BOOK X. IN WHICH THE HISTORY GOES FORWARD ABOUT TWELVE HOURS.
5. Chapter v. Showing who the amiable lady...
Showing who the amiable lady, and her unamiable maid, were.
As in the month of June, the damask rose, which chance hath planted
among the lilies, with their candid hue mixes his vermilion; or as
some playsome heifer in the pleasant month of May diffuses her
odoriferous breath over the flowery meadows; or as, in the blooming
month of April, the gentle, constant dove, perched on some fair bough,
sits meditating on her mate; so, looking a hundred charms and
breathing as many sweets, her thoughts being fixed on her Tommy, with
a heart as good and innocent as her face was beautiful, Sophia (for it
was she herself) lay reclining her lovely head on her hand, when her
maid entered the room, and, running directly to the bed, cried,
"Madam--madam--who doth your ladyship think is in the house?" Sophia,
starting up, cried, "I hope my father hath not overtaken us." "No,
madam, it is one worth a hundred fathers; Mr Jones himself is here at
this very instant." "Mr Jones!" says Sophia, "it is impossible! I
cannot be so fortunate." Her maid averred the fact, and was presently
detached by her mistress to order him to be called; for she said she
was resolved to see him immediately.
Mrs Honour had no sooner left the kitchen in the manner we have before
seen than the landlady fell severely upon her. The poor woman had
indeed been loading her heart with foul language for some time, and
now it scoured out of her mouth, as filth doth from a mud-cart, when
the board which confines it is removed. Partridge likewise shovelled
in his share of calumny, and (what may surprize the reader) not only
bespattered the maid, but attempted to sully the lily-white character
of Sophia herself. "Never a barrel the better herring," cries he,
"Noscitur a socio, is a true saying. It must be confessed, indeed,
that the lady in the fine garments is the civiller of the two; but I
warrant neither of them are a bit better than they should be. A couple
of Bath trulls, I'll answer for them; your quality don't ride about at
this time o' night without servants." "Sbodlikins, and that's true,"
cries the landlady, "you have certainly hit upon the very matter; for
quality don't come into a house without bespeaking a supper, whether
they eat or no."