(_Walks about in great agitation--recovering his calmness a little, sits down._) 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! _Enter_ LANDLORD.
_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.
_Mr.H._ He has heard it all.
_Landlord._ Your Honor has had some mortification to be sure, as a man may say; you have brought your pigs to a fine market.
_Mr.H._ Pigs! _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-- _Mr.H._ Lard! _Landlord._ Suppose they do smoke you-- _Mr.H._ Smoke me! _Landlord._ One of my phrases; never mind my words, Sir, my meaning is good.