_Enter_ Twineall. _Twi._ I positively could pass a whole day upon that stair-case--those reverend faces--I presume they are the portraits of some of your Ladyship's illustrious ancestors. _Lady._ Sir! Mr. Twineall--give me leave to tell you--[_In a violent passion._ _Twi._ The word illustrious, I find, displeases you--pardon me--I did not mean to make use of so forcible an epithet--I know the delicacy of sentiment, which cannot bear the reflection that a few centuries only shou'd reduce from royalty, one, whose dignified deportment seems to have been formed for that resplendent station. _Lady._ The man is certainly mad!----Mr. Twineall-- _Twi._ Pardon me, Madam--I own I am an enthusiast on these occasions--the dignity of blood-- _Lady._ You have too much, I am sure--do, have a little taken from you. _Twi._ Gladly wou'd I lose every drop that fills these plebeian veins, to be enobled by the smallest---- _Lady._ Pray, Sir, take up your abode in some other place. _Twi._ Madam! [_Surprised._ _Lady._ Your behaviour, Sir-- _Twi._ If my friend had not given me the hint, damn me if I shou'd not think her down right angry. [_Aside._ _Lady._ I can scarce contain my rage at being so laugh'd at. [_Aside._ _Twi._ I'll mention the wig----this is the time--[_Aside._] Perhaps you may resent it, Madam--but there is a favour-- _Lady._ A favour, Sir! is this a time to ask a favour? _Twi._ To an admirer of antiquity, as I am. _Lady._ Antiquity again! _Twi._ I beg pardon----but----a wig, Ma'am-- _Lady._ A what? [_Petrified._ _Twi._ A wig. [_Bowing._ _Lady._ Oh! oh! oh! [_Choaking._] this is not to be borne--this is too much--ah! ah! [_Sitting down, and going into fits._] a direct, plain, palpable, and unequivocal attack upon my family--without evasion or palliative.--I can't bear it any longer.--Oh! oh!--[_Shrieking._ _Twi._ Bless my soul, what shall I do? what's the matter? _Sir Luke._ [_Without._] Maids! maids! go to your mistress--that good-for-nothing fellow is doing her a mischief. _Enter_ Aurelia. _Aur._ Dear Madam, what is the matter? _Enter Sir_ Luke, _and stands close to the scenes_. _Lady._ Oh! oh! [_Crying._ _Sir Luke._ How do you do now, my dear? _Twi._ Upon my word, Sir Luke-- _Sir Luke._ O, Sir, no apology--it does not signify--never mind it--I beg you won't put yourself to the trouble of an apology--it is of no kind of consequence. _Lady._ What do you mean, Sir Luke? [_Recovered._ _Sir Luke._ To shew proper philosophy, my dear, under the affliction I feel for your distress. _Lady._ [_To_ Aurelia.] Take Twineall out of the room. _Aur._ Mr. Twineall, her Ladyship begs you'll leave the room, till she is a little recovered. _Twi._ Certainly. [_Bows respectfully to her Ladyship, and exit with_ Aurelia. _Sir Luke._ I thought what you wou'd get by quarrelling--fits--and tears.