HUMPHRY. No;--and then he and the Schoolmaster kick'd up a proper rumpus about a challenge I fetch'd him; and that's all the news you'll get for your money.--A poor shilling that won't buy ale to my oysters to-night. [_Exit._ WORTHNOUGHT [_manet_]. This is a lucky meeting, 'foregad;--I'll go immediately and report, that young Loveyet has of late seen my quondam charmer carry a copy of him in miniature about her, which (strange to tell) is continually growing nearer to the life; and that he refuses to have her, on that account.--"If she gets him, she will get a bastard."--By which I choose to understand,--matters have gone so far, that she cannot save herself from that disgrace, even if she marries him.--Now, in order that this tale of mine may transpire briskly, I must first see some of my tattling female friends;--they will set it a going like wild-fire.--Split me, but it is an excellent thought;--ha, ha, ha. Poor Loveyet. [_Exit._ SCENE III. _HERALD'S House._ _Enter CANTWELL and HERALD._ CANTWELL. I am very happy to find you home;--I was almost eat up with the vapours before I saw you. [_Sighs._]--Well, what's the news, Miss Herald? HERALD. Nothing strange, Miss Tabitha; I am as barren of anything new, as an old Almanack. CANTWELL. Oh shocking!--"as barren of anything new."--What an odious expression!--The most vulgarest comparison in nature. HERALD. Umph.--I suppose, if Mr. Gracely was here, you would not be so much in the dumps. CANTWELL. Ah, Miss Herald!--If you felt the corruptions of your wicked heart, you would be in the dumps too, as you call it. [_Sighs._ HERALD. I believe there is a certain corruption in your heart, which our sex are apt to feel very sensibly, and that is the want of a husband. CANTWELL. The want of a husband!--I vow, you are monstrous indelicate, Miss Herald; I am afraid you are wandering from the paths of vartue, as dear good Mr. Gracely says. HERALD. There comes his very reverse,--Mr. Worthnought. CANTWELL. Ah, he is a profane rake; he is lighter than vanity, as Mr. Gracely says;--a mere painted sepulchre. HERALD. That ancient sepulchre of yours is pretty much daub'd, I think. [_Aside._ _Enter WORTHNOUGHT._ WORTHNOUGHT. Ladies, _J'ay bien de la joye de vous voir._ I have the supernal and superlative hanor and felicity, of being most respectfully yours. CANTWELL. I hope I have the pleasure to see Mr. Worthnought well. WORTHNOUGHT. _Là, Là, Mademoiselle; assez bien: Je vous suis obligé._--She has reviv'd her wither'd chaps with rouge in a very nasty manner, 'pan hanor. [_Aside._]--Have you heard the news, respecting Miss Harriet Trueman, ladies?