues writing the most glowing letters that ever were penned. I am to see a few of them shortly; but when the poor fellow is in her presence, he can scarcely utter a word, and though he has written nearly fifty most passionate billets, he has never once verbally alluded to the state of his feelings. BOSS. (L.) And whenever they meet, of course the lady looks for a declaration. MISS SNA. And of course he can't find courage to utter a word. BOSS. How distressing! I am passing your door, Miss Snare, will you take my arm? MISS SNA. You are very kind! BOSS. (L.) Beautiful color this cloth, is it not? _(Shewing the sleeve of his coat.)_ MISS SNA. Beautiful! BOSS. And the pattern of my waistcoat. MISS SNA. Exquisite! BOSS. May I ask you if you admire me collectively.