The Expedition of Humphry Clinker

THE EXPEDITION OF HUMPHRY CLINKER 43
and Bloody Buildings, and Harry King’s row; and I have been twice
in the Bath with mistress, and na’r a smoak upon our backs, hussy—
The first time I was mortally afraid, and flustered all day; and after-
wards made believe that I had got the heddick; but mistress said,
if I didn’t go, I should take a dose of bumtaffy; and so remembring
how it worked Mrs. Gwyllim a pennorth, I chose rather to go again
with her into the Bath, and then I met with an axident. I dropt my
petticoat, and could not get it up from the bottom—But what did
that signify? they mought laff, but they could see nothing; for I
was up to the sin in water. To be sure, it threw me into such a
gumbustion, that I know not what I said, nor what I did, nor how
they got me out, and rapt me in a blanket—Mrs. Tabitha scoulded
a little when we got home; but she knows as I know what’s what—
Ah Laud help you!—There is Sir Yury Micligut, of Balnaclinch,
in the cunty of Kalloway—I took down the name from his gentle-
man, Mr. O Frizzle, and he has got an estate of fifteen hundred a
year—I am sure he is both rich and generous—But you nose,
Molly, I was always famous for keeping secrets; and so he was very
safe in trusting me with his flegm for mistress; which, to be sure,
is very honourable; for Mr. O Frizzle assures me, he values not
her portion a brass varthing—And, indeed, what’s poor ten
thousand pounds to a Baron Knight of his fortune? and, truly,
I told Mr. O Frizzle, that was all she had to trust to—As for John
Thomas, he’s a morass fellor—I vow, I thought he would a fit with
Mr. O Frizzle, because he axed me to dance with him at Spring
Garden—But God he knows I have no thoughts eyther of wan or
t’other.
As for house news, the worst is, Chowder has fallen off greatly
from his stomick—He eats nothing but white meats, and not
much of that; and wheezes, and seems to be much bloated. The
doctors think he is threatened with a dropsy—Parson Marrofat,
who has got the same disorder, finds great benefit from the waters;
but Chowder seems to like them no better than the squire; and
mistress says, if his case don’t take a favourable turn, she will
sartinly carry him to Aberga’nny, to drink goat’s-whey—To be
sure, the poor dear honymil is lost for want of axercise; for which
reason, she intends to give him an airing once a-day upon the
Downs, in a postchaise—I have already made very creditable cor-
rexions in this here place; where, to be sure, we have the very
squintasense of satiety—Mrs. Patcher, my lady Kilmacullock’s