_Lady P._ Do you know who Miss Loocy Peckham is, Sir? _Count._ Not very well, Ma’am. _Lady P._ Sir? _Count._ Except that she is your daughter. _Lady P._ And do you know who I am, Sir? _Count._ I have been told, Ma’am. _Lady P._ Told, Sir! Told! Vhat have you been told? Vhat have you been told, Sir? _Count._ That your ladyship was an honest wax-chandler’s daughter. _Lady P._ Yes, Sir! The debbidy of his vard, Sir! A common councilman, and city sword-bearer! Had an Aldermand’s gownd von year, vus chosen sheriff the next, and died a lord-mayor elect! _Count._ With all his honours blooming on his brow! _Lady P._ And do you know, Sir, that I designs, Sir Samooel Sheepy, Sir, an English knight and barrow knight, for the spouse of my daughter! A gentleman, that is a gentleman! A person of honour and purtensions, and not a Papish Jesubite! _Count._ Of his honours and pretensions I have yet to be informed, Madam. _Lady P._ Vhat, Sir! do you mean for to say, Sir, or to insinivate, Sir, that Sir Samooel Sheepy is not your betters? _Count._ If Sir Samuel himself, Madam, had put such a question to me, I would have replied with my sword, or more properly, with my cane. _Lady P._ Wery vell, Sir! I’ll let Sir Samooel know that you threatens to cane him; I’ll take care to report you! Cane quotha! He shall talk to you. _Count._ Let him, Madam. _Lady P._ Madam! Madam! At every vord—Pray, Sir, do you know that Sir Paul Peckham has had the honour to be knighted by the king’s own hand? _Count._ I have heard as much, Madam. _Lady P._ Madam, indeed!—And for you for to think for to look up to my daughter! _Count._ Up, Madam! _Lady P._ Yes, Sir—up, Sir!—Pray, Sir, vhat are your purtensions? _Count._ (_with great agitation_) Madam! _Lady P._ Who are you, Sir? Vhere do you come from? Who knows you? Vhat parish do you belong to? _Count._ Madam, I am of a family known to history, known to Europe, known to the whole universe! _Lady P._ Ah! I believes you are better known than trusted. _Count._ The names of Conolly and Villars, Madam, never before were so degraded as they have been in my person. _Lady P._ Oh! I makes no doubt but you are a person that vould degurade any name! _Count._ Insult like what I have received from you, Madam, no man should utter and escape death—But you are— _Lady P._ Vhat, Sir? Vhat am I, Sir? _Count._ A woman. _Lady P._ A voman, indeed! Sir, I vould have you to know as how I am a lady! A lady, Sir, of his Majesty’s own making! And moreover, Sir, don’t you go for to flatter yourself that I shall bestow the hand and fortin of Miss Loocy Peckham upon any needy outlandish Count somebody nobody! My daughter, Sir, is for your betters!