hurch, and catch him here.

Peggy. Never fear, Sir.

The fellow went down, and it seems, drank a large draught of ale; and
Margaret finding him very talkative, told him, she begged his pardon, but
she had a sweetheart just come from sea, whom she was forced to hide in
the pantry; so was sure he would excuse her from staying with him.

Ay, ay, to be sure, the clown said: for if he could not make sport, he
would spoil none. But he whispered her, that one 'Squire Lovelace was a
damnation rogue, if the truth might be told.

For what? said Margaret. And could have given him, she told the widow
(who related to me all this) a good dowse of the chaps.

For kissing all the women he came near.

At the same time, the dog wrapped himself round Margery, and gave her a
smack, that, she told Mrs. Bevis afterwards, she might have heard into
the parlour.

Such, Jack, is human nature: thus does it operate in all degrees; and so
does the clown, as well as his practises! Yet this sly dog knew not but
the wench had a sweetheart locked up in the pantry! If the truth were
known, some of the ruddy-faced dairy wenches might perhaps call him a
damnation rogue, as justly as their betters of the same sex might 'Squire
Lovelace.

The fellow told the maid, that, by what he discovered of the young lady's
face, it looked very rosy to what he took it to be; and he thought her a
good deal fatter, as she lay, and not so tall.

All women are born to intrigue, Jack; and practise it more or less, as
fathers, guardians, governesses, from dear experience, can tell; and in
love affairs are naturally expert, and quicker in their wits by half than
men. This ready, though raw wench, gave an instance of this, and
improved on the dropsical hint I had given her. The lady's seeming
plumpness was owing to a dropsical disorder, and to the round posture she
lay in--very likely, truly. Her appearing to him to be shorter, he might
have observed, was owing to her drawing her feet up from pain, and
because the couch was too short, she supposed--Adso, he did not think of
that. Her rosy colour was owing to her grief and head-ache.--Ay, that
might very well be--but he was highly pleased that he had given the
letter into Mrs. Harriot's own hand, as he should tell Miss Howe.

He desired once more to see the lady at his going away, and would not be
denied. The widow therefore sat up, with her handkerchief over her face,
leaning her head against the wainscot.