_Hip._ But! what are your exceptions to him? _Mons._ I can't tell you, because they are innumerable, innumerable, _ma foi!_ _Hip._ Has he wit? _Mons._ Ay, ay, they say, he's witty, brave, and _de bel humeur_, and well-bred, with all that--but-- _Hip._ But what? does he want judgment? _Mons. Non, non_: they say he has good sense and judgment; but it is according to the account Englis--for-- _Hip._ For what? _Mons._ For, _jarni!_ if I think it. _Hip._ Why? _Mons._ Why?--why his tailor lives within Ludgate--his _valet de chambre_ is no Frenchman--and he has been seen at noon-day to go into an English eating-house-- _Hip._ Say you so, cousin! _Mons._ Then for being well-bred, you shall judge:--First, he can't dance a step, nor sing a French song, nor swear a French oate, nor use the polite French word in his conversation; and in fine, can't play at hombre--but speaks base good Englis, with the commune home-bred pronunciation; and in fine, to say no more, he never carries a snuff-box about with him. _Hip._ Indeed! _Mons._ And yet this man has been abroad as much as any man, and does not make the least show of it, but a little in his mien, not at all in his discour, _jarni!_ He never talks so much as of St. Peter's church at Rome, the Escurial, or Madrid; nay, not so much as of Henry IV., of Pont-neuf, Paris, and the new Louvre, nor of the Grand Roi. _Hip._ 'Tis for his commendation, if he does not talk of his travels. _Mons._ Auh! auh!--_cousine_--he is conscious to himself of his wants, because he is very envious; for he cannot endure me. _Hip._ [_Aside._] He shall be my man then for that.--Ay, ay! 'tis the same, Prue.--[_Aloud._] No, I know he can't endure you, cousin. _Mons._ How do you know it--who never stir out? _tête non!_ _Hip._ Well--dear cousin,--if you will promise me never to tell my aunt, I'll tell you. _Mons._ I won't, I won't, _jarni!_ _Hip._ Nor to be concerned yourself, so as to make a quarrel of it. _Mons. Non, non_-- _Hip._ Upon the word of a gentleman? _Mons. Foi de chevalier_, I will not quarrel. _Prue._ Lord, miss! I wonder you won't believe him without more ado. _Hip._ Then he has the hatred of a rival for you. _Mons. Malepeste!_ _Hip._ You know my chamber is backward, and has a door into the gallery which looks into the back yard of a tavern, whence Mr. Gerrard once spying me at the window, has often since attempted to come in at that window by the help of the leads of a low building adjoining; and, indeed, 'twas as much as my maid and I could do to keep him out. _Mons. Ah, le coquin!_-- _Hip._ But nothing is stronger than aversion; for I hate him perfectly, even as much as I love you-- _Prue._ I believe so, faith!--but what design have we now on foot? [_Aside._ _Hip._ This discovery is an argument, sure, of my love to you.