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How can I be mistaken, Cousin? says the Lady; why, I take him with nothing; I shall make a Gentleman of him.
Ay, Madam, though you do, says the Cousin, I have known so many underling Fellows turn Tyrants, and domineer and insult their Benefactresses, that I can never think of any thing, but of being betrayed and ill treated, when I hear of such Matches.
What, says the Lady, when one raises them from a Beggar, Cousin.
'Tis all one, Madam, says the Cousin, when once they get to Bed to their Mistresses, they never know themselves after it; they know no Benefactors.
Well, I must venture it, I think; why, I can't live thus, says the Lady.
Live thus! Madam, says the Cousin, why, don't you live as happy as a Queen?
Alas, Cousin, you don't know my Case, says the Lady; I am frighted to Death.
Frighted, Madam, with what? says the Cousin.
I don't know what, says the Lady,'tis the Devil, I think; ever since Sir William died almost, I have been disturbed in my Sleep, either with Apparitions or Dreams, I know not which. They haunt me to Death almost.
Why, Madam, says the Cousin, I hope Sir William don't Walk.
No, I think not: But, I think, I see him every now and then, says the Lady, and sometimes another Shape; 'tis Sir William, I think, in another Dress.
What does he say to your Ladyship? Does he offer to speak? says the Cousin.
No,
