"Poor little toad," says I. "When she sees me like this I am sure she will weep more bitterly." "Hath she never seen you drunk before?" says Fielding. "Never," says I. "It is time she did then," says he. "But after all, as it is your wedding-day there may be some little reason for your perturbation. She is still the first woman in Christendom, I suppose, and you are still the true prince. It can contribute nothing to the welfare of either for you to be seen at such little advantage. Get thee behind the screen there and leave this to me." Having still enough wit to be fully aware of my unfortunate condition; and being at the same time assailed with many pangs for having so callously sat down to my ease before the bottle, whilst I was seemingly content to allow her to roam the night to find me, I felt truly shamefaced and hangdog. I was but too ready therefore to embrace any proposal that might alleviate my position. Certainly Mr. Fielding had a much better command of himself than I had, and was therefore much more fitted to receive her. Besides, I was so deeply imbued with my desperate case that I counted on his ready wit to shield me from an exposure. Therefore I stumbled into concealment behind the screen, and drunk as I was, I was sufficiently sober to follow and to keenly appreciate the whimsical scene that was enacted before my eyes. Sir Thomas being hopelessly surrendered to Morpheus, Mr. Fielding profanely assumed his character. But at least the mad rogue played it with a far finer spirit and _abandon_ than the justice could have done. When my poor little Cynthia was ushered in, for she it was undoubtedly, he rose, gout and all, to greet her, and bowed very low. "Pray take a seat, madam, pray take a seat," says he, with an inimitable gesture of politeness. "And if there is any small service that you would have me render you you have only to put a name to it, and you may consider it rendered." My poor little one, who was very pale and trembled with apprehension, peered out of the hood of her cloak with the tears still in her eyes. Despite Mr. Fielding's obvious gallantry she gazed at him with a dim distrust, and then cast a look of downright fearfulness in the direction of the heavy-slumbering Sir Thomas. It was the first time I had been in a situation to observe these feminine timidities in her, and methought they enhanced her a hundredfold. "I would not have you regard that fuddle-witted fellow, madam," says Mr. Fielding, mad wag as he was. "He is but a common hackney writer of a man, Henry Fielding by name, who hath come out of Grub Street to take the country air. And the country air hath proved too strong for him, do you see. Do not regard that fellow, madam: believe me he is quite unworthy of your attention."