Samuel Foote - The Lame Lover

He does?

Yes, a delitanti all over. – Before? replied Weezy; crush me if ever I saw any thing half so handsome before! – No! replied I in an instant; Colonel, what will Weezy say when he sees the Charlotta? – Hey! you little —

Meaning me, I presume.

Without doubt; and you have been toasted by that name ever since.

What a vast fund of spirits he has!

And why not, my old splitter of causes?

I was just telling Charlot, that you was not a whit the worse for the loss.

The worse! much the better, my dear. Consider, I can have neither strain, splint, spavin, or gout; have no fear of corns, kibes, or that another man should kick my shins, or tread on my toes.

Right.

What d'ye think I would change with Bill Spindle for one of his drumsticks, or chop with Lord Lumber for both of his logs?

No!

No, damn it, I am much better. – Look there – Ha! – What is there I am not able to do? To be sure I am a little aukward at running; but then, to make me amends, I'll hop with any man in town for his sum.

Ay, and I'll go his halves.

Then as to your dancing, I am cut out at Madam Cornelly's, I grant, because of the croud; but as far as a private set of six couple, or moving a chair-minuet, match me who can.

A chair-minuet! I don't understand you.

Why, child, all grace is confined to the motion of the head, arms, and chest, which may sitting be as fully displayed, as if one had as many legs as a polypus. – As thus – tol de rol – don't you see?

Very plain.

A leg! a redundancy! a mere nothing at all. Man is from nature an extravagant creature. In my opinion, we might all be full as well as we are, with but half the things that we have.

Ay, Sir Luke; how do you prove that?

By constant experience. – You must have seen the man who makes and uses pens without hands.

I have.

And not a twelvemonth agone, I lost my way in a fog, at Mile-End, and was conducted to my house in May-Fair by a man as blind as a beetle.

Wonderful!

And as to hearing and speaking, those organs are of no manner of use in the world.

How!

If you doubt it, I will introduce you to a whole family, dumb as oysters, and deaf as the dead, who chatter from morning till night by only the help of their fingers.

Why, Charlot, these are cases in point.

Oh! clear as a trout-stream; and it is not only, my little Charlot, that this piece of timber answers every purpose, but it has procured me many a bit of fun in my time.

Ay!

Why, it was but last summer, at Tunbridge, we were plagued the whole season by a bullet-headed Swiss from the canton of Bern, who was always boasting, what, and how much he dared do; and then, as to pain, no Stoic, not Diogenes, held it more in contempt. – By gods, he vas no more minds it dan notings at all – So, foregad, I gave my German a challenge.

As how! – Mind, Charlot.

Why to drive a corkin pin into the calves of our legs.

Well, well.

Mine, you may imagine, was easily done – but when it came to the Baron —

Ay, ay.

Our modern Cato soon lost his coolness and courage, screw'd his nose up to his foretop, rapp'd out a dozen oaths in high Dutch, limp'd away to his lodgings, and was there laid up for a month – Ha, ha, ha!

"Sir Gregory Goose desires the honour of Sir Luke Limp's company to dine. An answer is desired." Gadso! a little unlucky; I have been engag'd for these three weeks.

What, I find Sir Gregory is return'd for the corporation of Fleesum .

Is he so? Oh ho! – That alters the case. – George, give my compliments to Sir Gregory, and I'll certainly come and dine there. Order Joe to run to alderman Inkle's, in Threadneedle-street; sorry can't wait upon him, but confin'd to bed two days with new influenza .

You make light, Sir Luke, of these sort of engagements.

What can a man do? These damn'd fellows (when one has the misfortune to meet them) take scandalous advantage; teaze, When will you do me the honour, pray, Sir Luke, to take a bit of mutton with me? Do you name the day – They are as bad as a beggar, who attacks your coach at the mounting of a hill; there is no getting rid of them, without a penny to one, and a promise to t'other.

True; and then for such a time too – three weeks! I wonder they expect folks to remember. It is like a retainer in Michaelmas term for the summer assizes.

Not but, upon these occasions, no man in England is more punctual than —

Earl of Brentford. The servant waits for an answer.

Answer! – By your leave, Mr. Serjeant and Charlot. [ Reads. ] "Taste for music – Mons. Duport – fail – Dinner upon table at five" – Gadso! I hope Sir Gregory's servant an't gone.

Immediately upon receiving the answer.

Run after him as fast as you can – tell him, quite in despair – recollect an engagement that can't in nature be missed, – and return in an instant.

You see, Sir, the Knight must give way for my Lord.

No, faith, it is not that, my dear Charlot; you saw that was quite an extempore business. – No, hang it, no, it is not for the title; but to tell you the truth, Brentford has more wit than any man in the world; it is that makes me fond of his house.

By the choice of his company he gives an unanswerable instance of that.

You are right, my dear girl. But now to give you a proof of his wit: You know Brentford's finances are a little out of repair, which procures him some visits that he would very gladly excuse.

What need he fear? His person is sacred; for by the tenth of William and Mary —

He knows that well enough; but for all that —

Indeed, by a late act of his own house, (which does them infinite honour) his goods or chattels may be —

Seiz'd upon when they can find them, but he lives in ready-furnish'd lodgings, and hires his coach by the month.