Fie, fie, Miss, how you bawl! Besides, I have told you,
you must not call me mother.
What must I call you then, are you not my father's wife?
Madam; you must say madam. By my soul, I shall fancy
myself old indeed to have this great girl call me mother. Well, but
Miss, what are you so overjoyed at?
Look you here, madam, then, what Mr Tattle has given me.
Look you here, cousin, here's a snuff-box; nay, there's snuff in't.
Here, will you have any? Oh, good! How sweet it is. Mr Tattle is
all over sweet, his peruke is sweet, and his gloves are sweet, and
his handkerchief is sweet, pure sweet, sweeter than roses. Smell
him, mother--madam, I mean. He gave me this ring for a kiss.
Yes; I may tell my mother. And he says he'll give me
something to make me smell so. Oh, pray lend me your handkerchief.
Smell, cousin; he says he'll give me something that will make my
smocks smell this way. Is not it pure? It's better than lavender,
mun. I'm resolved I won't let nurse put any more lavender among my
Fie, Miss; amongst your linen, you must say. You must
never say smock.
They're all so, sister, these men. They love to have the
spoiling of a young thing, they are as fond of it, as of being first
in the fashion, or of seeing a new play the first day. I warrant it
would break Mr Tattle's heart to think that anybody else should be
beforehand with him.
O Lord, I swear I would not for the world -
O hang you; who'll believe you? You'd be hanged before
you'd confess. We know you--she's very pretty! Lord, what pure red
and white!--she looks so wholesome; ne'er stir: I don't know, but I
fancy, if I were a man -