_Sir Per._ What a rigorous, saucy, stiff-necked rascal it is! I see my
folly now.--I am undone by mine ain policy.--This Sidney is the last man
that shou'd have been about my son:--The fellow, indeed, hath given him
principles, that might have done vary weel among the ancient Romans,--but
are damn'd unfit for the modern Britons.--Weel, guin I had a thousand
sons, I never wou'd suffer one of these English, university-bred fellows
to be about a son of mine again;--for they have sic an a pride of
literature and character, and sic saucy, English notions of liberty
continually fermenting in their thoughts, that a man is never sure of
them. Now, if I had had a Frenchman, or a foreigner of any kind, about my
son, I cou'd have pressed him at once into my purpose,--or have kicked the
rascal out of my house in a twinkling.--But what am I to do?--Zoons! he
must nai marry this beggar;--I cannot sit down tamely under that.--Stay,--
haud a wee.--By the blood, I have it.--Yes--I have hit upon it.--I'll have
the wench smuggled till the highlands of Scotland to-morrow morning.--Yes,
yes,--I'll have her smuggled--

_Enter_ BETTY HINT.

_Bet._ O! sir,--I have got the whole secret out.

_Sir Per._ About what?

_Bet._ About Miss Constantia. I have just got all the particulars from
farmer Hilford's youngest daughter, Sukey Hilford.

_Sir Per._ Weel, weel, but what is the story? Quick, quick--what is it?

_Bet._ Why, sir, it is certain that Mrs. Constantia has a sweetheart--or