Farewell the most distant thoughts of marriage; the finger-circling ring, the purity figuring glove, the envy-pining bridemaids, the wishing parson, and the simpering clerk. Farewell the ambiguous blush-raising joke, the titter-provoking pun, the morning-stirring drum.--No son of mine shall exist, to bear my ill-fated name. No nurse come chuckling, to tell me it is a boy. No midwife, leering at me from under the lids of professional gravity. I dreamed of caudle.--(_Sings in a melancholy tone._) Lullaby, Lullaby,--hush-a-by-baby--how like its papa it is!--(_Makes motions as if he was nursing._) And then, when grown up, "Is this your son, Sir?" "Yes, Sir, a poor copy of me, a sad young dog,--just what his father was at his age,--I have four more at home." Oh! oh! oh!
_Mr. H._ Landlord, I must pack up tonight; you will see all my things got ready.
_Landlord._ Hope your Honor does not intend to quit the Blue Boar,--sorry anything has happened.
_Landlord._ Your Honor has had some mortification to be sure, as a man may say; you have brought your pigs to a fine market.
_Landlord._ What then? take old Pry's advice, and never mind it. Don't scorch your crackling for 'em, Sir.
_Mr. H._ Scorch my crackling! a queer phrase; but I suppose he don't mean to affront me.
_Landlord._ What is done can't be undone; you can't make a silken purse out of a sow's ear.
_Mr. H._ As you say, Landlord, thinking of a thing does but augment it.
_Landlord._ Does but _hogment_ it, indeed, Sir.
_Mr. H. Hogment_ it! damn it, I said augment it.
_Landlord._ Lord, Sir, 'tis not everybody has such gift of fine phrases as your Honor, that can lard his discourse--
_Landlord._ One of my phrases; never mind my words, Sir, my meaning is good. We all mean the same thing, only you express yourself one way, and I another, that's all. The meaning's the same; it is all pork.
_Mr. H._ That's another of your phrases, I presume.
[_Bell rings, and the Landlord called for._
_Maid._ Lord, Madam! before I'd take on as you do about a foolish--what signifies a name? Hogs--Hogs--what is it--is just as good as any other, for what I see.
_Melesinda._ Ignorant creature! yet she is perhaps blest in the absence of those ideas, which, while they add a zest to the few pleasures which fall to the lot of superior natures to enjoy, doubly edge the----